The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,30
He sounded a touch defensive, despite his growing desire. Hell, he felt defensive. The more he wanted her, the more he wanted to protect her opinion of him. “As I said, I never expected it to be. The headmistress is a family friend who can be frighteningly convincing at times. I should have asked for more specifics, but I heard the word ‘children’ and my pocketbook opened itself.” He shrugged. He wished he felt as indifferent about his failing as he sounded. “After I gave her institution a thousand pounds, I felt I should do the same for my own sex. She’s keeping her head above water, but the Academy for Inopportune Young Men threatened to close its doors last month.”
He felt like a fool for admitting his loss, but Elizabeth was looking at him as though a heavenly light had broken through the rafters to shine down on him. He sat up a little straighter as she asked, “I take it you were moved to contribute?”
It was nice to have her admire him for his good intentions, especially given what they’d cost him. He did sleep easier knowing fifty orphaned boys would have meals and beds for the next year, even if it meant he hadn’t been able to treat himself with the money left over from paying his and Darius’ debts. “I couldn’t bring up the entire donation asked of me, but I found a few quid and it was enough to save the school from immediate penury.”
Her lips twitched. “You found a few quid just jingling in your pocket?”
“Something like that.” He returned her smile, knowing as well as she must that if she hadn’t happened upon him, he never would have had the money to help.
She played a card. He hadn’t consciously realized they’d restarted the game. “I imagine the men extending you credit are unsavory sorts,” she said, looking up from beneath long, black lashes.
He turned up another ace and tossed his winning card onto the table. He flashed his teeth charmingly. “What can you possibly mean? Men who loan money to people who have little hope of paying it back—why, those must be the nicest men in all of Britain.”
She laughed. She had a husky, pleasant laugh that left little goose pebbles on his arms. “Why not marry a rich girl and be done with it? Why chance a thrashing, or prison, when you might simply sell your bloodlines to a wealthy merchant’s daughter and have done with it?”
He recoiled from her suggestion. “I’m not a ware.”
Her gaze remained steadily on him. “What about me? I’ve bought your services, haven’t I?”
“That’s different.” He wasn’t sure why. He’d never laid out his thoughts on the subject, but he didn’t need to do so just to know it felt wrong to him. “You paid me to do a job. The job is done. I’m not at your beck and call. Our arrangement left us free to go our own ways.”
Her eyebrow rose. “Like how you followed me?”
He ground his jaw. He couldn’t perfectly account for that. “I was worried.”
She blinked as though taken aback. Then her lips pressed together. “About Oliver?”
“A bit of that.” Actually, exactly that. But the way her eyes dimmed a bit made him add, “I thought I’d offended you.” Which was true. He’d initially returned to her house because he’d felt like a fool for disappointing her.
She looked so perplexed by this, he felt even sillier for admitting it just to win her favor. “Really? How?”
Of course she hadn’t been offended by his bungled proposal. She’d said as much at the time. There must be some ridiculous streak of romanticism in him that made him think he’d hurt her. Either that, or he was conceited.
He was possibly conceited. “I botched my proposal like a stupid oaf. I thought I’d hurt you.”
She looked stunned. “It wasn’t the finest masterpiece, I’ll grant you that.”
He wasn’t going to stay conceited very long if she kept this up.
After a moment of silence, she tapped the long edge of her cards on the table. “It wasn’t anything to do with you.”
“I know that now.” He’d been pretty quick to realize she hadn’t given him a second thought after he’d walked out of her door.
She half-laughed at this. “You must regret your rashness. But…” She raised her eyes to his. “You followed me all the way to Shropshire—the very middle of nowhere—because you thought you’d hurt my feelings?”