Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows 4)
“I’m not taking anything for granted.”
She liked that. But then, he knew she would. “No, you may not kiss me.”
Disappointment dulled his eyes. “Amy, are you saying no to my proposal?”
She hesitated. Was she ready to marry again? If she was, Gervaise would be her choice. But would his interest in her last beyond the illicit excitement of their affair? She couldn’t imagine him finding her so fascinating when she went back to being a hardworking farmer. “No.”
To her surprise, she watched the jaded mask descend over his features. Even more surprising, she realized she now knew him well enough to recognize that cynicism as a facade. “Then I beg your pardon for troubling you.”
A rusty laugh escaped her. “Gervaise, you nitwit. I mean I’m not saying no.”
He regarded her uncertainly. “You did.”
She shook her head. When they touched, she and Gervaise communicated perfectly. Not so much when they talked, to her regret. “Words are tangling me up.”
“Then be clear, for God’s sake,” he said roughly. “Will you marry me?”
She hesitated, even as she saw her havering tormented him. “I…I’ll think about it.”
He gave a soft growl of frustration and gestured toward the desk. “After that, you must know how good we are together.”
“We desire each other.” She swallowed to moisten a dry mouth. “That on its own isn’t enough.”
“We share more than passion, and you know it. I’ve never enjoyed a woman’s company as I have yours. Don’t you like talking to me, too?”
“You know I do.” She made a helpless gesture, and decided to take a chance with the prosaic truth. “But London isn’t my real life. When the season’s over, I’ll go back to being eccentric, practical Amy Mowbray, who spends her time tramping her fields and working on improvements to her land and stock.”
Gervaise looked offended. “You think I’m too frivolous to hold your attention?”
Her sigh carried the weight of all her years of insecurity. “No, I think I’m too dull to amuse you.”
He took her hand again. “What would you say if I told you a life in the country with you at my side sounds like a great adventure?”
Amy frowned, although this time she didn’t break free. “I’d say I still need to think.” When he loomed closer, she placed her hand on his chest to keep him at bay. “And don’t kiss me. You turn my brains to scrambled eggs when you do.”
“That’s a good thing, when people contemplate marriage,” he said, looking happier. Of course he did. He knew now how close she teetered to agreement.
“Not when I need to be sensible.” She cringed at the word. It sounded so cramped and mean after this marvelous fortnight of generosity and abundance and passion since she’d gone to his bed.
“You’ve been sensible your whole life. I’ll wager you were born sensible.” He placed his hand over hers where it lay above his heart. “Take a chance.”
Her laugh was wry. “I was sensible until the day I met you. Now I need a clear head.”
He studied her and must have seen that she was adamant. With a sigh, he released her and leaned back against the desk. She tried not to let the dejected slump of his shoulders sway her decision.
“Do you want me to woo you again?”
She found a smile. He sounded like she asked him to sign up for ten years’ hard labor in the colonies. “No.”
He regarded her under lowered golden brows. “Then for pity’s sake, what do you want?”
She wanted him, but that wasn’t necessarily a reason to accept him. “I want a couple of days to reflect upon my answer. Surely that’s not too much to ask, when we’re talking about the rest of our lives.”
He straightened, and his expression turned austere. “I’ll call tomorrow for your answer,” he said in an uncompromising tone.
His sudden ruthlessness startled her. “Gervaise…”
He regarded her impatiently. “You can’t pretend my offer comes out of the blue. If you don’t know now that we’re perfect together, you’ll never know. Say yes tomorrow, or send me away forever.”