Page 54 of Pursuing Lord Pascal
His self-loathing sharpened to agony. She’d be better off if he had cut his throat after the Raynor ball. Over the last weeks, he’d loved watching as her confidence blossomed. Now he’d destroyed it. What a bastard he was.
And still he had to finish this deuced excruciating account. “I remember saying to myself, after yet another soporific conversation with Miss Veivers, that I’d sell my soul for a sensible woman past first youth who had the money to restore my lands.”
“And your prayers were answered,” she said bitterly. “Although I wouldn’t describe my recent behavior as sensible.”
He sighed. “It’s my damned selfishness. All my life, what I’ve wanted has dropped into my lap. Often I haven’t even taken the trouble to ask for it. When I saw you, and you were so exactly the right wife for me, I assumed ever-reliable fate operated once more to my advantage.”
“Lucky you.”
He winced at her sarcasm. “No. All that good fortune made me shallow.”
Her restive hands pleated her skirts. Part of him wished she’d just hit him. She’d feel better if she unleashed the turmoil roiling beneath her unnatural composure.
“Not…shallow,” she said slowly. “Thoughtless perhaps.”
“That’s not much better.” The need to take her hand in his was torture. Hell, everything right now was torture.
She was still pale as rice paper. He beat back the memory of how she’d looked after he’d taken her. Rosy with satisfaction. Brilliant with happiness. He couldn’t endure the contrast with this sad woman beside him now.
“So your plan came to fruition. You saw me, and lured me in, and had your way with me.” Vinegar crept into her voice. “I should have guessed a man like you wouldn’t pursue a woman like me without some underlying motive.”
“Amy, no,” he protested, and this time he couldn’t resist seizing her fretful hand. “One of the reasons I delayed telling you is that I knew this is what you’d think. But you’re wrong.”
She wrenched free, and he had to let her go. “No, I’m not.”
“You are.”
The hard-eyed gaze she settled on him penetrated his deceptively appealing exterior to the shameful sins beneath. “Prove it.”
He should be grateful she gave him a chance to explain, although he was all too conscious that words were inadequate to heal the injury he’d done her. But words were all that were left to him. He’d have to do his best. He owed her any recompense he could make. Even if none of it was enough.
Drawing a shaky breath, Pascal faced up to the disaster he’d made of the most important relationship in his useless life.
He’d always skated by on charm and looks. It had been enough for everyone else he knew. It wasn’t good enough for Amy.
“I liked you from the first. You must believe that. You were clever and interesting, and you didn’t make cow eyes at me or giggle.”
“I should hope not.”
“And you were so lovely—and unaware of your attractions, which made you even more appealing.”
“Because I was ripe for duping?”
Hell, she was a million miles from forgiving him. He reached a point where her forgiveness was all he hoped for—with no great optimism that he’d receive it. His machinations had put anything more forever out of reach. Knowing it was his own fault that he reached this impasse made him want to smash his fist through a window.
“No. Because I live in a world of appearances and lies, and you’re so rare and true. How in Hades could I resist you?”
He waited for Amy to challenge that statement, but she remained silent. He forced himself to go on. “In my conceit, I thought you were drawn to me, the way I was drawn to you.”
“Well, I kissed you when we weren’t much beyond strangers.” The shame in her voice made him flinch. “What else would you think?”
“What I thought was that I was in trouble. Even that first night, my self-serving plan was under threat. You made me feel things I’d never felt before. I should have taken to my heels then and there. But already I was enchanted.”
“With my fortune.”
“No, with you. With your quirky humor, and lovely face, and quick passion.” He paused. “And your lonely, steadfast heart.”
It was her turn to flinch. For the first time, she looked away from him. “I refuse to discuss my lonely, steadfast heart.”
