Page 22 of Pursuing Lord Pascal
“Ah, that would be telling.”
He gave a longsuffering sigh. “Did you tell them I kissed you?”
“No. I said we went for a walk in the garden and forgot the time.”
She knew Sally hadn’t believed her, and there had been sly amusement in her eyes when she’d waved them off on today’s drive. Sally probably imagined they were kissing now.
Unfortunately, Pascal had been the complete gentleman. Amy hadn’t been sure he’d stick to her rules, but so far, he’d only touched her to help her into the carriage. His obedience to her strictures should please her. Instead, it left her restless and longing.
And sharing this blasted narrow seat wasn’t helping matters.
“If she swallowed that, she’s not as sharp as I think she is. Did you tell her I want to marry you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Now, that was an excellent question, and one Amy wasn’t able to answer. Was she still unconvinced that Lord Pascal wanted her? Were her feelings too turbulent and confused for mere words to express?
She didn’t know. And tossing and turning for hours last night hadn’t clarified matters. “Can we talk about something else? Tell me about your life.”
A grunt of laughter escaped him. “I want you to stay awake.”
“I did have a very late night.” The embarrassing truth was that she was avid to find out about him. “Come, Pascal. I’m all ears.”
He stared at the horses. “I was born.”
“A good start.”
He ignored her interjection. “The family estates are in Northumberland, up near the Scottish border.”
“Brrr. So cold.”
Again he ignored her. “I grew up. I scraped through a university degree. I entered society. I’d categorize my role since then as decorative but useless, although it’s hard to regret much when I’ve so thoroughly enjoyed myself.”
“And a host of women,” she muttered.
He cast her a sideways glance, the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes. “Your jealousy only encourages my ambitions.”
“Is that it?” she asked, when for a long while, the only sounds were the creak of the carriage and the rhythmic clop of the bays’ hooves.
He turned the curricle off the road toward a string of ponds sparkling in the bright sunlight. The carriage bounced and jolted across the grass, and Amy fought the urge to cling to Pascal to keep her balance. Instead, she curled her gloved hand over the brass rail beside the seat. And wished it was a firm male arm.
“I’m what you see. Healthy. Unmarried. No unusual vices, if too many of the usual ones. Now tell me about you.”
Her lips lengthened in disapproval. “Not yet. Do you have brothers and sisters?”
He pulled his team up on a grassy bank, set the brake, and leaped down. At their arrival, ducks and geese on the pond took noisy flight. “You really want to know?”
“I really want to know.”
He came around the horses’ heads and helped her down. “Very well.”
“Go on,” she said, and because he’d behaved all afternoon—something she had no right to resent—she let him tuck her hand into the crook of his arm. His warmth seeped into her, inevitably reminding her of kissing him last night. How contrary was sheto want that again, when she was the one who forbade physical contact?
“No brothers and sisters.” He started along the earthen path beside the water, matching his long stride to her shorter one. The fine weather meant the ground underfoot was mercifully dry. “My mother was a great beauty, but an inconstant wife. She soon decided Northumberland was too dull to be borne and fled back to London, while my father, who was a countryman at heart, stayed at home with his sheep.”
“Sheep can be wonderful company,” Amy said, as she sifted what he said.
