“Perhaps I am,” he admitted. “It would be easier then. Something so undeniable that I could just say ‘a-ha’ and you’d deem him unworthy. But it’s not that. It’s something far more ephemeral and therefore more difficult to explain.”
“I suggest you try because I am quickly losing patience,” she retorted.
Adrian looked at her then, not in frustration or anger or irritation or even mild amusement at her, which he often did. He looked at her in a way that she had longed for. A way that she dared not even consider as truth. “It’s rather that I just do not think he is right for you.”
She rolled her eyes. It wasn’t truly that she was angry, but that she needed to continue playing the part. In truth, she was hurt. Hurt that he did not want her and hurt more still that he’d sabotage any chance for her to make a good match for some reason that he could not or would not even put a name to. “With all due respect, Adrian, I no longer have the luxury of waiting around for offers. The older I get the more unlikely it becomes that I will ever marry. And I would like that. I’ve no wish to be alone forever. Nor do I wish to be a burden to my brother… or worse, an obstacle to his happiness. Julien will not wed while I am living in his home. We both know it. I am in his way and it cannot go on.”
“You are settling.” The statement was made with absolute authority.
“Yes. I am. But not unwisely,” she fired back at him, indignation ringing in her tone. “He’s a titled lord, with a modest fortune, as I understand it, and impressive array of property, and while he is not well known in society, that is not necessarilya point against him. It means he’s not been courting scandal with such fervor that he is known to one and all.”
“What of love, Eleanor?” Adrian challenged her. For all that it was a question intended to halt her current path, it was uttered almost tenderly.
With an air of dismissiveness that did not at all reflect her actual feelings, Eleanor shrugged. “What of it? There are many people who marry for reasons other than love. And what is love? Affection, respect, attraction? Perhaps I do not love him now, and I may never, but I must give us both the opportunity to discover if it is possible.”
“And what of others? Would you give others such an opportunity?”
She laughed, the sound more bitter than amused. “Point me to the queue that has formed of gentleman ready to vie for the honor of courting me.”
He lifted his hand and pointed one finger directly at his own chest. Then he tapped his finger against the lapel of his perfectly tailored coat. “That queue begins here… with me.”
Anger suffused her instantly. It was insulting for him to think her foolish enough to believe him when for years they’d been in one another’s company routinely and he’d never bothered to even glance at her in such a way. “Oh, you are insufferable! How dare you offer up such a ridiculous pretense just because you dislike the notion of another man paying court to me? Like some dog in a manger fighting over a bone previously discarded! Are you afraid my brother’s house will not be well ordered enough for your liking if marriage should take me away from it?”
Immediately he shook his head, his denial quick and sincere. “No. I confess to you that it is true that Lord Marklynne’s interest in you has sparked me to action, but only because I am afraid that if I do not act now, it will be too late. I’ve been unable to think about anything but how wretched it would be to see youmarry another, to see you settle for a man whom you will never love.”
“And you think I love you?” She challenged. How much worse would it be to know that he’d had some inkling all along of the torch she bore for him? It was humiliating to think he’d guessed her feelings for him and that now he was playing upon them to keep her tied to her brother’s side and to him, by proxy.A toy placed on the shelf and forgotten until someone else wanted it.
“No. I would not dare to hope. I am asking, Eleanor, for an opportunity to explore the notion that you and I could be much more than simply friends. Will you permit that? Will you allow for the possibility that we could be more to one another?”
There was challenge in his voice, but also a vulnerability that brought a moment of doubt to her. Doubt that she immediately dismissed. It was a fantasy she was weaving in her mind, that he’d suddenly—after all these years—finally seen her. Truly seen her. It was something she dared not put her faith in. Bad enough to love him from afar, unrequited and unknown. For her to be courted by him and then rejected, it would destroy her.
“No,” she stated with firm resolve. “Absolutely not. It’s ridiculous. The utter notion is preposterous.”
“That is a very vehement response… one might even say that the lady doth protest too much,” he pointed out.
“You are insufferable.”
“Prove it. We can wager on it,” he said. “If I can charm you, if I can court and win your affections within… say, a month’s time? If I can, then you will send Marklynne packing.”
“You are mad! An arrogant, vain, peacock of a man who cannot stand the idea that someone else might want me as their bride,” she said, the words hissing out between clenched teeth.
He smirked then. “So you’re afraid. You’re afraid that if you permit it, you will be so charmed by me that whatever bland courtship Marklynne offers you will pale in comparison.”
“You will not accuse me of cowardice, Adrian Grant! I’m afraid of nothing!” She was beyond furious. She was also falling into a full blown panic. Nothing about their current conversation had been foreseen. How in the name of heaven and they gottenhere?
“Then you will permit me to call on you tomorrow and take you for a drive in the park and perhaps to Gunther’s for an ice afterward. So that we can put it all to the test?”
He’d backed her into a proverbial corner. If she declined, then it would seem she was fearful. If she agreed, she’d never be able to keep the secret of just how long she’d been hopelessly and miserably in love with him.
“Fine. Do your worst.” She was determined that, whatever the cost, he would never know how long she had dreamed of the very thing he now offered. Too little and too late.
“Or my best,” he countered, and there was no challenge this time. Only a tender vow that left her shaken. He continued, “You are certainly deserving of that degree of effort.”
Chapter
Eight
Adrian had known, even as he baited her the night before, exactly how she would respond. Eleanor had never been one to tolerate being doubted. She would sooner fling herself headlong into folly than allow anyone—least of all him—to suggest she lacked courage. It had been ungentlemanly to use that knowledge. Worse, it had been deliberate. And yet he could not pretend to regret it when it had achieved precisely the result he’d wished: it had forced her to grant him an opening.
