Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)(36)
She couldn’t. He didn’t kiss her as a lover. He kissed her as if she were a falsehood, and this rough embrace the proof of her perfidy. She wanted him, but not like this. Never like this.
Jenny clamped her lips together and turned away from his mouth. “Stop.” She was begging, her breath ragged.
His hand found her chin. “No.” He jerked her face back and leaned in again.
Jenny slapped him. She put her whole body into the blow. His head whipped to the side with the force of her strike.
Slowly his hands dropped to his sides. Disbelief echoed in his raging eyes.
Jenny shook out her stinging palm. “I don’t care who I lied to. I don’t care what your title is. When I see myself, I see a woman worth more than a modicum of your respect. And don’t you dare touch me if you disagree.”
Lord Blakely rubbed his cheek and scowled at her. “Damnation.”
“Do you know what I see when I look at you?”
“I don’t care.” He folded his arms. “I don’t care about you. I don’t care about my man of business. Or friendship. You can all go hang. I’m done trying. It never does any good.”
Pieces fell into place. The inchoate rage storming in his eyes. His unhappiness. His fury. Unwillingly, Jenny saw what had brought on this spectacular tantrum. He had made an effort to make friends with his man of business. And he’d failed. It should not have been surprising. Friendship could not be commanded, and Lord Blakely had little experience with any other sort of interaction.
“Lord Blakely,” Jenny said slowly, “I don’t care how spectacularly you fail at friendship. I will not be made a scapegoat for your frustration.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” he said sulkily. “I’m acting this way because I enjoy it.”
Jenny sighed. “You’re an intelligent man. On occasion, you even act like one. Don’t make excuses for yourself.”
His hands clenched at his sides. “I just don’t make friends. It’s easy for you to—”
“Friendship is easy, my lord. Even commoners like me manage it. All you have to do is find what you have in common with an individual and talk about it. The rest will follow. Try conversing instead of commanding. Try seeing something good in a person, instead of seeing the worst.”
Lord Blakely pulled at his cuffs, adjusting them with minute precision. He turned his hands over and examined his palms. His jaw worked. And when he raised his head, she saw in his gaze a bleak and unrelenting wilderness, harsh and devoid of inhabitants.
She’d said it once to wound the man. But now, the sentiment escaped her before she had a chance to think it over. “My God, Lord Blakely. You really are lonely.”
The silence stretched. Finally, he turned away. “I had better leave.”
Jenny had nothing to do but shut the door behind him.
THE AFTERNOON AFTER Lord Blakely’s intrusion, Jenny checked the dark cloth covering her furniture for the third time. It was symmetrically arranged, as it had been when she’d checked it two minutes before. Tiny brass bells blew in the light breeze flowing from the open window. She’d chosen them because their tinkling tones sounded Eastern and exotic. Rationally, Jenny knew she’d perfected the right atmosphere.
And yet as she ushered Ned in, the familiar scent of sandalwood cloying her senses, she sensed something was missing. It was nothing that could be fixed with incense or any quantity of black cloth. No; it was something more vital. She hadn’t the heart for this any longer.
“Madame Esmerelda,” Ned intoned, “I come seeking advice.”
That old formula. Again.
Jenny held out her palm. “Cross my palm with silver.”
The shillings he piled into her hand were as cold as ice, heavier than lead. Ten shillings. Money that would pay the quarterly rents due in the next week. But the reminder only pricked her conscience further.
Nothing had changed on the outside. On the inside, however, Jenny watched herself through Lord Blakely’s critical eyes. What she saw left her nauseated. She was weak. Greedy. She wasn’t lying to Ned for money. No, she was lying to him for friendship, and that was by far the more devastating fraud.
Jenny swallowed bitter bile and pulled a weak smile into place. “How can I help you, Ned?”
Ned leaned forward, gripping his knees. His eyes shone with a ferocious intensity.
“It’s not working.” He must have read the puzzlement in her eyes, because he explained. “The tasks. They’re not working. Blakely’s not falling in love with Lady Kathleen, and she’s not falling in love with him.”
Jenny met Ned’s gaze. Two weeks ago, she’d have sighed and told him to trust her. She’d have counseled patience and fortitude, and perhaps added occult platitudes. With Jupiter nearing, good things will come to those who wait. But two weeks ago, Lord Blakely had been nothing other than a mythological cousin mentioned by Ned in awestruck tones.
If I see the worst in everyone, he’d told her, it is because they refuse to see it in themselves.
Well. Jenny was seeing the worst of herself now. It was reflected in the hopeful glint in Ned’s eyes. It was mirrored in his clear, unwrinkled forehead, as he awaited her response. Waited for her to solve a problem she’d created.
She’d hoped to help Ned by softening Lord Blakely. She’d wanted the marquess to see the good in his cousin. She’d believed he’d eventually see the good in others beside himself. But even Ned could tell the tasks weren’t working.