Beyond Seduction (Bastion Club 6)

As they circled one female—one frustrating, stubborn, when it came to herself blind Valkyrie he was one step away from forcibly seizing and carrying off to his bed. And keeping her there until she agreed to marry him forthwith.

Even now, hours after the fact, he was still grappling with the frustration that had gripped him when he’d realized the direction of her thoughts. Lady Hardesty’s blindness—which would have made Madeline’s more understandable except that they lived in deepest Cornwall, not London—and the insult the group had, albeit unintentionally, handed her, had made him see red. Literally. He was still amazed he’d handled the moment with passable civility. “Civil” wasn’t how he’d been feeling.

But then to discover that she had still not grasped the notion that she was the lady best suited to be his wife, that she still saw herself as a passing fancy, a local lady he’d seduced to be his mistress for the summer, had all but shredded his control.

He’d felt distinctly violent in that moment on the dance floor, then even more so when on the beach she’d confirmed her complete lack of comprehension of all he’d spent the last weeks trying to show her. To demonstrate to her, because actions spoke so much louder than words.

In her case, not even actions had sufficed; she’d thought her way around them, rationalized them—had made them fit her entrenched view that she was not the lady who would be his countess.

But she was. His jaw clenched; he tried not to let his grim determination seep into his expression—no need to scare the other travelers on the road.

Regardless of her willful stance, she was the one, the lady who would, as he’d informed her, warm his big bed at the castle for the rest of his life.

In

the face of her determined refusal to see, he’d jettisoned his careful approach and told her the blunt truth—not solely so he could more openly forge ahead with his campaign to win her, but equally in response to her question of how long he would remain in the country—how long he would remain with her—and the vulnerability he’d sensed behind it.

He didn’t know if she loved him as yet, but he suspected she was at least close to it. That realization had been the only bright moment, one moment of blessed relief among the other, less happy revelations of the night.

So now she was at least thinking of him and her in the appropriate way, and considering agreeing to marry him. He hadn’t exactly proposed; he inwardly winced as he recalled what he’d said, how he’d put it. But at least she now knew how he felt, how he saw her.

Of that, at least, she could no longer harbor any doubt.

Unbidden, his mind ranged ahead, to their wedding—he assumed it would be at the church at Ruan Minor. That seemed likely; both their families were part of that congregation. He knew the church well, could imagine himself standing before the ancient altar, could imagine turning and seeing her, walking up the aisle to his side…

Crusader jerked his head, jerking Gervase from his dream. He realized; frustrated irritation swamped him. “Good God! Now I’m fantasizing.” His sisters would laugh themselves into fits. It hadn’t even been the wedding night he’d been fantasizing about.

“First things first,” he muttered beneath his breath. How to get her to agree.

Slowing Crusader to a walk as the first cottages neared, he considered what he could do, what ammunition he had. He could bring in the heavy artillery and recruit her brothers…or unleash his sisters, Sybil and even Muriel; he was sure they’d all be happy to fight for his cause.

If she proved obdurate, and he got seriously desperate, such actions were an option. However…he grimaced; trying to understand women in general was hard enough, but trying to understand her…

Instinct was all he had to guide him, and that urged him to give her at least a little time—time enough to see and accept his constancy, that he was determined, had been from the first and wasn’t about to lose interest and change his mind, much less draw back. For someone of her character, her particular traits, convincing her of that would be half his battle—and something he would need to achieve on his own.

How?

Visions of stocking the boathouse with flowers, of arranging to have a rose on her pillow every night, of learning what she most craved—new novels, the latest music sheets, what else?—and getting those things for her, all the usual things a gentleman might do to assure a lady of his affection, danced through his mind, but none of those actions would work, not with her.

They might even make her suspicious of him and his motives.

In the battlefield terms with which he was most familiar, he needed to make his point more forcefully, not simply nip at her cavalry’s heels. He needed some more powerful and definite way to make a statement.

Cobbles rang beneath Crusader’s hooves as the town closed around them. Setting aside his mental quest for some suitably dramatic action, Gervase straightened in the saddle and refocused his mind on his immediate objective.

He knew the town well, and many there knew him. Passing the town hall, he turned down Market Street and headed for Custom Quay. His first port of call would be the harbormaster’s office.

The early afternoon found Madeline in the arbor, sitting on one side bench studying the daisy she held in her fingers. She was tempted to try the “he loves me, he loves me not” test—it seemed as likely to yield an answer as any of the other approaches she’d thought of; despite her earlier efforts to clear her mind, she’d accomplished very little that day.

Sighing, she sat back and surrendered—gave her mind up to the topic that despite her best efforts had dominated her thoughts. Perhaps examining the pros and cons of marrying Gervase might shed some light.

The benefits were easy to enumerate—being the countess of a wealthy earl was nothing to sneeze at, being the mistress of his castle, the social position, the local status, even being closer to his family—his sisters and Sybil—all those elements spoke to her, attracted her.

And when it came to her brothers, he was the only man she’d ever met whom she trusted—had instinctively trusted from the first—to guide and steer them in the ways she couldn’t. To understand them as she did, and join with her in protecting them as needed.

Lots of benefits. But she could see the difficulties, too. They were harder to put into words, but were nonetheless real. Most derived from the fact she’d initially identified, one he hadn’t attempted to deny. They were very alike. Both were accustomed to being in control of their world, and largely in command of it.

If, for each of them, the other became a major part of their world…what then? Both of them had managed largely alone for all their adult lives. Finding the ways to share command at their respective ages—to accommodate another as strong as they themselves were—would not be an easy task.