Page 27 of Pursuing Lord Pascal
“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 youdeserved 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.”
