Page 22 of Reckless Desire

“The woman you were fighting over.”

The way the nymph looked when he’d seen her in the park yesterday flashed. Hazel eyes, red hair dancing in the breeze.

He stood. “No one.”

His mother plopped down onto the mattress. “That bad, is it?”

He grabbed the robe he’d discarded at the foot of the bed, stuck his arms into the sleeves and pulled the robe over his shoulders. He knotted the tie as he crossed to the pitcher of water and clean cloths waiting on a nearby table. He glanced at himself in the small mirror hanging over the table. He looked like hell. He poured water into the basin.

“I wondered how difficult it would be for you,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” He splashed water onto his face.

“Falling in love,” she said.

He paused and lifted his eyes to meet her gaze in the mirror. “What do you mean, difficult?”

“You are not like your father and grandfather. They’re passionate, impetuous, even sentimental. You are even-tempered, logical—loyal.”

He splashed more water onto his face, then grabbed a cloth. “You make me sound like a damn hound.”

She laughed. “Nae. I only mean that for men like your father, falling in love is, well, not a long-distance fall. A man like you, however, can break a limb on the way down.”

He tossed the towel onto the table. “One might think that you believe me incapable of love.”

“Do not be ridiculous. For all your even temperament and logic, you are a Newhall. You love just as deeply as any of your ancestors. You simply weren’t interested in falling in love.”

“And my father was?”

She smiled fondly. “As I said, your father is sentimental. He was meant to love one woman. You prefer to remain unfettered.” She stood. “I must warn you that your father and grandfather are already planning your wedding.”

“They are worse than prospective brides,” he said. “I have not spoken more than a dozen words to this woman. For all I know, she might not have me.”

“Do not be ridiculous. You made a fool of yourself last night, but she will forgive you. That is what women do.”

He wasn’t so certain.

“You realize, of course, that you reacted far more dramatically than the Newhall men who preceded you,” she said. “Your father and grandfather are not going to let you forget that.”

“My best hope is to kidnap her and elope,” he muttered.

“Do that, and I will hunt you down myself and thrash you.”

He raised his brows in surprise. His mother seldom made threats.

“No self-respecting woman wants to be kidnapped,” she said.

“Then I shall beg her to run away with me to France.”

She shrugged. “It will make no difference. By the time you return home, your father and grandfather will have told everyone the tale of how you fell in love.”

“What if I do not marry her?”

“Then I suggest you make certain no swords are nearby when you see her with another man.”

Anger flared at the memory of Miss Ramsay’s palms flat on Wilshire’s chest—and his fingers grasping her neck.

God help him. His mother was right.