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The instant he said it, he wondered if some part of him had wanted her to work it out from the start. It certainly wasn’t in his nature to leave such obvious clues.
“So it is my fault, then? I am to be taken in by every scheming rat that crawls the earth because I lack the cynicism to expect the worst of people?”
He shrugged. “More or less.”
She dove at him, fingers poised to grasp his ear and likely rip it from his head. He barely escaped, diving under her arm to circle behind her.
“Perhaps fault is too strong a word,” he amended.
She struck again, her nails grazing and catching his lobe this time. Sensibly, he retreated to the far side of the desk, putting the heavy piece of furniture between them.
“Can we skip to the part where we discuss my proposal, or am I doomed to spend the day leaping and dodging?” He touched his ear and came away with a thin trickle of blood.
Gwen’s eyes flicked to the scratch then away, some of her initial sadness reemerging once more. Her gaze sank to her feet, her arms coming up to hold herself. “Please, just go.”
He could. He could still amend his plan. Leave Wales and this woman in peace. No doubt she’d make a brilliant success of Llanelli without him there to intrude, perhaps find a husband as sweet and naïve as she. They could have a passel of naïve children. She’d probably be happy with that life, but Michael would not, and he wasn’t given to acts of unselfishness. Walking away from the woman he wanted, simply because it was the noble thing to do, struck him as an immoderate way to begin, should he contemplate such a drastic shift in character. Better to start with something more manageable, like sacrificing the last slice of cake.
“No.”
Her head shot up, expression baffled and a little bit frantic. “That’s it? Just no, you won’t leave?”
Michael decided it was probably safe to stop hiding behind the desk; the conversation might go easier with less furniture between them. Tentatively, he drew closer.
“No seems like the safest response. After all, if I say I won’t leave, you might scratch me again. If I say I can’t leave, well, that would be an outright lie. That leaves a simple no as the only remaining option.” His hip found the edge of the desk again. “Although that’s not entirely accurate. I will leave, of course, if you insist upon it, but then I must also insist on the repayment of your late husband’s debts… in full… prior to my departure.”
“You know very well I haven’t the funds.” She glared at him long enough and hard enough that he could practically feel his stones recoil. “And frankly, I’ve no idea why you stop at manipulation and outright deceit when lying would achieve the same result with considerably less trouble on your part. It’s all the same in the end to the person you’ve deceived.”
“Because lying is dishonorable.”
The answer came so readily he nearly choked on it.
Good God. He sounded like his father.
The fourth Duke of Northam could have justified nearly any cruelty so long as it did not offend his particular notions of a gentleman’s code of conduct. Michael had never thought overmuch as to where his own dislike of lies or the precise distinction as to what qualified as a lie had originated, but the disdain on Gwen’s face was very like the one he’d worn as a lad, on the brief occasion his sire had bothered to lecture.
“Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” A bleak sort of resignation settled in her eyes, and she released a slow breath. “Let’s have it then… What’s the alternative? If you don’t want my yard, then what do you want?”
“You.”
“Me?” She blinked, shock and confusion warring in her expression. Then he saw the direction of her thoughts, her fingers fluttering briefly to the bodice of her gown, before adjusting it by the slightest fraction. Colour rose up her neck until her cheeks were stained an angry red.
“No, Gwen.” He straightened and drew a step closer, softening his tone. “This is a proposal, not a proposition.”
Her breath left in a whoosh. “You want to marry me? What? Why? No! I’d rather sell the yard than be tied to the likes of you.”
Michael shook his head. “Unfortunately, my pet, that offer is no longer on the table for discussion.”
“Neither is this one. This isn’t a proposal or a discussion. It’s extortion, plain and simple.”
“True, but I’m willing to discuss the terms of my extortion in this particular instance. I think you’ll find that I’m not an unreasonable man. But can we please, for the love of God, sit and have this conversation over a cup of tea.”
Gwen spun and sank into a chair. “You don’t want me to have tea right now. It’ll end up straight in your lap.”
“I appreciate the forewarning, but I think I’ll risk it. You look as if you could use a cup.”
And he could use a moment to collect himself.
His future happiness… and hers… rested on how he navigated this conversation. He liked her, desired their union to be, at the very least, mutually tolerable—pleasant… eventually. She might see him as a monster now, and he wasn’t sure she was wrong, but if he showed a willingness to compromise, it might shorten the distance between where they stood now and the contentment he very much wanted.
