attractive at all, so telling her so would get him precisely nowhere. He studied her-agitatedly pacing again. If she’d been insulted by his tilt at her, she would have been angry. If she’d been truly uninterested-something he wouldn’t have believed after last night’s kiss, but if she’d been honestly unaffected-her usual calm confidence wouldn’t have been disturbed.
Instead, here she was, wearing a track in his rug, trying to persuade him to stop pursuing her… Why?
Inwardly, he smiled. The right question. The most pertinent question.
He took a moment to assess, then evenly asked, “What if I succeed?”
She halted, stared at him; although he could see her eyes clearly, he couldn’t for the life of him decipher her thoughts. Then she swallowed, and said, “That’s not the point.” Her tone was low. She lifted her chin, and continued more strongly, “The point is why you would want to, and we already know the answer to that.”
He held her gaze. “By your estimation, for a whim. Which, by definition, effectively translates to, ‘Why not?’ So let’s consider. Here I am, as you so rightly note deprived of feminine company. And here you are, twenty-nine years old, unmarried and unattached-and expecting to remain so for the next six years at least. We hail from the same circles. We both know there’s no social impediment to any liaison in which we might indulge.”
He paused, then went on, “I say I want you in my bed-the only hurdle to achieving that is your agreement. The only person I have to convince to say yes is you. And I intend to.”
“But you won’t!”
“Why?”
She made an exasperated sound. Her hands rose as if she were going to run them through her hair; she stopped at the last moment and waved them instead. “Because you don’t truly want me-you’re not truly attracted to me!”
He blinked. “And that kiss last night?”
“Was an aberration!”
“And if I say it wasn’t?”
When she looked at him, all he could see, all he could sense, was suspicion; she didn’t understand why he was doing this. It was time to close in. “Our situation, correct me if I err, can be reduced to this. I say I want you in my bed-and you don’t believe I truly do. Is that correct?”
Madeline compressed her lips. She wished she could read what was going on in his oh-so-male mind, but she couldn’t, so she nodded; his statement was true enough.
“If you’re correct, then nothing will actually eventuate.” He was still sitting back in his chair, the epitome of a gentleman at his ease, except for his eyes, his piercing gaze. “If I’m not serious, I won’t actively pursue you-I’ll lose interest and turn my attention to something, or someone, else. If you’re correct, then I will, indeed, cease and desist, more or less as a matter of course.”
Having him put it like that, so simply and succinctly, made her wonder why she’d driven there in such a frenzy-why she’d spent the entire night talking herself into a panic.
She shifted to face him squarely; she could feel the tension that had driven her to that point draining from her.
Then his lips curved-and all that tension came flooding back.
“If, however, I’m correct, and I am sincerely attracted to you and truly do want you in my bed, then, to my mind, given our current situation, at the very least you should allow me the opportunity to prove that to you.”
She stared. How the devil had they got to this point?
“Do consider”-his voice took on a steely edge-“you have, in essence, questioned my word, certainly my honor. It would only be fair and reasonable for you to allow me to clarify the matter-to set you straight.”
No, no, no, no, no…but…she put a hand to her temple. Rubbed. Frowned. “Why-”
“Why should be obvious. All you need to answer is yes or no.”
She frowned harder. “Yes or no to what?”
He sighed as if she were a widgeon. “To whether you’ll allow-meaning you won’t throw unnecessary hurdles across my path-me to prove to you that my attraction to you is entirely real.”
She narrowed her eyes on his handsome-and as ever uninformative-face. He continued to speak of his outrageous suggestions as if they were commonplace matters. “What, specifically, do you mean by ‘prove’?”
His eyes widened; he paused as if considering the answer, then said, “I suppose I mean that you’ll allow me to seduce you.”
She refused, of course. At length, in various ways. But he wouldn’t budge. He continued to talk her around in circles, bringing her back again and again to his simple, straightforward, transparently reasonable points.
Until, driven to the limit of her endurance, with a headache pounding in her temples, she threw up her hands in defeat. “All right! I agree!” Whipping her gloves from her pocket, she started pulling them on, ignoring his measuring gaze.
“Just to be specific…?”
She gritted her teeth; she couldn’t clench her jaw more than it already was. “Specifically-I will permit you to try to seduce me. However”-gloves buttoned, she pinned him with a glance every bit as steely as any of his-“I do not guarantee to succumb.”
The damned man had the gall to smile, entirely genuinely. He rose. “Indeed. That wouldn’t be any fun.”
Fun? She nearly choked. Deciding words were not a weapon to use with him, she swung to the door. “I’m leaving.”
“So I see.”
Although she moved quickly, he was beside her when she reached the door. She paused to let him open it.
“Do give my regards to your brothers.”
He opened the door. She stepped forward, then hesitated.
As if he could hear the question in her mind, he said from behind her, “I haven’t heard anything more about their interest in the smugglers, or the wreckers-if I do, I’ll tell you.”
It was the assurance she wanted. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, then stalked down the corridor- away from his lair.
Gervase accompanied her to the forecourt, saw her into her gig, then watched her drive away. When he turned back into the castle, he realized he was smiling; he took a moment to savor the feelings behind the smile.
Life in Cornwall had suddenly become very much more interesting.
Madeline was such a complicated, confusing jumble of female types, just learning them all, every fascinating facet of each of her personas, would keep him occupied for years.
He headed back to the library, replaying the last hour in his mind; it was heartening to know he hadn’t lost his knack for successful negotiations. So now, at last, he had a defined goal, a clear target. Dealing with his intended was very like maneuvering on a battlefield; at least now he knew which hill on the field he next had to take.
Chapter 5
The manor house outside Breage was located two miles west of Helston and the Lizard Peninsula, and a mile north of the harbor at Porthleven-not too close yet not too far from the valuable lands between Godolphin Cross and Redruth beneath which ran the rich veins of ore heavily laced with tin from which much of the district’s wealth derived.
The afternoon sun struck through the leaded panes of the small parlor as the door opened and the gentleman who had recently acquired the small property walked in, followed by his agent.
Malcolm Sinclair waved Jennings to one of the pair of armchairs angled before the empty hearth, then elegantly subsided into its mate.
Jennings, his fresh round face drawn in a frown, perched rather nervously on the edge of the seat. “None of the rest want to sell.” He grimaced. “Those first two must have been just luck. Every other place I’ve asked, the gents just smile and say no. I don’t know what to say to persuade them.” He glanced at Malcolm. “Not that I tried-you said just to ask and see.”
