‘Prudence,’ she began hesitantly, pronouncing the name in the French way, ‘has said that she will help me to—to marry an Englishman.’
‘Yes, that’s what I’m talking about,’ Gerald said. ‘I, on the other hand, want to help you to marry this Englishman.’
Melusine’s heart leapt, raced for a moment, and suddenly dropped again. Just this? Parbleu, did he think this was enough? She did not wish to marry him—at least, not just because he was an Englishman.
‘You have said you do not wish to marry me,’ she accused.
‘Oh, I don’t wish to marry you. I’d need to be out of my senses.’
Quick anger flared, surpassing the fluttering hope.
‘Dieu du ciel, is this a way to have me say yes? If it is that you do not wish to, why do you ask me?’
‘Ah.’ Much to Melusine’s chagrin, Gerald folded his arms and leaned back, as if wholly at his ease. ‘I can answer that. Of all the entirely English women I know, you’re the only one with a French accent.’
She was too distressed to bear this. ‘Imbecile. Is this a reason?’
‘Not good enough? Now I had every hope that it would appeal to you. I’ll have to think of something else.’
‘Do not hope it,’ returned Melusine, snapping uncontrollably. ‘I do not wish to hear any more reasons so foolish, so do not trouble to think of them. I see now that you make a game with me indeed. You do not wish to marry me at all, that is seen.’
Gerald unfolded his arms and threw his hands in the air. ‘But I have been perfectly honest about that. I don’t wish to marry you at all.’
‘In this case, I do not at all wish to marry you,’ Melusine threw at him furiously. ‘And I have a very good mind to kill you.’
‘But you must,’ Gerald said, quite as if he meant it. ‘Not kill me, I mean. Marry me.’
‘I will not.’
‘But the general gave his permission.’
‘Je m’en moque. And it is not at all his affair.’
‘But it’s my affair, Melusine. You have to marry me.’
‘Why should I?’
‘Because I can’t live without you!’
‘That is your own affair, and—’
Melusine broke off, staring at him, shocked realisation kicking in her gut. Reaction set in and she leapt at him, beating at his chest with her fists.
‘This is the way you tell me that you love me? You English idiot, you!’
He seized her wrists to hold her off, actually daring to laugh, much to Melusine’s increased fury.
‘What else do you expect? It’s the penalty you pay for marrying an Englishman.’
Melusine wrenched her wrists out of his hold and stepped back, digging into her skirts, which she had adequately prepared some days ago. ‘But I do not pay this penalty.’
‘Uh-oh,’ came from her infuriating suitor and his eyes dropped to the weapon she was dragging from the holster under her petticoat. ‘Here we go again.’
Both hands about the butt of her unwieldy pistol, Melusine glared at him.
‘If you love me, you will say it, or else I will blow off your head.’
‘Will you indeed? Truly?’
His smile held so much tenderness, she was tempted to surrender at once. But, no. This she would not endure. She infused menace into her voice.
‘Say it.’
Gerald remained infuriatingly calm. ‘I’ve never before made love at pistol point.’
‘But you do not make love,’ Melusine pointed out.
‘I kissed you once, didn’t I?’
Her pulses jumped and she stared. ‘You would say that already then you love me?’
His glance was a caress and Melusine’s resolve weakened.
‘When we met probably, and you threatened me at the first. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe. ‘It must have been so, Melusine, or I wouldn’t have kissed you.’
A tiny giggle escaped her, and she lowered the pistol a trifle. ‘Eh bien, you are not like Leonardo.’
His face changed, all the humour and tenderness leaving it in an instant. Something like a snarl crossed his face, and ignoring the pistol, he moved forward, seizing her shoulders.
