She should never have sat down. At least when she was on her feet she felt almost on a level with him, but down here, with him standing over her like that, she felt—diminished, under threat almost.
‘We’re still exploring the possibilities,’ she told him, and left him to make of that what he liked.
‘And Christina van Neilson?’ he put in smoothly, bringing her fine brows arching upwards as she glanced at him.
‘Been playing the sleuth, Dom?’ she drawled, feeling the commotion going on in her stomach increase with the implications that idea offered.
His rueful smile committed him. ‘The Linburgh-van Neilson affair was pretty well publicised, even over here. And the way I read it, Linburgh was not the one to call it off.’
Did he expect her to remark on Perry’s broken engagement? ‘As I said, we’re still exploring the possibilities.’ She refused to improve on her original answer.
Dominic gave an impatient sigh and at last moved from his stance by the painting. ‘All I am trying to ascertain, Madeline, is whether or not he has a right to feel possessive of you.’
‘No one has the right to feel like that about me,’ she made quite clear.
He studied her for a moment, taking in the cool blueness of her stare, before saying quietly, ‘I said earlier that I knew of a way to end this feud between our families.’ And he smoothly shifted the conversation to the reason why they were supposed to be here at all. ‘The way I see it,’ he went on, ‘is that since it all began because of you and I, then really it is up to us to make things right again.’
‘Yes?’ she said warily, prompting him to go on.
‘By trying—as best we can—to put the clocks back four years.’
Madeline felt her composure slip, but she hid it quickly. ‘Now, how am I supposed to respond to that, I wonder?’ she questioned wryly. ‘You know, I think I had better let you continue before making any response.’
Her mockery made his mouth twitch in appreciation. ‘I thought,’ he took up her challenge, using the lightness of his tone to keep her guessing as to his seriousness, ‘I thought, that a—public reconciliation maybe—at the Prestons’ this weekend, would—’
Anger flared briefly, the sheer cruelty of the idea stabbing into a wound so deep that it was still raw. ‘And how are we supposed to stage this—wonderful reconciliation?’ Her voice was so dry that it was brittle. ‘Am I supposed to—demean myself at your feet again, so that perhaps you could graciously give your forgiveness this time and—voilà! Everything will be just fine and dandy again!’
Dom had the gall to smile. ‘I rather saw it as my turn to do the begging this time,’ he suggested. ‘After all, the lady I see here tonight would not, I think, demean herself to anyone.’
True, Madeline agreed, only slightly mollified by the fact that he had at least noticed that this Madeline would cut off her nose rather than make a public spectacle of herself.
‘Then how do you see us performing this—reconciliation?’ She was curious, genuinely curious to know what dastardly plan he had cooked up for her. She knew Dominic, and the way his conniving mind worked. He had never approached a problem in a nice straightforward manner in his life!
But apparently he was still pondering over the theme Madeline had just so sarcastically discarded. ‘I could prostrate myself at your feet, I suppose,’ he murmured thoughtfully. ‘And allow you to do the gracious forgiving. But…’ He let out a pensive little sigh. ‘Like you, I can’t see myself in the role of humble supplicant.’
Neither could Madeline. Dominic was too proud a man to grovel to anyone.
‘So, I wondered how you would feel,’ he went on slowly, gauging his words, it seemed, to a very wary Madeline, for maximum effect, ‘about us playing a little game of—now how shall I put it?’ he murmured thoughtfully, eyeing her assessingly. ‘Dalliance seems to say it well enough, but it’s such an old-fashioned word, and I think flirtation probably says it better,’ he decided. ‘Do you fancy having a light flirtation with me, Madeline?’ he invited, daring her with the mocking glint in his eyes.
The dreadful cheek of him alone made her smile. ‘Oh,’ she pouted, an affectation she had learned from her Boston contemporaries but rarely used. It just seemed appropriate here in this very false discussion. ‘Flirting sounds so dreadfully capricious, Dominic.’ Her voice was loaded with savoir-faire as she made a lazy gesture with her hand. ‘We could, of course, just shake hands and pretend to make friends?’ she suggested. ‘Much more civilised than a flirtation. Shall we pretend to be just good friends, Dominic?’ she said, aping his own lightly mocking tone.
‘You aren’t taking me seriously,’ he accused gravely.
‘Why?’ She opened her blue eyes wide to him. ‘Are you trying to be serious?’
He was the first to snap. ‘My God,’ he breathed. ‘You really have it all off pat, don’t you?’
With a deep sense of triumph stinging the blood to life in her veins, Madeline maintained the satirical air. ‘You are being serious!’ she gasped, shocked, and Dominic muttered something nasty beneath his breath.
He took an angry gulp at his drink. ‘They didn’t exaggerate, did they, when they said you’d changed beyond all recognition?’ His mouth gave a bitter twist of disgust. ‘I had hoped they meant just on the outside, but it goes all the way through, doesn’t it?’
‘What does?’ she willingly took the bait.
‘The blasé sophistication!’
‘Why, thank you!’ she drawled Boston-style, seething inside. ‘It’s so good to know that four years of my life have not been wasted!’
‘Stop it!’ he snapped, spinning away from her to slam down his glass in an act of burgeoning frustration. His spine was taut, the muscles in his shoulders bunching as he struggled to contain his anger.