Page 55 of Pursuing Lord Pascal
“But don’t you see?” He jerked to his feet. He couldn’t sit beside her any longer without hauling her into his arms. “I’ve been lonely, too.”
“You?” She stared up at him with blatant disbelief.
Good God, she stripped his black soul bare. “London’s handsomest man doesn’t have friends. He has admirers.”
“Oh, Gervaise…”
Pascal recoiled from the pity in her eyes and ran a shaking hand through his hair. “But you didn’t tumble into my arms like every other woman I’ve ever wanted.” He drew himself up to his full height, as if he faced an executioner. In terms of his future happiness, he supposed he did. “You made me work for my victory. You made me prove myself. I learned to respect you.”
“Then I tumbled anyway. So much for respect.”
“Don’t be a fool, Amy,” he said shortly. “I’ve never been so happy in my life as I’ve been this last fortnight with you.”
She still studied him as if she weighed every word. She weighed his soul, too. He suffered the wretched certainty that his soul came up lacking. “You almost sound as if you mean that.”
He made a frustrated gesture. “Of course I bloody mean it.”
“So what are you saying?” She stood up too, more circumspectly than he had. “That you started this pursuit to gain my fortune, but you’ve since developed a genuine affection for me?”
His grunt of laughter held no amusement. “Oh, my darling, it’s much, much worse than that.”
He watched her prepare for another blow. “You’ve told me most of it. You may as well tell me everything.”
Sheer terror cramped his gut. His skin itched. Right now, he’d give every penny of his depleted fortune to avoid the last, most painful confession. This situation called for a man of character—and he’d never been that.
But he had to go on, whatever happened next.
His voice emerged as a growl. “I don’t just like and respect and desire you. I don’t just want to be your friend and your lover.”
“No, you want to be my banker,” she retorted.
He ignored her astringent interjection, too busy summoning every ragtag shred of courage to make the last, humiliating revelation. “I’ve fallen head over heels with you, Amy. My life without you will be a barren waste.” Then he spoke words he’d never said before, words he never thought he’d say to anyone. “I love you.”
* * *
Aghast, Amy retreated until her legs bumped the couch. Her knees felt weak and shaky. To stay upright, she fumbled for the back of the couch. She felt so horridly lost and confused. Tonight she’d been through a storm to rival the hurricane that destroyed Gervaise’s fortune. She’d jolted from ecstasy to betrayal and anguish.
And now this, the ultimate shock.
In all their time together, she’d never imagined him saying such a thing to her.
Did he mean it? Could she trust him? Her gaze clung to that austere, perfect face. He looked desperately unhappy, and a muscle flickered in his cheek. He gave every appearance of a man on the emotional edge.
Was that because he was about to lose Amy Mowbray? Or Amy Mowbray’s substantial fortune?
“That’s easy to say,” she said sharply.
His smile was sour. “No, it isn’t. And the devil of it is I mean it to my soul, yet you’ll never believe it’s true.”
Still she studied him, her vision at last free of the deceiving veils of glamour and girlhood fantasy. For the first time, his extraordinary looks weren’t what captured her attention. Instead she finally saw the fallible man beneath his superb shell.
So where did that leave her? Did fallible mean irredeemable? Or was there a whisper of goodness skulking under his spectacular hide?
For the last few weeks, desire had steered her usually reliable brain. But now, she started to think. She needed to winnow the truth from the lies. If there was any truth there at all. “Why didn’t you tell me about your estate?”
He sighed. “Because you doubted yourself so completely, you’d immediately assume the only reason I pursued you was for your money. And that’s exactly what’s happened, damn it.”
To her surprise, as she witnessed what looked like genuine distress, part of her suspected he wasn’t entirely false. At least not all the time. “After tonight, I think a tiny corner of you holds some honest regard for me.”
