Pursuing Lord Pascal (Dashing Widows 4)

He’d lied to her. That was irrefutable. But did that mean everything was lies?

Her brain had come to her rescue, thank heaven. And reminded her of what she and Gervaise had shared.

While his motives had undeniably been murky, Amy couldn’t dismiss all his actions as callous self-interest. She remembered how desperate he’d been for her, and how careful when he’d taken her. And how desolate he’d looked when he thought he’d lost her.

She remembered, too, how amiably he’d devoted a day to tramping around Sir Godfrey Yelland’s muddy farm, just because she wanted to look at cattle. She remembered his kindness and his humor. And how he’d entrusted her with the sad story of his childhood, when it was clear the humiliating details left his pride in tatters.

She remembered the times—until tonight when he’d been mad for her—he’d protected her from conceiving. When a pregnancy was the quickest, surest way to gain her consent to a wedding.

She remembered how mad he’d been for her tonight.

Gervaise’s stare was unwavering, as if he was a condemned man, and only she could save him from a hanging.

“The tragic truth is that’s why I want to marry you—all that free advice.” He struggled to achieve his usual sardonic note. It was a little too threadbare to be convincing. But the small, dry joke hinted that he crawled out of his despair.

She prayed that he really was in despair, and this wasn’t more deception. But some bone-deep instinct insisted that he wouldn’t betray her again. That he might have started out after her fortune, but against all the odds, now he really did love her.

He loved her.

Was she prepared to take the greatest risk of her life? By now, she should be used to this giddy mixture of dread and excitement. She’d felt this way since the day she met him again.

“You know, if you’d offered me the chance to bring an ailing estate back to prosperity, I’d have married you when you first proposed.”

“I’ll remember that for the next time I find a woman I want to make my wife.”

Although it was cursed difficult to look stern when a chorus of larks trilled in her soul, she summoned a frown. “You’d better not, or there will be trouble.”

“Why?”

Amy decided that in the end, all she could do was trust her heart. Her brain would take her so far, but it wouldn’t give her the courage to seize the future she wanted. A future with Gervaise at her side.

She stood straight and tall and met his eyes. “Because the only woman you’re going to marry is right in front of you.”

Incredulity flooded his face, then swift, overwhelming relief that filled her with thankfulness. They might just pull through this crisis and find their way back to one another.

In breathless suspense, she waited for him to sweep her up and tell her how happy he was, but he folded his arms and studied her down his aristocratic nose. “Why?”

Her lips twitched, when not long ago, she thought she’d never smile again. “Because after you’ve played reckless games with my heart and honor, you deserve to suffer.”

“Amy,” he said implacably. The glittering brightness of his eyes spoiled the effect a tad. She read hope in his expression, but he wasn’t yet ready to trust that he’d won.

“Because I want to devote my fortune to restoring yours.”

He shook his head in disapproval. “I told you—I don’t want your blasted money. If I take it, you’ll never trust me. I’d rather have you.”

“You’ll have me.”

Still he didn’t relent. “Then let me put it another way. I’d rather have your love. Do you love me?”

She caught a glimpse of the aching vulnerability beneath his masterful pose, and all impulse to tease faded. Because of course she loved him. She’d loved him since she was a silly fourteen-year-old at Woodley Park.

There had been enough secrets between them. Secrets had nearly torn them apart.

Amy squared her shoulders and sucked in a deep breath. “Yes.”

Joy flared in his eyes, but still he didn’t kiss her. What the devil was wrong with him? “I didn’t hear you.”

She stepped closer. “Yes,” she said more loudly.