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And it should not have mattered in the least what a woman he did not know, a woman he had not exactly thought highly of in the mere hour of their acquaintance, thought of him. It should not have mattered, yet Lionel found he did not care for the way she said that.
And he cared even less forhow littlehe liked it.
Especially when she continued. “You hide behind this notion that you are somehow a creature of propriety,” she told him in that same stern, certain manner that felt a great deal like a ringing conviction. “When the truth is, you are at least as licentious as anyone else. And a great deal more than some.”
And Lionel found that he could not be offended at such an absurdity. It was exactly as he’d imagined he might react if she’d gone the other way and proclaimed he was a virgin. Laughable and little else—except, perhaps, intrigued about how she had managed to come to such an odd conclusion about his character.
It hardly seemed to matter that it was completely and utterly false. That was how ludicrous it was.
“I will give you this, Geraldine,” he said, and he sounded as close to laughter as he had in some while. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d strayed into the vicinity. “I have never before been accused of such a thing. Rather its opposite.”
“It says nothing about a person when they only interact with those who are as powerful as they are,” Geraldine said in that same way, as if she was laying out evidence before him and all of it led to his guilt. It was nothing short of extraordinary. “What matters is how a person with power treats someone who has none. What matters is preying upon a vulnerable woman, convincing her that it is the deepest sort of love only to abandon her when she’s pregnant.”
“I beg your pardon.” Lionel frowned at her. “Are you suggesting that I got a girl pregnant and cast her aside?”
Geraldine’s green gaze was direct. “I know you did.”
And he did not understand why there was a part of him that wanted to argue. And more, wanted to make her take back such lies against him when he should not care—when were there not rumors and lies circulating about him? It came with his name and the way he’d chosen to live his life.
Instead, Lionel sighed. “That is ridiculous for any number of reasons, but let me tell you the foremost reason. You know who I am. You know that I have tremendous wealth and power at my fingertips. What do you imagine could compel me to marry like this?” When Geraldine didn’t answer, he continued, impatiently. “So quickly, almost furtively, and to a woman I do not know at all. What could account for such a thing?”
She blinked, but her gaze did not become any less baleful. “Rich men are very strange. It is one of their most well-known characteristics, though we are all encouraged to consider iteccentricityand nothing more.”
“My father and my grandfather before him were sometimes entertaining at a party, but were otherwise largely useless,” Lionel told her, and restrained himself from asking if she had as manyrich menin her life as she did lovers. “This is not a matter of opinion, so much as it is inarguable fact. The only family I have left, and the only one worth a damn, is my grandmother. And she wants nothing more than a grandchild.”
“I’m sure you think that makes you relatable,” Geraldine began hotly, “but I don’t really see why—”
“It is statistically improbable that I could impregnate a woman with the precautions I always take,” he interrupted her, “but not impossible. Whatisimpossible is that a woman might tell me that she carried my child, prove this to be true, and then watch me walk away from her. This would never happen. It never did happen.”
“But it did,” she insisted.
“On the contrary, Geraldine,” he said, and there was something about her name. Something about the taste of it—but he kept his attention on that grave green gaze of hers. “I would rejoice. My grandmother’s dearest wish would be fulfilled at last and with ease. I would marry any girl who was pregnant with my child, sing a round of hosannas, and call it a day.”
Geraldine only stared back at him, frowning, and not as if she thought she was confused. It was clear that she thought he was.
“That’s not at all what happened.” And she leaned in closer then, so he could see that there was not one part of her that did not believe what she was telling him. She was totally and completely sure that she was speaking the truth—he could see that all over her as easily as he’d seen her blush. “My cousin died in childbirth. Alone and with your name in her mouth.”
“I cannot account for that,” Lionel told her in the same grave manner. “But the child cannot be mine.”
“I have the baby with me,” Geraldine said, ignoring him. Another thing that did not usually happen to him in the presence of women. Or anyone else. “Her name is Jules, she is wonderful, and I intend to make certain you take responsibility for her at last, Lionel. Whether I am married to you or not.”
CHAPTER THREE
GERALDINEWASPROUDof the ringing tones she used then and the way her voice filled the car, as if there was no difference whatsoever in their positions. As if she commanded the same authority he did—because she did, back home in her library.
And also because, she kept telling herself with what might possibly be some small bit of desperation, there were no differences between them that she did not allow. He had more money and more unearned power because of it, certainly, but otherwise she need not feel the least bit cowed by this man unless shewishedto feel cowed, which she did not.
Of course, there was also the confusing part where she’d accidentallymarriedthe man in what could not possibly have been a real ceremony—though that priest had certainly seemed real enough—
I refuse to be cowed by anyone, Geraldine told herself stoutly, cutting off that unhelpful line of internal wittering.Especially a man who treated poor Seanna so shabbily.
She did not like the voice inside that suggested that, perhaps, the person who had treated Seanna the shabbiest might well have been Seanna.
Geraldine told herself, as she always did, that thinking such a thing was unfair. Seanna had been young and impressionable. It hadn’t been her fault that she’d been too naive to see what was happening to her until it was too late. Or if it had been, well, there were others farmoreat fault.
Like this man.
Lionel Asensio, who had treated her cousin the way he had and who Geraldine had somehow letkissher—and even if it was a part of that so-called wedding ceremony, there was no excuse.
