Page 30 of Pursuing Lord Pascal
He sensed he was missing something. “You returned the diamond bracelet I gave you last week.”
Her glance was disapproving. “That was a totally inappropriate gift for this stage of our acquaintance.”
He still had the bracelet tucked away in the drawer of his desk. He hoped the day would soon arrive when it was no longer inappropriate—because Amy had stooped to some inappropriateness of her own. But that day wasn’t now. Sometimes he gloomily wondered whether the day would ever arrive.
“It’s a highly respectable gift. The bracelet belonged to my grandmother.”
How he’d love to shower Amy with jewelry. Emeralds set in gold to match her changeable eyes. Pearls to shine white against her creamy skin. Rubies to symbolize this passion that never gave him a moment’s rest.
But when he’d set out to buy her something sparkly from Rundell, Bridge & Rundell, his usually cooperative conscience had shrieked. The amount he spent on a pretty bauble would pay to reroof half the cottages on his estate.
“It was lovely.” He caught a momentary softening at the mention of his grandmother, before she firmed that delicate jaw in a regrettably familiar fashion. “But you know I couldn’t accept it.”
“You can’t blame a man for trying,” he said ruefully. “That’s why I went back to flowers and bonbons.”
“And lovely they’ve been.”
He frowned. “You don’t sound as if you like them.”
Her expression thoughtful, she stared over his shoulder as he twirled her around the floor in time to the lilting music. “I said I do.”
“But?”
She gave a heavy sigh that he felt as much as heard. “It’s just…”
When he didn’t fill the silence, she reluctantly went on. “It’s just I can’t help feeling that I’m in receipt of your standard mistress-catching set.”
What the devil? He was torn between offense and laughter. “My standard mistress-catching set?”
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
Unfortunately he had a fair idea, and he had to admit her accusation was justified. A little. “Tell me.”
Another of those heavy sighs. “You decide to seduce a woman, so you bombard her with flowers and delicacies and gewgaws, the way you always do.”
“But I mean it when I give you presents,” he said, cringing at how weak that sounded.
She looked unimpressed. “I’m sure you meant it with the others—or at least you intended them to think so. Tell me, Pascal, have you ever offered anything except flowers and delicacies and gewgaws to a woman you want?”
He frowned, loathing how right she was. “Not since I came to London. There was a milkmaid I fell madly in love with when I was twelve. I gave her my best fishing rod.”
She smiled dutifully, and he loathed that, too. “I hope she caught a trout or two, and you shared a romantic outdoor dinner.”
“No, the faithless chit kept the fishing rod, while throwing me over for the plowboy. Since then, I’ve stuck to the usual tributes.” He struggled to maintain his light tone. “Although ifthe battle looks lost, I’ve been known to produce a puppy. You’d be astonished how much sin a puppy can inspire.”
Amy gave a short laugh, half-shocked. “You’re a terrible man.”
He whirled her around to avoid bumping into Sir Charles Kinglake and Sally. “You know that.”
“I do.” She paused. “I like puppies, but I really can’t take one on, when Sally’s putting me up.”
“Pity.” He’d already considered and dismissed including a kitten or a dog in the avalanche of pretty gifts. “So no more flowers?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you’d like me to put a little more imagination into my wooing?”
“I’d like to feel that you’re trying to win Amy Mowbray, not some generic woman lined up to become your hundredth mistress.”
