Page 37 of After the Abduction

She hastened to the opposite end of the room, tugging her glove back on with great urgency. To his immense satisfaction, her cheeks were flushed and her motions shaky. Perhaps she wasn’t so immune to his attentions after all.

Although when she met his gaze again, she seemed to have regained her control. “All you’ve mentioned so far are compliments to a woman’s appearance. Doesn’t a scoundrel ever compliment a woman’s character?”

“Certainly. If he thinks it will get him something.” He had to forcibly restrain himself from leaping across the room and dragging her into his embrace. What would she do if he did?

Probably give him another lowering assessment of his performance.

“Then you must provide me with examples of that sort of insincere compliment,” she ordered. “So I can recognize them when I hear them, you understand.”

Pretending to be thinking about it, he watched as she ambled about the room, centering a porcelain box here, adjusting the pieces on the marble chess table there. She was so utterly feminine, such a symphony of grace and beauty, that he couldn’t drag his gaze from her. Had his mother moved through Charnwood like that?

No, probably not, given how she’d left. By all accounts, his mother had eventually come to hate this house and everyone in it.

But Juliet wouldn’t. Somehow he knew, merely from her comments about his servants, that she would cherish Charnwood as he did. She’d fuss over it and tend it and bear him children to fill its halls with laughter.

By thunder, how had he ever left Juliet behind the first time? Perhaps his uncle was right. If he’d stayed and faced the consequences, married her to make amends…

He rolled his eyes. Oh, certainly. As if Knighton would have let her marry her kidnapper. Sebastian would have been hanging from the nearest gallows within a week. Then what would have become of Charnwood? Especially if his death had left Morgan, the only heir to the estate, without a champion in England.

No, he’d done what he had to. But in the process, he’d handed her back to all those blasted men in London who’d tried to court her. How many had there truly been? How many had she captivated with that charming stroll, that delicate sweep of skirts that barely hinted at legs sure to be as finely wrought as the rest of her? How many men’s hopes had she dashed?

Well, she wouldn’t dash his. He would convince her to marry him somehow. He owed it to her to redress his wrongs, and he owed it to his family and estate to marry and sire an heir. So they would marry, because it was the sensible, responsible thing to do. Because she would preside over his table with winsome grace, would handle his household competently…would be the perfect companion in his cold, lonely bed.

He sucked in a breath as tantalizing images sprang to mind, of her sighing and moaning beneath him, arching up to meet his hands and mouth and thrusts—

Swearing inwardly, he picked her needlework up from the side table, desperate for something to distract him from thoughts of how she’d look stripped down to nothing but her smile. It took him a long moment to focus on the intricate, accomplished handiwork.

“My lord?” she prodded. “Compliments to a woman’s character?”

He scrambled to collect his thoughts and thrash his urges into respectability. “You have a fine hand with a needle,” he rasped.

She laughed, oblivious to his struggle. “That’s far too obvious an insincere compliment. How could a man know whether I was good with a needle or not? Besides, men don’t care about such things.”

“That’s not true. An intelligent man recognizes and respects good workmanship when he sees it, whether it’s in the design of a pistol or the plying of a needle. And the truth is…” He managed a grin. “That was my own compliment to you. Your skill so dazzled me that I made an honest observation.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Then you’re more adept at this compliment business than I expected, sir. But you’re supposed to help me ascertain when a man is not sincere.”

Recovering, he leaned back against the settee. “Very well—let’s attack this from another angle. Give me examples of compliments you found insincere in the past.”

A mischievous smile touched her lips. “What an excellent idea. How about this one? ‘You’re not shy, my lady, just circumspect. There’s nothing wrong with being cautious about whom you allow into your life.’”

That sounded familiar, though it didn’t seem like the common run of flatteries. “I’m not sure why that would be—”

“Or this one: ‘Your gentle nature makes it impossible for you to think ill of someone. That’s a virtue, not a defect, no matter what your sisters may say.’”

His smile vanished.

Strolling nearer, she gazed coolly into his face. “Or my favorite: ‘You are every man’s dream, the perfect woman.’ A variation of ‘You exceed every standard by which a man would measure a woman.’”

A knot formed in his gut. He forced himself to ask the question she would expect, the one he already knew the answer to. “Why do you find those compliments insincere?”

She halted a foot away to glower down at him. “They were spoken by your brother while he was trying to seduce me away from my family.”

Of course. A pity he didn’t have her excellent memory. But why had she chosen his own compliments? Why did her stance imply a challenge? If he didn’t know better, he’d think she’d reverted to her earlier suspicions of him.

That couldn’t be. He hadn’t let anything slip, not once. And she’d professed to be convinced of his truthfulness last night.

All the same…“Just because my brother used them deceitfully doesn’t mean they were insincere. Indeed, they seem apt assessments of your character.”