Lauren Willig by The Seduction of the Crimson Rose Page B

himself—so vilely sure of her! So he thought that was all is would take to get her to say yes, did he? All he needed to do was dangle a few pieces of gold in front of the venal little creature and watch her jump.
     
     
Well, she wasn’t going to jump for him. Not for an unspecified sum, at any rate. He’d have to do rather better than that.
     
     
Striking her most stately attitude, Mary raked her sapphire gaze across Vaughn’s face with royal scorn.
     
     
“An amusing proposition, my lord, but I’m afraid you will simply have to ask elsewhere.” Without waiting for his reaction, she turned on one heel, using the sweep of her long skirt to good effect. “I cannot imagine any recompense you might offer that would be of any interest to me.”
     
     
Basking in self-satisfaction, Mary swished regally down the long corridor, giving Vaughn an excellent view of her elegant back and graceful carriage. Ha! There really was nothing quite like a good exit.
     
     
Except, perhaps, for a good last word. Vaughn’s amused voice snaked after her as she sailed imperiously down the gallery.
     
     
“Can’t you? I can….”
     
     
     
    Chapter Three
Alack, when once our grace we have forgot,
     
Nothing goes right; we would and we would not.
     
    —William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure , IV, iv
M ary stubbed her toe.
     
     
Fortunately, she managed to turn her stumble into a flounce, using the momentum to propel herself forwards, away from the mocking echo of Vaughn’s voice. Even the architecture appeared to be in league with him. The words bounced off the arched vault of the ceiling, following Mary clear down the length of the corridor.
     
     
He would have to get the last word, wouldn’t he?
     
     
Mary had to admit to a certain grudging admiration for his technique. It had been beautifully done. He had waited until she was just far enough away that she would have had to stop, turn, and screech like a fishwife if she wanted to get a last word in. And what could one possibly reply to “I can”? The only response that came readily to mind was, “Well, I can’t.” Sophisticated stuff, that.
     
     
Scowling, Mary swished beneath the heavily carved arch that marked the end of the gallery. She was sure Vaughn would have enjoyed nothing more than to see her embroiled in a lengthy round of “cannot…can, too,” baiting her on in that languid drawl of his.
     
     
What exactly was “I can” supposed to mean?
     
     
It was one of those hideous phrases that said nothing but implied a good deal. That was the brilliance of it. It left all the insults to the imagination of the hearer, playing on the hidden insecurities the speaker could only guess at. She could only fume and wonder at what he might have meant—when, in fact, he probably meant nothing in particular at all.
     
     
On the other hand, she could certainly imagine recompense that would interest her. And she was sure he could as well. She wondered how much he had been about to offer her. “Handsomely” was such an indeterminate term.
     
     
Whatever the amount might have been, it was a moot point now. Mary’s pace slowed as reason began to return. After her grand exit, she couldn’t very well go back and negotiate. It was a pity she had reacted so hastily. At the time, however, it had seemed far more important to wipe that smug expression off his face than to consider the merits of his offer.
     
     
It wasn’t like her to react so irrationally. So emotionally. Mary made a face at herself as she paused to lean against the balcony overhanging the Great Hall. During her three years in London she had managed to sail unsullied through barbs from her friends, indecent propositions from her admirers, and assorted irritants from her loving family. The trick, she had learned long ago, was simply not to react. Nothing blunted malice—or lust, or jealousy, or anything else—like impassivity. One simply stayed silent and waited for the speaker to start to