Page 51 of Where the Heart Leads
The small parlor she led him to was, as she’d intimated, perfect for private conversation. Perfect for seduction.
After that astonishing kiss that afternoon, he would, he felt, have been entirely justified in imagining that she, typically, was taking the lead in organizing for further exploration along those lines.
Of course, he wasn’t that stupid.
Given the way she’d drawn back—so abruptly he’d felt as if she’d hauled on a brake—and then immediately fallen to thinking far too hard, as he closed the parlor door he wasn’t imagining that she would turn, smile, and walk into his arms.
Halting in the center of the room, she swung to face him, head high, her hands clasped before her.
Her gaze as ever unflinchingly direct, she met his eyes. “I wish to make clear to you that, in the matter of the embrace we shared this afternoon, while I accept that you acted in response to remarks of mine which you clearly saw as goading, and I was equally clearly at fault in my reading of your motives—for which I unreservedly apologize—such an embrace cannot be permitted to occur again.”
She drew breath and, chin tilting even higher, continued with her obviously rehearsed speech. “As you know, I came to you for help in rescuing four missing boys, and my devotion is first and always to that task. In order to succeed, you and I must work together, side by side, and neither of us I’m sure would want personal awkwardness to interfere with that work.”
Still by the door, he arched a brow at her. “Personal awkwardness?”
Her eyes glinted with latent temper. “As would necessarily ensue should you pursue me, givenIdo not wish to develop any more personal relationship with you.”
He studied her for a long moment, then mildly said, “I see.” He’d been curious to learn what tack she would take. He’d spent hours trying to speculate, but had eventually decided to let her surprise him. And she had. She’d been both more honest and more pigheaded than he’d expected.
Not that the former was going to help her adhere to the latter, even if, as he now suspected, she wouldn’t hesitate to use gentlemanly honor as a weapon to force him to keep his distance.
Much good would such a ploy do her. After that kiss, after all it had revealed, given his current status vis-à-vis her, he doubted there was much in this world that could readily turn him from his path.
He strolled the few steps to stand before her. He studied her eyes. “And if I don’t agree?”
She frowned. “There can be no benefit to you in pursuing any personal relationship with me—I would have thought that was obvious. I amnotlooking for marriage, for a husband to ensure a roof over my head—something I can well afford on my own—but into whose keeping I would pass, giving him the right to restrict and control me.”
He could appreciate her point. Doing so, however, wasn’t going to deter him.
Of his direction with her he no longer harbored the slightest doubt. It wasn’t what he would have predicted—or even chosen had he had any choice, but as he didn’t…
Indeed, he still did not fully comprehend how so much had changed simply because she’d walked into his life. He even saw the ton differently, as if she’d opened his eyes. Walking into Lady Carlyle’s drawing room, he’d seen himself with respect to the exalted circle into which he’d been born in a way he never had before.
He was both a part of it, yet not. Despite his protestations he was, still, the man his mother wanted him to be—a man defined by his birthright, by being the third son of the Earl of Cothelstone. He was who he was, and he couldn’t deny it. Penelope, her presence, stripped away his assumed aloofness, and exposed the man beneath—and that man was very much a true descendant of his conquering ancestors.
That, however, had never been enough for him—just as for Penelope being the daughter of Viscount Calverton was not enough, and did not define who she was, all of what she was. Of all the females in the ton, she understood what drove him, because the same fundamental motive—to find, take hold of, and shape their own destiny—drove her.
Today, for the first time, it hadn’t been him alone going back and forth from the slums to the drawing rooms. She’d been with him, by his side; their time in the lower circles had emphasized what was real and important in their lives—the glitter and sophistication of the ton disguised and screened such things, made them harder to discern. To know. To grasp.
He now knew what he wanted, that she was the lady he had to have by his side. He accepted unreservedly that that was the case.
Looking down into her rich, dark brown eyes, he was intrigued that he was starting to sense, to be sensitive to, not just her thoughts but also her feelings, her emotions. He’d already drawn closer to her than to any other female; their deepening connection was yet another indication that she was, indeed, the one for him.
And they were destined to draw closer still. Much closer. After that kiss, there could be no question, yet he accepted that he was considerably more experienced than she, that she would have no yardstick against which to judge what was growing between them, or to accurately appreciate the significance of milestones already passed.
She was a relative innocent. “Relative” being the operative word; with her intelligence, she wouldn’t be intellectually innocent…which, he hoped, would give him a weapon he could use. Her curiosity was a tangible thing, a force to be reckoned with—in this instance, possibly one he could exploit.
Penelope frowned even more; his continuing silence while he so steadily considered her bothered her. She had no idea what he was thinking—only that he was. Somewhat contrarily, she didn’t feel that boded well; the feeling prodded her to say, “Marriage, I long ago decided, is not for me.”
Even as she uttered the words, a warning surfaced in her mind. Portia had lectured her more than once that her directness would land her in difficulties with gentlemen. She’d dismissed the prophecy; to date, her straightforwardness had allowed her to repel untold numbers with brutal efficiency.
With Barnaby Adair, however, she might just have been too direct over the wrong subject. With a gentleman like him, setting herself up as a challenge was very definitely not the way to get him to desist.
“That is to say,” she hurriedly put in, even though she hadn’t a clue how to regroup, “I—”
He smiled and placed one long, strong finger across her lips. “No, don’t. I understand perfectly.”
She blinked up at him as he lowered his hand. Was he the exception to every rule? “You do?”
