Pursuing Lord Pascal (9 page)

“It shouldn’t be. And you passed with high
marks. You haven’t even tried to kiss me.”

His smile was rueful. “I’ve thought about
it.”

So had she. Last night’s kisses had been so
delightful, she could barely resist asking for more. And that way
lay madness and ruin.

He shot her a sideways look. “Are you going
to let me escort you to the opera?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps in a dark opera box, I can persuade
you to break a rule or two.”

“Sally and Meg are coming, too. And I believe
Meg has invited Sir Brandon Deerham.”

Pascal’s sigh was theatrical in its glumness.
“You have a cruel streak.”

Surreptitiously she studied him as they
strolled along the path. He looked more resigned than angry. She
knew she tested him, which was the whole point, really. “You must
think I’m unhinged when it’s perfectly clear we’re…attracted.”

Talking about his childhood, a pall had
fallen over his brightness. She could see he felt much more
comfortable with flirtatious nonsense. “We are?”

“Of course we are.”

His eyes glinted. “That gives me hope.”

She snorted. “As if you don’t know how
dazzling you are.”

The brief cheerfulness faded. “Oh.”

Curse it. She’d been doing such a fine job of
restoring his spirits, but now she put her foot in it. When she’d
promised not to.

“Not just because of your blasted looks,” she
said with a hint of impatience. “I like you. Or haven’t you
realized that yet?”

He stopped so abruptly that her hand slipped
free. “You do?”

“If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t consider
your proposal,” she said, puzzled that this seemed to be news.

“So you are considering it?”

“Yes,” she admitted, then wondered if she
confessed too much.

His gaze intensified. “Then let me take you
to bed.”

When she burst out laughing, he looked
offended. “What’s so funny?”

“You are. You need to court me for more than
an afternoon.”

“Why?” He spread his hands, the picture of
masculine bewilderment. “You like me. I like you—very much. There’s
enough heat between us to melt Greenland. We owe nobody allegiance.
Stop teasing me.”

His indignant outburst frightened the ducks
off the water once again. They took off in a flurry of quacking and
splashing and flapping wings.

Amy shook her head, as some foolhardy part of
her longed to say yes. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple. It’s the inescapable
imperative of desire.”

“Which promises to become very complicated
indeed.”

He exhaled with frustration. “You want me. I
want you. What else do we need to worry about?”

Her lips tightened. He was a clever man. He
understood her qualms, even if he claimed he didn’t. “For a start,
I’m not sure I want to marry again. I came to London to keep
Morwenna company, not to find a new husband.”

He sliced the air with his hand. “Then be my
lover.”

She shook her head again. “I’ve never taken a
lover.”

“How long have you been widowed?”

“Five years.”

“And no glimmer of temptation?”

After his honesty with her, when it was
obvious he’d rather have his liver dug out with a pitchfork, she
could hardly tell him it was none of his business. She dared to
share the embarrassing truth. “I’ve never been tempted.”

“To take a lover?”

“To want to do…that.”

He looked shocked. She could hardly blame
him. “But you said you once had a penchant for me.”

She made a dismissive sound. “That was
childish stuff. I doubt I thought much beyond dancing with you.
You’re…talking about a different world.”

He looked thoughtful. “But what about your
husband?”

“Wilfred was forty years older than me.”

Good God, that was a whole lifetime. “He
wasn’t capable?” He sucked in an audible breath. “You’re not saying
you’re a virgin?”

She was blushing. “No, I’m not a virgin.”

“But you’ve never felt desire.” Pascal spoke
slowly, as if coming to terms with her confession.

“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me.” Which was
ironic, considering how she’d wanted to smother him in compassion
not long ago.

Anger lit Pascal’s eyes to blue flame. “Did
he hurt you?”

“No,” she said, appalled that he should think
that. “Of course not.”

“There’s no of course about it,” Pascal said
grimly, taking her hand. When she jumped, he gave an unamused
laugh. “Don’t worry. I won’t try my luck. But this is important,
and I don’t want to be driving back to London and juggling horses
and traffic while you tell me the whole story.”

“I’m not sure I want to tell you the whole
story,” she said grumpily, resisting as he drew her toward a wooden
bench beside the path.

“Too bad. If you can listen to me whine about
my parents, you can give me chapter and verse on your disastrous
marriage.”

“You didn’t whine. And my marriage wasn’t
disastrous.”

“Convince me,” he said in a mild tone. He
placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing until she sat.

“Why should I?” she said in a sulky
voice.

He sat beside her, stretching his powerful
legs in front of him. “Because you insisted we get to know one
another.” His tone softened. “Tell me, Amy.”

Pascal heard Amy sigh as she stared across
the grass to the water. After what felt like a long time, she
turned to him. “I was eighteen when I married Sir Wilfred
Mowbray.”

“And long over your
tendre
for that
popinjay Gervaise Dacre.”

Pascal hoped his gentle teasing would ease
her strain. This sharing of confidences was a devilish
uncomfortable pastime.

“Oh, that was ancient history by then.”

“Did you love your husband?”

She still stared at the ponds, silvery in the
fading light. “I loved his herd of Hereford cattle.”

Pascal gave a low laugh. “Is that why you
married him?”

“That’s what I tell people.” She fiddled with
the yellow ribbons tying her pretty straw bonnet under her pointed
chin. Amy wasn’t a fidgety woman. It was one of the many things he
liked about her. But he didn’t need the evidence of her
restlessness to see that she hated speaking of her marriage.

Was he cruel to make her continue? Satisfying
idle curiosity?

Except he was desperate to understand her,
which to his shame, was something he’d rarely said about a lover.
Somewhere Amy had changed from a means to an end, however
appealing, to someone he cared about.

“But it’s not the whole truth?” He caught her
hand and brought it down to rest in her lap.

“No. Not the whole truth,” she said in a
hollow tone. To his regret, she slid her hand free.

“Will you tell me?”

Grim humor flattened her lush lips. “I have a
horrible feeling I just might.”

“You can trust me, you know.” He meant
it.

She leveled a considering gaze on him, hazel
eyes somber and piercingly intelligent. After a pause, she sighed
again, and her slender shoulders slumped in mute acquiescence.
“Growing up, I never had much interest in the things most girls
like. Dresses and dances.”

“No boys?”

She stared down into her lap. “Not the ones
my age anyway. They seemed so trite and childish. Probably because
the men I worked with on the estate had skills and purpose. I’d run
Woodley Park since I was sixteen. That suited everyone. Silas could
pursue his botanical work, and I could try out my ideas for
improving profitability.”

“Most successfully, I gather.” She couldn’t
have been much older than sixteen when she published her first
article on animal husbandry. Even for the clever Nash family, she
was a prodigy.

“Yes, I had some luck.”

She was too modest, but he let it pass. “So
what happened?”

“Silas got married.”

“To Caro Beaumont.” Pascal had fond memories
of his brief flirtation with the lovely widow, but from the first,
Silas Nash had been her choice. “Don’t you like her?”

“Of course I do. She’s a darling, and she’s
made him so happy,” Amy said emphatically. “But they came back to
live at Woodley Park.”

“All that marital bliss made you feel de
trop?”

“You understand.” The restless hand began to
pleat her dark green skirts.

“I can guess.”

“Then not long afterward, Helena married Lord
West. They didn’t live with us, but they visited. Often.” She spoke
the last word as if she accused them of murder.

A huff of sympathetic amusement escaped
Pascal. “Even more wedded bliss?”

She cast him a grateful glance. “Exactly. And
Robert was away in the navy. Don’t misunderstand. I was—I
am—delighted for my brother and sister. They both deserve their
happy endings, especially Helena, whose first husband was that
swine Lord Crewe.”

“But you were on the outside—and worse, with
the master in residence, you no longer had free rein with the
estate.”

“Yes,” she said, and this time, when he took
her hand, she curled her gloved fingers around his.

“Enter Sir Wilfred Mowbray.”

“Actually Wilfred had always been there. He
was a neighbor, and he taught me many things I later tried at
Woodley. He was a brilliant farmer, a real pioneer.” Her voice
expressed genuine admiration.

“Gad, that would set any young girl’s heart
fluttering.”

His sarcasm raised a faint smile. “This young
girl, anyway. Everyone thought Wilfred was a lifelong bachelor, but
when he proposed and promised that together we’d build the finest
herd of beef cattle in England, it seemed the ideal solution. I’d
have a purpose and a home of my own—and Silas and Caro could settle
into Woodley without my interference.”

The bench was deuced hard on his arse, but
Pascal didn’t dare move and risk the flow of confidences.
“Convenient all round.”

Amy cast him a doubtful look. “I’m sure that
all this strikes you as extremely banal.”

He shook his head. This glimpse into what
made her such a remarkable woman was fascinating. “No. But I think
you deserved better than you got, even throwing the prize cattle
into the mix. You don’t mention love.”

Astonishment widened her eyes. “I didn’t know
you were a romantic, Pascal.”

His heart leaped when she used the familiar
name without appending the formal title. He’d buy her a county full
of damned Herefords if she called him Gervaise.

“I didn’t either. What a discovery,” he said
calmly, wondering what she’d say if he confessed that she’d made
him so. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“I promise,” she said with a laugh.

“A girl should be giddy with happiness when
she gets married, especially a pretty chit like you. Your
engagement sounds like a business contract.”

She shrugged, unoffended. “But that’s what it
was. Wilfred and I were friends. Good friends. I hoped that was
enough to go on with.”

When she tried to pull away, Pascal held onto
her hand. “No passion?”

“No passion. You’re the first man to…” She
broke off, watching the water birds scooting about the ponds.

“Go on.”

“No, not now.”

Of course she didn’t need to explain. The
first time he kissed her, he’d recognized her lack of experience.
And her fervent response. “So the wedding night wasn’t full of
fireworks?”

Amy bent so her bonnet hid her face. “I can’t
talk about that.”

Pascal smiled down at her. “Don’t stop now,
when you’re getting to the good stuff.”

She lifted her head, eyes sparking green with
anger. “You’re very good at wheedling confidences out of people.
I’ve never discussed this with anyone.”

He’d wager that was true, given the way she
forced out every word. “I’m guessing Wilfred did his duty, but
neither of you fell under pleasure’s spell.”

“Wilfred wasn’t much interested,” she said,
then continued in a whisper. “Neither was I.”

Hell. What a bloody tragic waste. Pascal
swore that when he got Amy into bed—and surely that was only a
matter of time—he’d make up for all the arid years. “Poor sod.”

She frowned. “I told you not to feel sorry
for me.”

“I’m talking about Wilfred. He had a gorgeous
young bride with fire in her blood, and he didn’t know enough to
take advantage of his extraordinary luck.”

“I’m sure he’d never been interested.” Her
voice was so low that Pascal had to lean closer to hear. “He told
me he was an innocent, too, when we married.”

And no doubt once the long-delayed occasion
arrived to prove his manhood, he made a complete shambles of the
act. “No wonder you’re so skittish.”

Amy cast him a displeased glance. “I’m not
skittish.”

His silence spoke volumes, and eventually she
sighed. “Well, perhaps a little.”

“Things with Wilfred didn’t improve?”

She looked less hunted. “We did marvelous
work on his herd.”

He folded his arms. “You’re avoiding the
question.”

“Can you blame me?” A flush marked her
cheeks. Through her awkward recital, her color had come and gone.
Pascal admired her bravery in telling him even as much as she did.
He could see it was an ordeal.

“No. But I need to know who you are.”

A line appeared between her marked brown
eyebrows. “That’s a powerful thing for a man to say to a woman. I
hope you mean it.”

“I do.” It was a vow, whether she
acknowledged it or not. Around them the day drew to a close. Rooks
cawed monotonously from the trees behind him, and the starlings
flew in to set up their twilight racket.

She sighed and stiffened her back, gathering
courage to finish the story. “His attentions weren’t…onerous. And
when his health began to fail, we had other things to worry
about.”

Sadder and sadder. “That must have been
difficult.”

“It was.” Her relief at shifting the
discussion away from the bedroom was palpable. “I was very fond of
Wilfred. He taught me a lot.”