Page 6 of The Trouble with True Love

“Or she’ll think it sounds like a fine idea and drop me flat.”

“That’s why it’s important to go about it the right way. You need to take her hand, look deeply into her eyes, paste an expression of utter devastation on your face, and explain that marriage between the two of you is just not possible.”

“And what reason could I give?”

“The facts are reason enough. You haven’t means to support her.”

“That’s true. I’ve very little money of my own, and she knows it.”

“Remind her of that and suggest—gently—that perhaps the two of you should go your separate ways? You don’t want to do it, of course, because you’re wild about her, and you can’t sleep or eat for wanting her, and your nights with her are the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to you, but for her sake, you feel you must tear yourself away.”

At this self-serving diatribe camouflaged by noble self-sacrifice, Clara nearly bounded out of her chair, but she managed to refrain by curling her hands into tight fists on the table. Staring down at them, she wished suddenly that she were a man so she could call these scoundrels out and put her clenched fists to good use. Of all the outrageous speeches.

“I can’t say that,” Lionel protested as Clara worked to keep her temper in check. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Is it ridiculous? You want her, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“You don’t want to let her go, do you?”

“No, of course I don’t. I’ve already told you so.”

“Then, unless you want to find yourself standing in the nearest parish church a few weeks from now, pledging your entire future and what little you have in the way of worldly goods to a woman you barely know, you’d better find the words to persuade her to an alternative that doesn’t mean farewell.”

“But even if I could manage to say all the things you suggest, how can I make it seem convincing?”

“I advise you to spend a night or two beforehand going without food and sleep. That will give you the appropriately ravaged appearance.”

“God,” Lionel choked, laughing a little. “You’re such a clever fellow.”

Unlike Lionel, Clara felt no inclination to laugh. By heaven, her blood was up. To think of that poor young woman being deceived so thoroughly and persuaded by such nefarious means to continue an illicit liaison—why, it was unbearable. To stand by as another woman clung to the hope of marriage when the man she loved had no intention or desire to offer it, was unconscionable. If people found out about her illicit affair, she would be disgraced and shamed. And if she became with child, she’d be beyond the pale, ruined forever, and the child would suffer the stigma of illegitimacy and shame.

Until now, Clara hadn’t had any idea of the devious depths to which some men could sink, but this conversation was providing her with a quick and brutal education. In her opinion, the young lady in question would be gaining a lucky escape if she walked away from this Lionel fellow now, before it was too late. As for his friend...

Clara took another peek at the man she’d likened to Adonis, and when she did, she found that the spell was broken. Though he was still every bit as good-looking now as he’d been a short while ago, she could no longer see him as some sort of golden, windblown god. All she saw was a deceitful cad who toyed with women and encouraged others to do the same.

Lionel spoke again, and Clara found that her indignation on this Dina’s behalf was not stronger than her curiosity. She leaned closer to the palm trees as he said, “Even if I can convince her I’m shattered by the idea of ending things, I don’t see what good it will do. What’s to stop her from simply agreeing with me and saying good-bye?”

“She probably will, but I’m willing to bet any farewell on her part will be halfhearted. Parting from you isn’t what she really wants, you see. She wants a sweeping, romantic gesture on your part to reassure her that you care, even if you’re not prepared to marry her.”

Clara bit down hard on her lip, fearing this man knew far too much about women.

“What sort of gesture?” Lionel asked, sounding bewildered.

“If you want her, you’ll have to throw your pride to the winds and plead with her not to leave you. Even if it’s only another night, another week—whatever crumbs she offers you, you’re willing to take. That’s what she wants to hear.”

“I suppose, but it sounds like utter rubbish to me.”

“It won’t if you do it properly. I’ll show you.”

Too curious for caution, Clara slid another sideways glance at him, watching as he lifted his hand to beckon to the waitress who was passing their table with a laden tray that looked to be Clara’s tea and scones.

The waitress stopped at once, so quickly in fact, that the contents of the tray almost slid to the floor. “Oh,” she gasped as Adonis stood up and faced her. Clara, meanwhile, readjusted her position, ducking her chin even as she slanted her gaze up so that she could continue to watch out of the corner of her eye.

“May I help you, sir?” the girl asked, her voice betraying an eagerness to please that went a bit beyond the polite civility usually provided by the employees of a tea shop.

“Indeed, you may, Miss...?”

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