Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows 4)
Sheer terror cramped his gut. His skin itched. Right now, he’d give every penny of his depleted fortune to avoid the last, most painful confession. This situation called for a man of character—and he’d never been that.
But he had to go on, whatever happened next.
His voice emerged as a growl. “I don’t just like and respect and desire you. I don’t just want to be your friend and your lover.”
“No, you want to be my banker,” she retorted.
He ignored her astringent interjection, too busy summoning every ragtag shred of courage to make the last, humiliating revelation. “I’ve fallen head over heels with you, Amy. My life without you will be a barren waste.” Then he spoke words he’d never said before, words he never thought he’d say to anyone. “I love you.”
* * *
Aghast, Amy retreated until her legs bumped the couch. Her knees felt weak and shaky. To stay upright, she fumbled for the back of the couch. She felt so horridly lost and confused. Tonight she’d been through a storm to rival the hurricane that destroyed Gervaise’s fortune. She’d jolted from ecstasy to betrayal and anguish.
And now this, the ultimate shock.
In all their time together, she’d never imagined him saying such a thing to her.
Did he mean it? Could she trust him? Her gaze clung to that austere, perfect face. He looked desperately unhappy, and a muscle flickered in his cheek. He gave every appearance of a man on the emotional edge.
Was that because he was about to lose Amy Mowbray? Or Amy Mowbray’s substantial fortune?
“That’s easy to say,” she said sharply.
His smile was sour. “No, it isn’t. And the devil of it is I mean it to my soul, yet you’ll never believe it’s true.”
Still she studied him, her vision at last free of the deceiving veils of glamour and girlhood fantasy. For the first time, his extraordinary looks weren’t what captured her attention. Instead she finally saw the fallible man beneath his superb shell.
So where did that leave her? Did fallible mean irredeemable? Or was there a whisper of goodness skulking under his spectacular hide?
For the last few weeks, desire had steered her usually reliable brain. But now, she started to think. She needed to winnow the truth from the lies. If there was any truth there at all. “Why didn’t you tell me about your estate?”
He sighed. “Because you doubted yourself so completely, you’d immediately assume the only reason I pursued you was for your money. And that’s exactly what’s happened, damn it.”
To her surprise, as she witnessed what looked like genuine distress, part of her suspected he wasn’t entirely false. At least not all the time. “After tonight, I think a tiny corner of you holds some honest regard for me.”
He cast her an astonished glance. “Really?”
She shrugged and dared to take a step toward him. “Apparently my affair with the much sought-after Lord Pascal has done wonders for my confidence.”
He frowned, as if seeking some hidden attack in her words. “But how the devil can I ever convince you I don’t want your money?”
“I thought you did want it.”
His smile was grim. “I do. But not as much as I want you.”
She almost—a
lmost—believed him. “We could put it in trust for our children.”
He looked brighter. “We could. That’s an excellent idea. We might have to live quietly in the country for a couple of years. Watch our pennies. Do the urgent tasks first, and leave the rest until we can afford it. I’m sure if we make some economies on the estate, we’ll manage.”
“We could work something out, that’s certain.”
“Amy?” Gervaise regarded her as if he still didn’t trust what she said. He’d been so sunk in self-hatred and misery, she couldn’t blame him.
“And you’re marrying a woman famous for her scientific approach to farming. Once I get my hands on it, your estate will be a showplace in no time.”
The flare of hope in his eyes set her heart racing and skipping and jumping. She sent up a tiny, urgent prayer. Dear Lord, don’t let this be another trick.