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‘Fine, I’ll elucidate.’ She lifted her chin slightly, her eyes still gleaming, making Mateo feel even more uncomfortable. Something more was going on here than what was apparent, and it made him a little nervous. ‘You came back to Cambridge to convince me to marry you. Considering we’ve never dated or even thought about dating for an entire decade, it’s hardly love or physical attraction that brought you to my doorstep.’ She spoke matter-of-factly, which was a relief. He must have been imagining that unnerving note of vulnerability in h
er voice, of something close to hurt. Yes, he had to have been.
‘True,’ Mateo was willing to concede with a brief nod.
‘So the reasons for wanting me to marry you are scientific, or at least expedient, ones. Let me guess.’ She paused, and Mateo almost interrupted her. He wasn’t sure he wanted his arguments framed in her perspective.
‘All right,’ he said after a moment, leaning back in his chair to make it seem as if he were more relaxed than he was. ‘Guess.’
Rachel pursed her lips, her gaze becoming distant as she considered. Mateo waited, feeling tense, expectant, almost eager now to hear what she thought.
‘We get along,’ she said at last. ‘We have a fairly good rapport, which I imagine would be important if we were working together to rule a country.’ She shook her head, smiling ruefully. ‘I can’t believe I’m even saying that.’
‘I take exception to fairly,’ Mateo interjected with a small smile, willing her to smile back. She did, tightly.
‘Fine. We get along well. Very well, even.’
He inclined his head. ‘Thank you.’
Rachel let out a breath. ‘And we know each other, on a basic level.’
‘More than a basic—’
‘You said you trust me,’ she cut across him.
‘I do.’ His heartfelt words seemed to reverberate between them, and Mateo watched with interest as her cheeks went pink.
‘Still,’ Rachel pressed. ‘None of that is reason to get married.’
Mateo arched an eyebrow. ‘Is it not?’
‘If it was, you should have asked Leonore Worth to marry you,’ she flung at him a bit tartly.
‘Leonore?’ She was a lecturer in biology at the university, a pointy woman with a nasal laugh whom he’d escorted to a department function once. He hadn’t made that mistake again. But why was Rachel mentioning her? ‘Why would I do that?’ he asked.
‘Because she’s...’ Rachel paused, drawing a hitched breath. Her cheeks were turning red. ‘More suited to the role than I am,’ she finished.
Mateo stared at her, mystified. ‘I am wondering, from a purely scientific view, of course, how you arrived at that conclusion.’
She shook her head, looking tired, even angry. ‘Come on, Mateo,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Stop it.’
‘Stop what?’
‘Pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about.’
‘I don’t.’ Of that he was sure. They were skirting around something big and dark but damned if he knew what it was.
Rachel flung her arms out, nearly knocking her plate of almost untouched salad to the floor. ‘I am not queen material.’
‘Define your terms, please,’ Mateo said. Perhaps it would be easier if they did make this as scientific as possible: What is queen material?
‘Oh, this is pointless,’ she cried. ‘I’m not going to marry you. I’m not going to leave my job—’
‘Toadying up to smarmy Simon?’ he interjected. ‘You’ve already said you’re considering looking elsewhere.’
‘I didn’t really mean that.’
‘Your job has changed, Rachel, and not for the better. I’m offering you a greater opportunity.’
