A Lady Never Surrenders Part 30

"I could have killed you, you know!"

"You could have," he agreed without a hint of his usual condescension on the subject of her and guns. "Next time I'll know better than to take you by surprise."

His eyes were dark, haunted. Then he stepped closer and seemed to notice that she wore only her chemise. When heat flared in his face, she lifted the gun again. "Oh, no, you are not going to waltz in here as if nothing has happened and expect to be taken into my bed without a word."

He held his hands up. "I wouldn't expect that."

The gun wavered in her hand as emotion clogged her throat. "You made it sound as if marrying me would be the w-worst sort of o-obligation..."

Pain slashed over his face. "I didn't mean to," he said, inching nearer. "I'm an idiot, I am."

"After last night, I th-thought you really cared about me, and th-then this morning-"

"I made you feel as if you were a pampered fool who could do nothing right," he said, now close enough to take the gun from her. He didn't. And even more amazingly, he seemed to understand her anger.

"I don't care what your house in Cheapside is like," she whispered, "and I don't care how many servants you have, and I don't care-"

"I know," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "Either shoot me or put down the gun, sweeting, because I desperately want to hold you."

And she desperately wanted him to. Except that she couldn't bear to have him be tender with her, then turn cold in the morning again. "Not yet. I want to know why you became so formal once we got here, why you withdrew from me. Did you change your mind about wanting to marry me once you realized that Gran had made it unnecessary?"

"G.o.d, no." He thrust one hand through his hair. "There's something I have to tell you. And since it's going to make you want to shoot me-or someone, anyway-I'd feel much better saying it without a gun staring me in the face."

She hesitated, then nodded. "But you have to promise not to touch me until I say you can."

A faint smile touched his lips. "Very well."

"I mean it!"

Sobering, he backed up a few steps. "I'll stand over here. You put the gun on the bedside table where you can reach it if I misbehave, all right?"

"All right." She put down the gun, and then, feeling very exposed in her chemise, pulled a sheet up around her. "Before you start, you should know that I told Gran I'm not going to marry anyone, ultimatum or not. So you see, I really don't care about my fortune. If I couldn't have you..."

"Ah, but you do have me, sweeting. I'm here because I couldn't bear to be without you."

Words that would have melted her yesterday only frustrated her now. "You always say such sweet things when we're alone, but tomorrow you'll act like Proper Pinter again, and it will all be forgot!"

He looked stricken. "Not this time, I swear."

"Why should this time be different than the last three times you kissed me and pretended it meant nothing?"

"For one thing, I just informed your brother I was going to marry you." When she gaped at him, he added, "How do you think I found out where your room was?"

She'd been on the verge of believing him until he said that. "Oliver would never allow you up here so late."

"Yet here I am."

"You're an investigator. You probably found out with your usual methods."

"I swear, I'm here because of your brother." He sighed. "Though he did make me promise to behave like a gentleman."

"That does sound like Oliver." And she wasn't sure whether to thank him for that. "So you're not here to seduce me."

"I'm here to convince you to marry me."

"Oh? The way you tried to convince me this morning?" she said acidly.

He flushed. "I realize now that I probably sounded a little ... er..."

"Unenthusiastic?"

"d.a.m.n it, I was not unenthusiastic or reticent or any of that!"

She lifted an eyebrow.

"It threw me off guard when your grandmother said that everything could be hushed up. It occurred to me that you might prefer not to be forced into marriage just because I ... because we..."

"Were intimate?"

He gave a terse nod.

"You thought I would prefer to forget that we'd shared a bed, so I could take some other man into my bed-a rich duke, for example?"

"No!" He shoved his hands into his pocket. "It wasn't like that. I didn't mean ... I..."

He was fl.u.s.tered. She always liked him better then. It made him more approachable. If she weren't still so angry at him, she'd find it rather endearing.

A distinctly uncomfortable look crossed his face. "I didn't want to make things harder for you, all right?"

"No, you didn't want to make things harder for you. You didn't want to put up with a spoiled wife who might demand that you use her fortune for such things as lace and sugar creatures on cakes."

"What I didn't want was for my wife to lose her fortune just because she married me." A muscle worked in his jaw. "I wasn't hypothesizing when I said that your grandmother might cut you off. The truth is..." He hesitated, then squared his shoulders. "She told me that if you stooped to marry someone as low as I, she would cut you off completely. Your siblings would gain their inheritance, but you would get nothing."

That took Celia completely aback. "You're lying."

"I wish I were."

Celia thought back over the past few days, over his odd behavior and what he'd said, and suddenly several things made more sense. "When did she do that?"

"The night of the ball."

That was why he'd turned cold again, why he wouldn't dance with her. Why he'd avoided her, would have kept avoiding her if she hadn't insisted on going with him to High Wycombe.

It was also why he'd given her all those lectures about what life with him would be like in poor little Cheapside. Because he was sure Gran would cut her off after they married.

Yet he'd made love to her last night only after she'd agreed to become his wife. And he'd done it knowing she would be poor. That he would gain nothing from the marriage except a gently bred wife who might be a burden to him.

A lump caught in her throat. All his cautions this morning had been Practical Pinter realizing that he should prepare her for losing everything.

What I want is you. Just you.

Perhaps he'd really meant that. But if so, then it was time he acted like it. He must stop trying to do what he thought was right for her without consulting her.

"I know what you're thinking-" he began.

"Do you?" That was the trouble. He truly thought he did. "Enlighten me."

"You think I balked at marrying you because you would have no fortune."

"And is that the case?"

"No!" he said, clearly insulted.

"So you're saying you have too good a character to marry for financial reasons, but you think I have so bad a character as to a.s.sume that you would."

That seemed to catch him off guard. "I'm not saying that."

"Aren't you?" She hugged her knees to her chest. "When anyone implies that you're unprincipled because of the circ.u.mstances of your birth, you turn into Proud Pinter, as lofty as a lord. Yet you tar all the aristocracy with the same brush because of their birth. Does that seem fair?"

He gazed sullenly at her. "You forget that when you first asked me to investigate your suitors, you said you didn't want to marry someone lower in rank and wealth, who might prove to be a fortune hunter."

She winced. "I started out biased myself. The difference is, as I got to know how fine a man you are, I adjusted my opinions." Anger surged up in her as she remembered his parting words about the duke this morning. "Yet after all we'd meant to each other, you made it sound as if I'd go running off to marry the first rich duke who offered."

"Because you deserve a duke, d.a.m.n it!" A troubled expression furrowed his brow. "You deserve a man who can give you the moon. I can't. I can give you a decent home in a decent part of town with decent people, but you..." His voice grew choked. "You're the most amazing woman I've ever known. It destroys me to think of what you'll have to give up to be with me."

"I told you before-I don't care!" she said hotly. "Why can't you believe me?"

He hesitated a long moment. "The truth?"

"Always."

"Because I can't imagine why you'd want me when you have men of rank and riches at your fingertips."

She gave a rueful laugh. "You grossly exaggerate my charms, but I can't complain. It's one of many things I adore about you-that you see a better version of me than I ever could." Remembering the wonderful words he'd said last night when she'd been so self-conscious, she left the bed to walk up to him. "Do you know what I see when I look at you?"

His wary gaze locked with hers. "Proper Pinter. Proud Pinter."

"Yes, but that's just who you show to the world to protect yourself." She reached up to stroke his cheek, reveling in the ragged breath that escaped him. "When you let down your guard, however, I see Jackson-who ferrets out the truth, no matter how hard. Who risks his own life to protect the weak. Who'd sacrifice anything to prevent me from having to sacrifice everything."

Catching her hand, he halted its path. "You see a saint," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "I'm not a saint; I'm a man with needs and desires and a great many rough edges."

"I like your rough edges," she said with a soft smile. "If I'd really wanted a man of rank and riches, I probably would have married long ago. I always told myself I couldn't marry because no one wanted me, but the truth was, I didn't want any of them." She fingered a lock of his hair. "Apparently I was waiting for you, rough edges and all."

His eyes turned hot with wanting. Drawing her hand to his lips, he kissed the palm so tenderly that her heart leapt into her throat. When he lifted his head, he said, "Then marry me, rough edges and all."

She swallowed. "That's what you say now, when we're alone and you're caught up in-"

He covered her mouth with his, kissing her so fervently that she turned into a puddle of mush. Blast him-he always did that, too, when they were alone; it was when they were with others that he reconsidered their being together forever. And he still had said nothing of love.

"That's enough of that," she warned, drawing back from him. "Until you make a proper proposal, before my family, you're not sharing my bed."

"Sweeting-"

"Don't you 'sweeting' me, Jackson Pinter." She edged away from him. "I want Proper Pinter back now."

A mocking smile crossed his lips. "Sorry, love. I threw him out when I saw how he was mucking up my private life."

Love?

No, she wouldn't let that soften her. Not until she was sure he wouldn't turn cold later. "You told Oliver you'd behave like a gentleman."

"To h.e.l.l with your brother." He stalked her with clear intent.

Even as she darted behind a chair to avoid him, excitement tore through her. "Aren't you still worried Gran will cut me off, and you'll be saddled with a spoiled wife and not enough money to please her?"

"To h.e.l.l with your grandmother, too. For that matter, to h.e.l.l with the money." He tossed the chair aside as if it were so much kindling; it clattered across the floor. "It's you I want."

"Jackson!" she cried as he approached her. "Someone might hear you!"

"Good." Catching her about the waist, he backed her toward the bed. "Then you'll be well and truly compromised, and there will be no more question of our marrying."

While she was still thrilling to the masterful way he'd decided to take charge, he tumbled her onto the bed, following her down to cover her body with his.

As she gaped at him, shocked to see her cautious love behave so delightfully incautious, he murmured, "Or better yet, they can find us here together in the morning and march us right to the church."

Then he took her mouth with his.

Chapter Twenty-four.

Jackson wanted to crow when she opened her mouth to his kiss. He understood her anger-she had a right to it. And if he were a decent man, he'd do as she demanded and come back in the morning to make "a proper proposal" before her family.

But he wasn't taking the chance that she would change her mind by the light of day. This time he'd leave her craving him as badly as he craved her, even if he had to spend all night doing it.

He dragged his mouth along her jaw to her neck to plunder the tender flesh there. She turned her head to nip his earlobe, then whisper, "I should never have put down my gun, you devil."

"I told you," he rasped, "don't brandish a gun unless you mean to use it."

"I wish I'd shot you when I had the chance," she said in an aching voice, "just for being so cold to me this morning."

He'd hurt her badly, d.a.m.n it. "I'll make it up to you." He fondled her breast, thumbing the nipple until she gasped. "After tonight, you'll never have cause to doubt me again."