Pursuing Lord Pascal
Page 9
“Sir Charles is very handsome.”
Sally smiled at her. “He really is. Now away with you, you incorrigible girl.”
“You want to talk to Amy about Lord Pascal,” Meg said.
Amy blushed, although it was no secret in the household that Pascal had set his sights on the widowed Lady Mowbray.
“I do indeed,” Sally said. “Mind you go quietly upstairs. Morwenna’s asleep.”
“No, she’s not. I saw the light in her window when we came in.”
“Nonetheless, don’t you go disturbing her.”
“I won’t.” Meg made a pretty curtsy in Amy’s direction. “Goodnight, Amy. Honestly I don’t know how you resist Lord Pascal. I think he’s gorgeous.”
“That’s enough out of you, miss,” Sally said. “And you’re not to dream of Amy’s beau.”
Amy laughed. “Oh, let her, if she wants to. I dreamed of him myself, when I was a giddy girl.”
Meg’s grin hinted that the young lady gracing the season’s ballrooms hadn’t completely overtaken the impudent hoyden of a few months ago. “So you’re childhood sweethearts reunited?”
“Not at all. He didn’t know I was alive, but I had a romantical streak when I was fourteen.”
“Meg, it’s time you were in bed, instead of asking rude questions,” Sally said, although her attempts at sternness were never very convincing.
“Yes, Aunt.” She paused at the door, and the humor left her eyes. “And thank you. I know I’m a trial to you, but I’m grateful for everything you’re doing for me.”
“Not that much of a trial.” Sally’s expression softened. “Away with you, mousekin.”
Amy smiled after Meg as she left. “She’s a lovely girl.”
“She is. And I hope she finds happiness. I like Sir Charles, and he’s been most particular in his attentions since he arrived in London last week.”
“He has.” Although in Amy’s opinion, he was interested in Sally, rather than her pretty niece. She knew Sally well enough by now not to voice that opinion. Sally believed that at thirty, she was past the age of romance. “I like him, too.”
“He’s invited us to the Royal Academy tomorrow. I do hope Meg doesn’t betray her complete ignorance of painting. Sir Charles is quite the connoisseur. Did you notice the Titian in his drawing room?”
Amy hid a smile. “I did indeed. Luckily you can talk pictures, if Meg finds herself at sea.” Over supper, Sir Charles and Sally had enjoyed a lively discussion about Mr. Turner’s latest works. Meg had been busy, telling Amy and Pascal about her father’s stables. The chit mightn’t know much about art, but she could wax eloquent on equine bloodlines.
Sally rose from her chair near the fire. “Would you like a brandy?”
A small glass of brandy was the perfect accompaniment to these late night chats. “Yes, please.”
While Sally poured their drinks, a comfortable silence fell. It still astounded Amy how easily she and Sally had fallen into friendship. They were both lonely, and she’d learned to appreciate Sally’s worldly experience and sound common sense.
Sally passed Amy a brandy and carried hers back to her chair. “I’m worried about Morwenna.”
“I am, too.” Amy sipped her drink. “But to give her her due, she’s doing better than I thought she would.”
“Oh, I agree. She puts on a great pretense of enjoying herself. But under the gaiety, she’s still grieving.”
Amy settled back and let the liquor and the fire melt away the night’s tension. The strain of this prolonged torture of a courtship told on her. With every moment in Pascal’s company, her control became more frayed. Tonight, he’d looked so disheartened, she’d nearly flung herself into his arms and begged him to kiss her.
But she was painfully aware that his lovers were always cheaply won, and just as easily forsaken. She couldn’t bear to become another eager, forgettable woman in a long list of eager, forgettable women.
“Sally, she needed every ounce of courage she possessed to come to London and face the world again. She and Robert were deeply in love. Give her time. And don’t forget that she’s missing Kerenza.” Kerenza was at Woodley with Silas and Caroline and all her Nash cousins. Morwenna knew her daughter was fine, but that didn’t make the separation easier.
“I know she is. I just wish she was happy.”
“Especially after you’ve tried so hard to give us a memorable few weeks.”
Sally waved her glass in a dismissive gesture. “I’ve loved having you both to stay—and Meg, too.”
“Your niece is a great success, and her popularity hasn’t turned her head.”
“No, she’s a good child, if a little too inclined to mock the wisdom of her elders.”
Amy sent Sally a disgusted look. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“What?” Sally drained her brandy.
“Talk about yourself as if you’ve got one foot in the grave. You’re beautiful, and you’ve got more energy than Morwenna and me combined. If you think society’s gentlemen haven’t noticed, you need spectacles.”
Sally’s lips twitched. “Shortsightedness is a sign of old age.”
“And blind stubbornness is a sign of a closed mind.”
Sally laughed, clearly discounting Amy’s comments. “You’re too kind. Why would anyone look at me when I’m with Meg, who’s so young and vibrant?”
Amy shook her head. “Not every man wants an untried girl, Sally.”
Sally’s eyes sharpened. “Speaking of men who like women with some life experience, when are you going to put Pascal out of his misery?”
Amy’s shoulders tautened, although she knew that this interrogation was inevitable. And also that Sally asked the question to shift the focus away from herself. “He’s courting me.”
“Which he’s done assiduously for the last three weeks. I’ve never seen the man work so hard to win a woman. Usually they’re clamoring after him.”
“That’s part of the problem,” Amy admitted, staring into her glass to avoid Sally’s perceptive gaze. She’d never told her friends that Pascal wanted to marry her. Although since he’d become the perfect escort, he hadn’t mentioned marriage. Quite possibly, he’d dismissed the idea, now Amy proved so much trouble.
“Oh, tosh. None of those women meant a farthing to him.”
A chill ran down her spine. “You seem remarkably well informed,” she said stiffly.
Dear God, had she been too naïve for words? Pascal and Sally were old friends and visibly comfortable together. Had they once been more than friends?
Scorn edged Sally’s snort. “Tuck in your claws. We’ve never been lovers. I was faithful to my husband, and since his death, nobody has tempted me to err.”
“Then why are you pushing me along the primrose path?” Amy said, ashamed of her petty jealousy.
Sally shrugged. “I’m not opposed to taking a lover. Perhaps I’ll look around more seriously, once I’ve got Meg settled.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t know.” A dreamy light that Amy had never seen before softened Sally’s expression. “It's just that you and Pascal seem…right somehow. Like you fit. To be candid, I expected him to tumble you into bed that night you came in from the Bartletts’ garden, looking like he’d kissed you into next week.”
“Oh.” Heat prickled Amy’s cheeks. “You noticed.”
“I could hardly miss it.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
Sally smiled. “You were doing well without interference. But since then, you’ve turned as prim as a middle-aged governess, and he’s tiptoeing around you as if terrified you’ll shatter at the first touch.”
“I want…I want him to prove he’s genuinely interested.”
Sally rolled her eyes. “He’s so interested, he looks ready to cut his throat unless you show him a drop of kindness. Which would be a sad waste of a very pretty man.”
Amy sent her friend a direct look. “By kindness, you mean let him seduce me.”
Sally shrugged and refilled her glass. “Or you could seduce him. I hate to see you at odds, when it’s perfectly obvious that you’re both mad for one another.”
“I’ve never…I’ve never taken a lover,” Amy said unsteadily.
“Well, given dried-up old Wilfred Mowbray is the extent of your experience, it’s time you did.”
“Wilfred was a good man,” she snapped, hearing the guilt lurking beneath her defense of her late husband. Because of course, Pascal excited her in ways that Wilfred never had.
“He was. But he’s gone now. And he was always too old for a vivid creature like you.” Sally set her glass on a side table. The understanding in her face made Amy feel that her friend guessed all her secrets. Including her aching longing to surrender to Pascal and sample this hot magic that put the whole world in a stew. “You need to see what a young, virile man can do for you.”
“And that young, virile man is Lord Pascal?”
“He’s certainly willing. I’ve never seen a man as…willing.”
“It’s a big step.”
“And you’re frightened.”
Amy’s lips twitched. “Terrified. And I can’t quite believe he’s attracted to me.”
Compassion flooded Sally’s face. “Oh, Amy, I hoped you’d got over this silly self-doubt. You’re lovely and smart and unusual, and any man would be lucky to win you. I know it. Meg knows it. Morwenna knows it. All those men who line up to dance with you know it. Believe me, Lord Pascal knows it. The only person who doesn’t know it is you.”
“You make me sound so poor spirited,” Amy said in a subdued voice. The brandy that had tasted so pleasant on her palate now burned like acid in her stomach.
Sally made a sweeping gesture. “No. Just inexperienced in the ways of the world. Pascal is eating his heart out for you.”
“I’m not sure his heart is involved.”
Sally’s smile was arch. “Other parts of him certainly are. The man’s turning into a complete wreck. I started out enjoying the sight of him topsy-turvy over a woman. After all, he’s had enough ladies sighing over him. Now I can’t help feeling sorry for him. If you want him, take him. If you don’t, set the poor fellow loose.”
It might reflect badly on her character, but Amy couldn’t help relishing the thought of gorgeous Gervaise Dacre sick with desire for her humble self. She sucked in a breath and stiffened her backbone as she summoned all her courage. Perhaps it was time to dare.
Her voice emerged with unexpected steadiness. “I want him, all right.”
Sally’s smile was broad and approving. “In that case, do something about it.”
Chapter Ten
Pascal mounted the shallow steps to Sally Norwood’s door two at a time and brought down the knocker with a resounding crash. The butler opened the door and regarded him impassively. “Good morning, my lord.”
“Lady Mowbray has asked to see me.”
“Her ladyship is in the garden. Allow me to show you the way.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll find her.”
Ignoring the butler’s disapproval, he strode past the man and through Sally’s elegant house, until he reached the morning room with its doors open on the garden. April was the usual mixture of showers and sunshine—today was like the start of summer.
Or perhaps that was just how he felt this morning.
“I believe she’s sitting beside the fountain, my lord.” The butler had moved at a fair clip to keep pace.
“Thank you.” He flashed the man a smile and ran outside and down the path. He’d been to parties here and headed unerringly for the secluded corner where a mossy stone cupid held a dolphin amid the play of waters.
“Pascal.” Amy’s joyous expression as she stood echoed the happiness exploding like fireworks in his heart. He strode up to her, boots crunching on the gravel, and caught her by the shoulders.
“Is it yes?”
Her eyes sparkled with indomitable spirit. “It’s yes.”
“My darling,” he breathed, dragging her into his body for a kiss so hot it threatened to blast him to ash.
Too soon, she pulled free with a shaky laugh. “You gathered a lot from three words.”
He kissed her again, quickly this time. He wanted to kiss her over and over again, until she was panting and trembling. Then he wanted to tumble her onto the grass, and toss her skirts up, and join her on a voyage to paradise.
But he maintained a shred of sense. And thank every angel in heaven, he’d have a chance to answer every fantasy. Soon.
The second sweetest word in the English language after “yes.”
He cradled her head between his hands and studied her piquant face. At last the distance was gone. She looked flushed and delightfully ruffled. “When the three words are ‘come to me,’ I had an inkling what you meant. I’ve passed the test?”
The misty softness in her smile was new. His Amy was inclined to regard him with a skeptical eye. He applauded the change. It made him feel like a king.
“You have. I realized that I no longer doubted you. I was just frightened. That’s no acceptable reason to avoid something.”
He leaned forward and kissed her again. It was a mere three weeks since he’d kissed her, but it felt like three years. “So you’re going to take me like a tonic for the good of your health?”
“Perhaps that’s what you are.”
His laugh was fond. That poignant tenderness was more powerful than ever. During the interminable delay, it had proven an awkward companion. “I promise by the time I’m finished with you, you’ll feel much better.”
“Wicked fellow.” She linked her hands behind his neck.
“I am indeed. And I intend to devote that wickedness to your enjoyment. I’m hoping some wickedness might even rub off on you.”
Her lips quirked. “That’s already happened. I used to be perfectly respectable, devil take you.”
She didn’t sound like she minded too much. He couldn’t help it. He kissed her again. She responded with sizzling enthusiasm, until he could manage only a single word. The question that thundered through every beat of his reckless heart. “When?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Not now. Meg and Sally will be home soon from their shopping, and Morwenna is inside writing letters.”
“We could give her something interesting to write about.”
“Too interesting. You need to stop kissing me.”
“Never.” To prove it, he kissed her again. This time he lingered over her lips, relishing how she welcomed him into the honeyed heat of her mouth. By the time he raised his head, they were both gasping for breath.
“When you kiss me, I can’t think.” Arousal clouded her eyes.
“I haven’t been able to think since I met you.” His voice descended into stark sincerity. “You make me so happy.”
“You make me nervous and excited.” She paused. “And happy. I’m sure I should regret this headlong dash into sin.”
“Ah, sin,” he said on a voluptuous sigh.
“You’re incorrigible.” She laughed and pushed him away.
He let her go, content now that he had her promise. “When, when, when?”
She caught his hand. “So impatient.”
“Amy,” he growled. “You’ve teased me enough.”
She drew him down onto the charming stone bench where she’d sat watching the fountain. To his regret, she started to sound sensible again. How he’d loved seeing this clever, practical woman dizzy with excitement.
“It’s not straightforward. We need to be careful. Any scandal will hurt Meg’s chances. The world can’t know she’s sharing a house with Lord Pascal’s mistress.”
He liked the sound of that. He’d like the sound of Lord Pascal’s wife even more, but today he was content to postpone that discussion. “I want you to myself all night.”
Already she was shaking her head. “It’s too risky.”
He sighed. “When did you become adept at intrigue?”
His laugh expressed astounded delight. “I had no idea. You’ve been so cold, I quite despaired of winning your favor.”
“I’m sorry that I was such a coward.”
“And you didn’t trust me. But you do now. Your consent does me such honor.”
Amy was back to looking misty-eyed. “I couldn’t resist you.”
She was a miracle, and he didn’t deserve her. He sucked in a jagged breath to contain the vast wave of emotion that threatened to choke him. In silent homage, he raised her hand to his lips.
Pascal struggled to restore the lightness. She wasn’t yet ready to hear what lay in his heart. He’d lured her to the threshold of a life together, but only careful handling would coax her across into a permanent place in his life. “So while you were busy tormenting me, you were hatching wanton plans?”
Her smile was tremulous. “I thought perhaps one afternoon…”
“One afternoon?”
She gave a nervous, excited spurt of laughter. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We usually go driving anyway. Perhaps instead of the park, we go to—”
“Heaven?”
Her breath caught, and her eyes darkened. “I hope so, although I’m so afraid I’ll disappoint you. I’m sure…I’m sure you’re used to more skillful lovers.”
He couldn’t bear to see her crippling doubt creeping back. Catching the back of her neck, he drew her up for another hungry kiss. “I want you, Amy. Only you.”
“And I want you, Pascal.”
He’d waited an eon to hear her say that. He trailed a finger down her cheek, then followed the sensitive nerve down the side of her neck. She shivered in response. There was so much sensuality locked up inside her. He ached to set it free.
Tomorrow…
“You know, given our licentious plans, you should call me Gervaise.”
A soft smile curved her lips, and when his name emerged, it heated his blood like brandy. “Gervaise.”
This time his kiss was gentle, and when he drew away, she clung to his shoulders. He suspected her head was swimming. His balance didn’t feel too sturdy either. “Leave everything to me.”