Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows 4)

She wrenched free, and he had to let her go. “No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

The hard-eyed gaze she settled on him penetrated his deceptively appealing exterior to the shameful sins beneath. “Prove it.”

He should be grateful she gave him a chance to explain, although he was all too conscious that words were inadequate to heal the injury he’d done her. But words were all that were left to him. He’d have to do his best. He owed her any recompense he could make. Even if none of it was enough.

Drawing a shaky breath, Pascal faced up to the disaster he’d made of the most important relationship in his useless life.

He’d always skated by on charm and looks. It had been enough for everyone else he knew. It wasn’t good enough for Amy.

“I liked you from the first. You must believe that. You were clever and interesting, and you didn’t make cow eyes at me or giggle.”

“I should hope not.”

“And you were so lovely—and unaware of your attractions, which made you even more appealing.”

“Because I was ripe for duping?”

Hell, she was a million miles from forgiving him. He reached a point where her forgiveness was all he hoped for—with no great optimism that he’d receive it. His machinations had put anything more forever out of reach. Knowing it was his own fault that he reached this impasse made him want to smash his fist through a window.

“No. Because I live in a world of appearances and lies, and you’re so rare and true. How in Hades could I resist you?”

He waited for Amy to challenge that statement, but she remained silent. He forced himself to go on. “In my conceit, I thought you were drawn to me, the way I was drawn to you.”

“Well, I kissed you when we weren’t much beyond strangers.” The shame in her voice made him flinch. “What else would you think?”

“What I thought was that I was in trouble. Even that first night, my self-serving plan was under threat. You made me feel things I’d never felt before. I should have taken to my heels then and there. But already I was enchanted.”

“With my fortune.”

“No, with you. With your quirky humor, and lovely face, and quick passion.” He paused. “And your lonely, steadfast heart.”

It was her turn to flinch. For the first time, she looked away from him. “I refuse to discuss my lonely, steadfast heart.”

“But don’t you see?” He jerked to his feet. He couldn’t sit beside her any longer without hauling her into his arms. “I’ve been lonely, too.”

“You?” She stared up at him with blatant disbelief.

Good God, she stripped his black soul bare. “London’s handsomest man doesn’t have friends. He has admirers.”

“Oh, Gervaise…”

Pascal recoiled from the pity in her eyes and ran a shaking hand through his hair. “But you didn’t tumble into my arms like every other woman I’ve ever wanted.” He drew himself up to his full height, as if he faced an executioner. In terms of his future happiness, he supposed he did. “You made me work for my victory. You made me prove myself. I learned to respect you.”

“Then I tumbled anyway. So much for respect.”

“Don’t be a fool, Amy,” he said shortly. “I’ve never been so happy in my life as I’ve been this last fortnight with you.”

She still studied him as if she weighed every word. She weighed his soul, too. He suffered the wretched certainty that his soul came up lacking. “You almost sound as if you mean that.”

He made a frustrated gesture. “Of course I bloody mean it.”

“So what are you saying?” She stood up too, more circumspectly than he had. “That you started this pursuit to gain my fortune, but you’ve since developed a genuine affection for me?”

His grunt of laughter held no amusement. “Oh, my darling, it’s much, much worse than that.”

He watched her prepare for another blow. “You’ve told me most of it. You may as well tell me everything.”