At the end of her track, she swung to face him. “Which brings me to my peroration. Given you’re not thinking of marriage, and have no true interest in me-and you needn’t pretend you’ve suddenly been visited by some overpowering urge to make me your mistress-then”-she met his gaze-“as you have no motive whatever beyond satisfying a passing whim, you should cease and desist from this nonsensical pursuit of me.”
Gervase stared at her. His initial impulse was to argue-although deciding which ludicrous point to attack first would take some time. However…as he held her gaze, looked into the stormy seas of her swirling emotions, heard again her voice as she’d catalogued her virtues-missing most-it occurred to him that arguing would almost certainly get him nowhere.
She believed what she’d said. Absolutely, beyond question.
Her words had been rehearsed, yet had rung with conviction.
She honestly didn’t believe he would ever consider, let alone want, her as his wife. And as for desire-she didn’t believe she could inspire that either, at least not in him.
Of course, she’d nicely pricked his ego in numerous places, at least one of which he was disinclined to forgive. She’d all but accused him of trifling with her affections, preying on her finer feelings for idle sport. He didn’t like that, not at all, yet how the hell was he to deal with her now?
Without completely sinking himself in the process.
She met his stare with one of her own, then uttered a small humph and folded her arms. Tightly. Beneath her very ample breasts. Making it even more difficult for him to keep his eyes locked on hers, let alone think.
Her lips pursed. For half a minute, she actually tapped her toe.
Finally she uttered a frustrated sound, and demanded, “Well?”
“Well what?” She hadn’t asked any question, and he certainly had no answers. Not yet.
Her eyes stated she knew he was being willfully obtuse. “Will you agree to cease pursuing me and instead treat me as you previously have?”
He held her gaze for a moment, then sat back. “No.”
Her eyes widened until they resembled silver discs. The Valkyrie was back. “What do you mean, no?”
Had he been less experienced in battle, he would no doubt have cowered and beat a hasty retreat. Instead, he considered her, then evenly stated, “You’ll do perfectly well warming my bed.”
“What?” Thunderstruck, she stared at him. Any doubts he’d had over her complete blindness to her own attractions were slain by the dumfounded look in her eyes. Then she drew herself up; cool dignity fell about her like a cloak. “Stop it,” she said. “You know you don’t want me-”
“Madeline.” He waited until her eyes met his. “What did you imagine that kiss was about?”
She blinked, then frowned at him. “I…haven’t the faintest notion. Why don’t you tell me?”
“That kiss was intended to reveal whether or not we were compatible.” He held her gaze. “In case you aren’t sure how to interpret the result, let me assure you we are.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Compatible as to what?”
He arched a brow; who was being willfully obtuse now? “Leaving aside the subject of marriage-”
“Please don’t insult my intelligence by mentioning it.”
He considered her raised hand, her contemptuous expression, replayed her words and listened to her tone. No matter what he said, no matter the force of any arguments he advanced, she wasn’t going to believe it was marriage he had in mind.
Even though it was. He no longer harbored the slightest doubt on that score, not since he’d followed her from Lady Porthleven’s terrace.
But her disbelief-more, her inability to believe-left him few options. “Very well. As I said, leaving that aside, after last night, I have one, perfectly sane, rational, logical and sensible goal in mind vis-à-vis you.”
“And that is?”
“I want, and will have, you in my bed.” The only woman who would ever warm his bed-the one upstairs in the earl’s apartments-was his countess.
She stared at him for a long moment. “That’s sane, rational, logical and sensible?”
“It is to me.” He kept his expression mild but uninformative; they could have been discussing crop rotations.
She studied him, then drew in a huge breath; as her arms were again folded beneath her breasts, the action severely tried his resolve.
She let that breath out with an explosive, “Lord Crowhurst-”
He rolled his eyes, which made her glare.
“Oh, very well!” She flung up her arms, relieving the pressure on his control considerably. “Gervase, then! But you must see that this nonsense-your ridiculous pursuit of me-isn’t going to get anyone anywhere. All you’ll achieve is to make me lose my temper, and as my brothers will tell you, you don’t want to do that.”
He wasn’t so sure; in her Valkyrie guise she was undeniably arousing. Of course, she didn’t believe she was 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.