Pursuing Lord Pascal by Anna Campbell Page B

You’re far too sure of your attractions.”
    “And you’re not confident enough of
yours.”
    “Devil take you.” She jerked free. He’d hit a
nerve. “If I’m that appealing, you can jolly well work a bit harder
to win me.”
    “I’m already mad for you.”
    She sighed. “I’m sure you’ve said that to
every lady who has caught your fancy.”
    “I have. But that doesn’t mean it’s a
lie.”
    Her expression critical, Amy surveyed him in
the silvery light. “I imagine very few have said no.”
    To his shame, that was true. He couldn’t
remember the last lady to deny him. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and
tell.”
    Her lips flattened. “Which means I’m
right.”
    “What’s in the past is past. I swear I’m a
new man since I met you.”
    “Easily said.”
    Something in him would be disappointed if she
accepted his extravagant claim, however true. What a fool he was to
imagine she’d accept him immediately. When he’d imagined he was on
the verge of success, he’d been drunk on hope and kisses. “After
those kisses, you can’t send me away.”
    “You know,” she said slowly, “I think I
can.”
    Hell. Hell. Hell. He’d
blundered. Somehow he’d ruined everything.
    Black despair unlike anything he’d ever known
in his privileged life crashed down. He finally met a woman he
wanted as more than a temporary amusement, and now it seemed she
didn’t want him. “Amy…”
    She arched her eyebrows and her voice was
cool. “Amy, is it?”
    He reached for her. Although what the deuce
he’d do with her if he caught her, he had no idea. With half
society within earshot, he couldn’t tup her in Lady Bartlett’s
shrubbery. “Don’t you want me?”
    As she evaded him, he cringed to hear the
stark need in his question. He was famous, some might say
notorious, for taking his love affairs lightly. Two days in thrall
to this unusual woman, and he hadn’t a thought to call his own.
    She took too long to answer. His gut
tightened in suspense. And a vulnerability he refused to
acknowledge.
    He stepped closer. She retreated. He
approached again.
    She pulled back. “My lord, you’re pushing me
into the hedge.”
    “I’m sorry. I’m not acting like a gentleman.”
In fact, he behaved like an oaf. He had no right to bully her. The
breath he sucked in was bitter with the taste of failure. Stepping
away, he tried to tell himself that if she refused him, there were
other women. “It’s your right to end the acquaintance.”
    His schoolboy posturing had shoved her into
the shadows. Perhaps even frightened her, which was the last thing
he wanted. Damn him for a clumsy blockhead. Damn these unaccustomed
feelings that turned his usually practiced wooing into a complete
mare’s nest.
    Pascal didn’t expect his stiff pronouncement
to evoke a low laugh. “I almost begin to believe you are sincere.
You sound quite distraught, Pascal. Don’t take on so, for heaven’s
sake. I haven’t said no.”
    “You said you were sending me away.” He hated
his sulky tone.
    “For tonight. At least until the waltz.”
    He frowned, trying to find cause for
optimism, but not quite managing it. She sounded a little too
businesslike to be anywhere near yielding. “So you consent?”
    “I consent to consider your offer.”
    “Then I must wait?”
    Another laugh. He should resent that she
found his predicament so entertaining, but he was too damned
grateful that he still had a chance.
    “You could fill the time in between, trying
to convince me that you’re honest.”
    His pride kicked. “You want me to dance
attendance on you?”
    “I know. It’s such an imposition.” He winced
at her sarcasm. She stepped into the moonlight again, and he read
the stubbornness in her delicate jaw. “I hardly dare to imagine how
I could even ask it.”
    Impossible wench. She set to torment him.
“Send you flowers, and make polite calls, and take you to the
opera?”
    She folded her arms over her impressive bosom
and regarded him