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Clearly his words were all but wasted on her for she looked at him as though he were a silly child who had muddled his lesson. Anger rose in him—not because she had rejected him. He was not so petty, at least he would not admit to such pettiness. He was angry because...because...devil if he knew why he was angry. Leave the logic to men like Rousseau.
“They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” she said.
He rolled his eyes. Trite sayings? That was what she gave him. Dear God, how long until dusk when they could leave this cellar? He wanted nothing to do with her.
“Perhaps I do not find you attractive, despite what the looking glass tells you.”
“Then you English really are dolts. That is the word you use, is it not?”
He blew out a breath and leaned a shoulder against one of the stacks of wine casks, the gesture a clear dismissal.
“I’ve hurt your pride,” she said.
He waved a hand as though swatting a fly away.
“Perhaps you would like your coat back.” She drew it from her shoulders and held it out to him.
He gave her a stony look. “Do you now mean to imply I am not a gentleman?”
Her brows drew together. Why the devil did she have to look pretty even when she did that?
“No.”
He flicked a finger at his coat. “As though I would deprive a lady of my coat when it is cold and damp here.”
She draped the coat back over her shoulders. “How very magnanimous of you.”
“I know.” Even he could hear the petulance in his voice. Pathetic. Better he not speak than behave like a spoiled child, which he had been. Perhaps he still was. He hoped Honoria Blake did not think she would receive his thanks for showing him he could still figuratively stamp his foot when he did not get what he wanted.
He crossed his arms and stared at the wall, prepared to wait in silence until the sky darkened. Honoria sank onto the floor, wrapping her hands around her knees. The only sound in the cellar was the rumble of voices in the shop above.
Tedious hours lay before them. He hoped she knew how much more pleasurably they might have spent their time. It was her loss.
The problem was he still wanted her.
Twelve
