Page 40 of The Forbidden Lord
But then, Mr. Pollock possessed things Jordan did not. Like a heart thatwasn’tmade of granite.
“I wasn’t trying to put him in his place,” she said truthfully. “I was trying to make him stop mocking everything.”
“You’ll never succeed at that, I fear.” They had reached the gazebo now. Mr. Pollock took out his handkerchief and dusted off one of the marble benches for her. “But let’s not talk about Blackmore, shall we? I wish to talk about you.”
“Me?” Warily, she took the seat he offered. “What is there to say about me?” She’d rather talk about Sophie.
The dying sun caught his thoughtful expression. “I could spout the usual platitudes—your hair is like spun gold and your lips like rubies—but I fear a woman of your sophistication is so used to hearing them you’d find them tedious.”
A woman of her sophistication, indeed. If only he knew the truth. “Tedious, no. Ridiculous, yes. I am no more than an ordinary woman with perfectly ordinary hair and lips, I’m sure.” She toyed nervously with the fan attached to her wrist, wondering how to turn the conversation elsewhere. Then inspiration struck. “My looks don’t compare to my cousin’s. That creamy complexion and jet hair. Don’t you think she’s stunning?”
“Lady Sophie can’t hold a candle to you.” To her surprise, he sat down and seized her fidgety hands in his well-manicured ones. “Just as the moon fades to nothing when the sun rises, so does her beauty compare to yours.”
Dear heavens, she’d never had a man speak poetically to her, but she didn’t imagine it boded well for keeping their acquaintance casual. She tried to extricate her hands, but he only clasped them tighter. “Mr. Pollock, really, you must release me!”
“Not until I say what’s in my heart.” The dusk light muted his features, but didn’t hide the glitter in his pale blue eyes. “I think you might have some small feeling toward me, or you wouldn’t have rebuffed Blackmore on my account. And your contriving to come out here with me alone confirms it.”
Goodness gracious, she’d given him the wrong idea entirely. “Mr. Pollock?—”
“Don’t speak yet. Let me first tell you how I feel. Doubtless you have many suitors; I only ask that you count me among them and give me the same chance to further our acquaintance that you give the others.”
This was disastrous. “I don’t understand. I thought you were enamored of my cousin.” She tugged her hands free, then slid away from him. “I never dreamed you might think of me in that way. You hardly know me.”
He slid closer on the bench. “I know you well enough after today. I scarcely knew your cousin any better when I courted her. But you came along and put an end to any thought of that when I realized that the least of your family’s jewels had been displayed first. The best was kept for last—you, a diamond of the first water.”
Flowers, heavenly bodies, and now jewels. Did he ever speak in plain English? Obviously, his feelings for Sophie had been inconsequential if he could dismiss them so easily. She couldn’t let him go on like this, no matter what Lord Nesfield expected. “Please say no more. You and I could never … that is, it wouldn’t be possible for?—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” he interrupted.
It’s a good thing,since I haven’t the foggiest idea.
“I know your father might disapprove of your being courted by a man without a title. But you Scottish aren’t so fastidious about such things as we English. Surely, if you explained that I’m well able to provide for you, such a thing wouldn’t matter.”
Eagerly she seized on his reason. “You’re wrong. It matters very much, not only to my father, but to Mama. She’s determined to have me marry well. When it comes to such things, she’s very English.” When he looked crestfallen, her tender heart was pricked. “Of course, you know thatIdon’t care about titles and such. You’re a very nice man, and I’m sure you’ll make a fine husband for someone. But I couldn’t flout my parents’ wishes by allowing you to court me. I’m sure you understand.”
Her attempt to soften the blow of rejection regrettably only further encouraged him. His face lit up, and he seized her about the waist, tugging her next to him on the bench. Her fan dropped from her fingers to dangle from her wrist.
“I don’t care how your parents feel,” he whispered, now close enough that the cloying scent of his toilet water filled her nostrils. “If that’s all that concerns you, you needn’t worry. Parental permission isn’talwaysrequired for marriage, you know.” He raised one eyebrow suggestively. “As you must realize, in some parts of the country men and women can marry as they choose.”
His words gave her pause. Some parts of the country? As she must realize? He meant Gretna Green in Scotland, didn’t he?
Had he said these same words to Sophie? “Mr. Pollock, you’re being premature. You can’t be implying that … that we should elope.”
“Not unless we have to, but I wouldn’t let a paltry thing like parental permission stand in the way of our mutual affection.”
Did he mean it? Was Mr. Pollock so eager for a wife that he would resort to such persuasions to acquire one?
She forced a light tone into her voice. “Really, you must be joking. Is this how you always court a lady, by suggesting she throw aside her family and run away to some uncertain future?”
“If you’re questioning my sincerity, madam, I assure you I’m perfectly serious. I’ll do what I must to have you. I give you fair warning.”
A chill shot through her as his seemingly frail arm became a restrictive band about her waist. She dared not linger here any longer. “You mustn’t speak to me of such things.” She tried to escape his embrace, but he only clutched her tighter. Alarm swelled in her chest. “Truly, sir, I could never ignore my parents’ wishes, and certainly I could never elope. You must approach my parents in the proper way.”
His other arm snaked about her waist to strengthen his hold. He might be a dandy, but his arms were surprisingly strong. “You’ve already said they would never allow a courtship between us, so that leaves us only one choice. Besides, I know you aren’t always so careful of the proprieties.” Anger stiffened his putty features. “I followed you and Lord Blackmore when you entered the gardens at Merrington’s. I saw how you kissed him.”
The fine hairs rose on the back of her neck. He’d seen them? Goodness gracious. She needn’t tax her imagination to realize what he thought of her.
Every cautionary tale she’d ever heard leapt into her mind—of men carrying young women off against their wills, of men so desperate to marry that they would do anything to obtain the woman of their choice. Frantically, she scanned the garden beyond the gazebo, but no one was in sight. Her plan wasn’t going well at all.
