Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)(85)

But the handsome man wasn’t speaking words of adoration, and besides, she was going to have to leave him. What he did not say in words, he showed in gestures. She read his unease in every movement—the tight clamp his gloved hands kept on the reins, his monosyllabic responses. And always, always, the way he watched her. Warily, as if she wielded some mighty weapon.

Jenny could have wept.

She put her hand over his. His jaw twitched and he looked ahead. Stoic and somber.

Eventually, he turned onto a street labeled Half Moon Lane, a quiet, respectable neighborhood. He pulled the horses up outside an elegant row house. He tossed the reins in one controlled flick to the boy who clambered down off the back. The horses stamped and tossed their heads, but stood. The afternoon silence, after the rattle of wheels over cobblestone, pressed into her skin. Gareth removed one black glove and held out his hand to her. She took it and stepped down. He didn’t retain her grip. Instead he turned, jerkily, to the house and reached the door in a few strides.

Following behind him, Jenny noticed the knocker had been removed from the glossy blue door. Gareth fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a key. Seconds later, he swung the door open, with the air of a sculptor unveiling his masterpiece. The tense lines of his face set, and he motioned her forward.

Jenny stepped into the hall. The soles of her shoes clacked on black marble so polished she could have used it as a mirror. Gold tracework climbed the walls. Her vision followed the scrolling gilt up, up and still up. She broke out in gooseflesh. That frightening sense of vertigo assailed her, as if she were looking into a great chasm built of money. Cherubs cavorted across the blue of the ceiling. A lady of Gareth’s acquaintance might have found their chubby smiles comforting. All Jenny could think was that some poor fellow had hung with his feet dangling all those yards above the ground for hours on end, all for the purpose of providing her with five seconds of pleasure should she happen to glance in the air.

“What do you think of it?” Gareth asked.

“It makes the bottoms of my feet tingle,” Jenny said honestly.

He wrinkled his nose. “Well. That’s ambiguous. You should see the rest of the house.”

He took her arm and guided her through a doorway decorated with ornate molding. Black marble gave way to floors that gleamed like honey. The paper on the walls was a rich burgundy-and-gold. And the gold wasn’t a mere yellow color; it shone with little flecks of gleaming metal. Traces of light seeped through drawn velvet curtains. Jenny turned around, her feet clopping noisily against the floor.

“It echoes,” Jenny said experimentally. Her voice reverberated back to her.

“It’s not furnished yet,” Gareth said. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to do it yourself, or if I should hire someone for the task.”

His words echoed, too. Jenny swallowed, a forbidding pit growing in her stomach.

“Gareth,” she said quietly, “my furnishings would look rather ridiculous in here.”

“Pshaw. As if I’d let you keep that rickety old table. Here, you haven’t seen upstairs yet. You can see the back garden from the bedroom window.”

Jenny planted her feet and shook her hand as he tried to lead her away. “What is this?”

“It’s a house. A row house. I know it doesn’t look like much at the moment, but imagine it furnished. Paintings on the wall. A fire in the fireplace and a staff.”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “I know what a house is, Gareth. And I have a perfectly functional imagination. I don’t know why you’re showing it to me.”

“My solicitor’s drawing up the deed. I’m giving it to you.”

The world stood still. “What?”

“I’m. Giving. It. To. You. Oh, stop standing there with your mouth open. If you want to thank me, I can think of several ways for you to do so.”

Suggestive words, but he delivered them so stiffly.

Her heart constricted. She’d told him not to send furniture or bring her jewels, so he gave her a house? Had he understood a word she’d told him?

“Well?” He reached for her hand. “Come along.”

“It’s a nice house. A very nice house. It’s a little…” Formal. Big. None of that really seemed to match the shrieking horror inside her. “It’s a little outside my means to maintain properly,” she finally managed.

“Don’t be obtuse, Jenny. It’s a perfectly legitimate bargain. I have money. You don’t. You have you. And in a matter of days, I won’t. Well, trade and trade alike. I’m keeping you.”

“I don’t want to be kept.”

His brows scrunched together in puzzlement.

“I don’t want to feel obliged to you. And I certainly don’t want you to pay me to do something I’d prefer to give freely.”

Gareth switched the glove he carried to his other hand and slapped it rhythmically against his thigh. “Explain.”

“I mean, that what you are proposing—it feels like a coffin to me.”

The glove slapped once more and then stilled as black leather scrunched in his hand. “You, of all people, know I can never say things the right way. What I mean is—I can’t let you leave me. I need you.”

She wanted to take his hand and smooth out the tension in the muscles. She wanted to kiss his forehead and watch those furrowed lines sink back into comfort.