After the waiter did so and stepped back, Robert stabbed again at his steak viciously. “I would never have pursued her had I known. I’ve lost another three weeks! Who would have thought it would be so damned difficult to find a wife?”
“A rich wife,” corrected Ashford, spearing a potato.
“Damn it, I hate this business!” He chewed a piece of steak which tasted like sawdust. He swallowed and sipped more wine to wash it down. It plunked into his stomach like a lead weight.
He pushed his plate away and took a bigger swallow of the wine. “The puzzling thing is, I cannot for the life of me think who it might be. Who else has been pursuing her?”
“Half the fortune hunters in London. Reynolds for one, Pocock, Lannister...”
“My God, not Lannister. She couldn’t be foolish enough to fall for his oily charm, surely?”
“You know as well as I do that the ladies adore him.”
“I refuse to believe she is so lacking taste as to entertain a tendre for that blackguard!”
“Did it occur to you it might not be anyone in London? Might be some childhood sweetheart from home.”
“She said it was of recent date.”
Ashford shrugged. “Could be anyone. Who was the next chit on your list?”
“The Grenfell girl,” he said absently, his mind still full of Sarah Watson. “No, damn and blast it, we had a connection, I know it. After Vauxhall I wasn’t sure... of her feelings, only my own. And yet...” He sighed. “How do you tell if a woman likes you?” he asked despairingly.
“Generally, it’s in the eyes, I find,” said the viscount.
“I’d swear she was ready enough to accept me last night. Or why the devil would she even accept the invitation to meet my family?”
“Lady Holbrook?” hazarded the viscount.
“Even so, I cannot believe she would lead me on so. What the hell happened between last night and this morning?”
“She got cold feet?”
“Yes, but why?” Robert frowned fiercely at the salt cellar, as if it were to blame for his troubles.
“What did you say to her exactly?”
“I told her that what I was offering was a marriage of convenience. It was on that basis that I approached her in the first place.”
“And she had given you to understand that she would accept you?”
He opened his mouth to say yes and stopped. “Well, no,” he admitted reluctantly. “At the Levington ball she told me that if I was to offer, she would decline.”
Ashford raised his eyebrows as if to saythere you go, then.
“You need to understand the context. She was angry with me, she thought I had insulted her. It was a misunderstanding.” He rearranged the salt cellar on the table. “Besides, we had moved on from that. At Vauxhall...” he rubbed his face. “I thought there was a spark, something... but I don’t know. It might be all on my side. I was unsure of her feelings, so I presented a pragmatic offer. I thought it would be the one she would accept.”
“I see.” Ashford set his cutlery on his empty plate and pushed it aside, taking up his wine instead. “Why are you so upset?”
“I’ve lost another three weeks—”
“Apart from that?”
“Wounded pride, I suppose.”
“Seems to me like you might be a little envious of the other fellow, whoever he is.”
“I’m not envious. I’m annoyed! She deceived me. I thought she was free to pursue a contract when clearly she is not. If her affections are truly engaged, then there is no question—damn and blast, Ilikeher!”I want her!The thought, fierce and disconcerting, made itself felt.
