Page 36 of After the Abduction

“Aren’t we?” She ran her finger along the settee cushion, and he felt it as clearly as if she’d stroked his thigh. “Very well, consider it mere curiosity. Tell me what you’d say to gain a woman, Sebastian. If you wanted to court me, for example, how would you ‘shade the truth’?”

He stared hard at her. Had she guessed that courtship was his aim? Or was she merely toying with him? “I wouldn’t shade the truth with you. There’d be no need.”

“Thank you very much,” she said in mock reproof. “You must be quite sure of yourself if you think I’d be such an easy conquest.”

He hid a smile. “Not at all. I only meant it would be impossible to praise you falsely. You exceed every standard by which a man would measure a woman.”

She laughed. “Now that, my lord, is a compliment to end all compliments. And most assuredly a shading of the truth.”

He laughed, too, relishing her pleasure. That was one thing he remembered very well about her—the genuineness of her laugh. How softly feminine it was and lacking the affectation that some ladies possessed. Juliet might chuckle, but she’d never titter.

“You’ve caught me out, madam. I was testing you—to see if you could detect the most obvious flattery.”

Her eyes twinkled. “And did I pass?”

“Certainly. But that’s only the beginning of the lesson. We should move on to more subtle compliments.” He rounded the chair and went to sit beside her on the settee.

“Such as?” Her gaze followed him warily.

“There’s always the catalogue of a woman’s pleasing attributes. That was my father’s favorite approach.” He reached up to twine a silky blond curl about his gloved finger. “For example, a man might compare the color of your pretty hair to that of honey. Or say it’s soft as swansdown.”

“Those aren’t subtle compliments, sir.” She moved her head just enough to tug her lock free. “Besides, honey and swansdown are a messy combination. Spun gold and swansdown would work better together, don’t you think?”

“Or honey and whipped cream. Men are good with food metaphors, because half the time they’re thinking with their stomachs.”

That prompted a tiny smile. “And the other half of the time?”

They’re thinking with their cods. This was one time he should most certainly shade the truth. “They’re using their minds, of course.”

“Ah, but I thought men in love lost their minds completely.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in love, and I hope to avoid it entirely.” Though when she looked up at him, all wide-eyed and coy, he feared he was perilously close to losing his mind.

“Why would you avoid love?” She sounded vaguely disappointed.

He stumbled on, despite his nagging feeling that he’d just said something wrong. “It’s too impetuous an emotion. As you’ve pointed out countless times, I’m not made for such wildness. Besides, most people use it as an excuse for doing as they please and shirking their responsibilities. ‘I’m in love,’ they protest, and they think that makes it all acceptable. But it doesn’t.”

She cast him an arch look. “I suppose you consider me one of those shirkers.” When he shot her a quizzical glance, she added, “Since I ran off with your brother without regard for the consequences.”

“Oh, that. Actually, I wasn’t thinking of you. But now that you mention it, you must admit that your elopement proves my point. If your judgment hadn’t been clouded by your ‘love’ for ‘Morgan’ two years ago, you might have stopped to question the wisdom of running away with him. You might have noticed he wasn’t what he seemed.”

“Perhaps.” She eyed him with curiosity. “So who were you thinking of?”

He started to change the subject, then thought better of it. If he intended to marry her, she had a right to know about his family.

With a hard swallow, he glanced away. “My parents. Love rarely ended well in my house. My mother loved my father, according to Uncle Lew, but she seemed to get none of his love. And in the end, she gave ‘love’ as her reason for abandoning her husband and eldest son, for neglecting her duties as a wife and mother to—”

He couldn’t bring himself to tell her why his mother had left. Bad enough that Juliet knew the rest. She needn’t hear his most painful secret.

“Then there was my father, the rogue,” he went on. “He was in love several hundred times, I believe. He fell in love on the hour.” An ancient bitterness seeped into his voice. “And each new love posed new demands.” Demands that always came before those of his lonely son.

When he caught her staring at him with pity in her eyes, he stiffened. “You see, for a rogue, love takes a great deal of energy and planning. It’s all about winning the game and gaining the woman’s virtue without cost to himself.”

The pity in her face deepened, and he swore inwardly. Possessed by an urgent need to blot it out of her face, he caught her hand and unfastened the two buttons of her glove at the wrist. When she let him do it, he took advantage of her willingness to tug off her glove one finger at a time. “Every move of the rogue is calculated. If he praises your delicate hands, it’s only so he can bare them to his lascivious eye.”

Dropping the glove in her lap, he held her hand and stroked her fingers with his thumb, outlining each crease, fondling each knuckle. “If he praises your soft skin, it’s only so you’ll let him near enough to caress it.” When a shuddering breath escaped her, he instantly forgot his parents’ troubles as need exploded in him. “And if he praises your lips…” he whispered, lowering his head toward hers.

With a sudden look of panic, she jerked her hand from his, caught up her glove, and rose from the settee in one fluid movement. “I think I’ve grasped this part of the lesson, my lord.”