Mr. Evans was handsome. He wasn’t a prince. More an evil genie.
The snick of the closing library door disturbed her perturbing reflections. She glanced up sharply from where she stood in the middle of the room. “My lord, please open the door.”
Lord Neville ignored her request and stumped toward her. “I spoke to your father this afternoon.”
She frowned. “You threatened to expose him?”
Lord Neville’s smile didn’t calm her nervousness. “I wouldn’t be so blatant.”
Curse him, she heard the word “yet” at the end of that sentence. “My father doesn’t own the jewel. I do.”
“Your modesty is outshone only by your beauty, Genevieve.”
Seriously worried now, she backed away. His tone made the hair stand up on her skin. “I won’t sell the Harmsworth Jewel.”
“My dear girl, right now I’m interested in another treasure altogether.” To her consternation, he dropped to one knee and grabbed her hand. “You must know how eagerly I long to make you my wife.”
“My lord—” Shock jammed all response in her throat. Her stomach knotted in horror. Frantically she prayed for Mr. Evans to wander in and make some irritating remark.
Lord Neville frowned. “Our understanding has been clear for years.”
With a desperate tug, Genevieve broke away and retreated until she bumped into her father’s book-covered desk. “I’m flattered by your offer—”
“Your consent will make me the happiest man in the world.” He didn’t wait for her to finish. He never did. A habit unacceptable in a husband.
What on earth had she done to make him think she expected marriage? With a sick feeling, she realized th
at this proposal’s timing wasn’t coincidental. Lord Neville was worried about Mr. Evans’s interest and staked a claim that until now he’d assumed uncontested. And if she married him, he’d get the Harmsworth Jewel.
Still, he’d been good to her father. Despite the blackmail, he deserved politeness. “I’m truly sorry, my lord, if I’ve led you to believe that I considered you anything more than my father’s associate.”
He scowled and lumbered to his feet. His amorous manner degenerated into aggression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Although several feet separated them, she squeezed against the desk. “It means that I thank you for your regard, but I cannot accept your proposal.”
Lord Neville’s outrage swelled. “Do you expect me to court you?”
Actually if a man wanted to marry her, she did expect more than an abrupt proposal that already assumed her agreement. A romantic must lurk inside her, however often she’d told herself she was at her last prayers.
“I’m not playing coy games. Surely you know me better than that.”
He rose on the balls of his feet in a threatening manner that made her stomach lurch. The library suddenly seemed cramped, the closed door ominous. “I know that you’d be living in penury without me and that you’re a damned ungrateful wench to expect me to dance attendance. And don’t forget that I can destroy your father’s reputation with a word.”
Appalled, she stared at him. “You’d blackmail me into marriage?”
“ ‘Blackmail’ is an ugly word.”
“And an uglier deed.” She straightened, temper feeding a recklessness that she already knew she might regret. “Tell the world.”
He scowled at her, although she read surprise in his eyes. “I may very well do that. When your father’s life is in ruins, remember how you brought it about, missy.”
She straightened, indignation swamping any remnants of fear. “You’ve requested my hand. I’ve refused. This meeting is at an end.”
With a swish of her meager skirts, she headed for the door. Despite her outrage at his proprietorial air, disbelief still gripped her. How long had he plotted this match? Her blood ran cold to think Lord Neville had spent years imagining her in his bed.
“Don’t you walk out on me!” He snatched her arm and dragged her closer. This time he didn’t care about bruises. Blood mottled his jowly cheeks and his hot male smell made her dizzy. “I haven’t finished.”
She stumbled to a stop and glared. “My lord, you’re under my father’s roof and obliged to act with discretion.”