No wonder her spirits were low. The best chance for romance she’d ever had, and after only two weeks’ reacquaintance, he was already proving a disappointment.
She’d have died, however, before admitting any of that to this man. “So, he’s a bit like your friends, then?” she said instead.
“Very similar, I agree, but as I told you the other day, those young men are not my friends. They are mere acquaintances, and rather tiresome ones at that. Ones I’d dearly love to see set down a notch or two.”
If he thought that would disarm her, he was mistaken. “One point we can agree on!”
“Just so. Which is the best reason of all why you should agree to take this on and help me win the bet.”
“I don’t see how any of what you describe helps you do that. The whole thing’s ridiculous.”
“But deuced good fun. Come now,” he added before she could argue the point, “wouldn’t you love to prove to Freddie Maybridge and his friends that they were utterly wrong in their assessment of you? Wouldn’t you like to see them eat humble pie?”
Evie thought of them, swaggering about, knocking over her books and demeaning her shop—demeaning her, too, from the sound of it. The chance to show them up was almost irresistible. She bit her lip, wavering a little.
To wear a beautiful gown and jewels, to watch their jaws drop as they realized just who they were looking at, to have them dancing attendance and clamoring for her attentions after the things they’d said about her...what a sweet, sweet pleasure that would be.
As if it would ever happen.
Evie brought herself firmly back down to earth. “As I said, it’s ridiculous. And even if it weren’t, it’s not possible. I can’t close my shop. And I haven’t a fraction of the blunt to buy a new wardrobe, or stay at the Savoy, or—”
“I’ll stand all the expenses, of course.”
Evie was shocked. “I couldn’t possibly allow a man to buy clothes for me or pay for my hotel room. It would be most improper.”
For some reason, that amused him. “Well, the whole thing’s a bit improper, really,” he said, laughing. He leaned closer, so close she caught the scent of bay rum on his cheek, and it was so luscious, she inhaled a deep, appreciative breath before she could stop herself. “But no one ever has to find out.”
“That’s not...” She paused and swallowed hard, trying to gather her scattered wits. “That’s not the point,” she whispered.
“Perhaps not,” he agreed, smiling faintly. He leaned even closer, and for no reason Evie could fathom, her toes curled inside her shoes. “But it’ll be our little secret.”
He made it sound so...deliciously naughty.
Desperate, Evie took a step back. “What about your friends? They would never keep such a secret.”
“Don’t worry about them. They won’t tell, I promise you. If they do, they’ll never get back into Oxford. Even worse, they’ll remain stone broke for years.”
She had no idea what he meant by that, but it didn’t really matter. “I don’t see how mere clothes could transform me into something I’m not. And, anyway, I see no reason to allow myself to be dressed up like a doll and paraded in front of your friends for amusement.”
“It wouldn’t be like that.”
The very gentleness of his voice, as if he could read her mind, as if he could sense, somehow, the secret fears that lurked inside of her, was more than she could bear. It made her feel raw, exposed, so very vulnerable.
Who was this man to see inside her? she thought, her anger reasserting itself like a protective wall. She didn’t need him to defend her to his awful friends or protect her from their stupid opinions. And who were they to pass judgment on anything about her anyway? She could imagine them, huddled together over glasses of port, dissecting her looks and her character, and making wagers over whether she could be made over to suit their notions of beauty and behavior. “I won’t be a toy in your silly, aristocratic games. My answer is no.”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he studied her for a long moment, so long, in fact, that she had to fight the impulse to wriggle under that piercing blue-black stare.
“I can see why it might seem that way,” he said at last. “But, somehow, I don’t think that’s the real reason why you’re refusing. You want to know what I think?”
She set her jaw. “Not particularly.”
“I think the real reason you’re turning down my proposition is that you’re afraid.”
“Afraid? That is absurd!”
“On the contrary, it’s perfectly understandable. After all, if you change things, you move into unknown territory. If you dream, your dreams might be crushed. If you aspire to more than you have, you might fail. If you hold your standards too high, you might never find romance. So instead, you try to reconcile yourself to the hand you’ve been dealt and tell yourself it’s good enough. You settle for less than you deserve, including the attentions of a man who is unworthy of you.”
“How dare you say such things?” she cried, her anger flaring higher. “You don’t even know me.”
