Goodness. Those ridiculously strong hands gripped the arms of his chair easily whilst he tilted his head to the side and made good view of her.
Oh, so slowly, he dragged those emerald eyes, the same shade as a spring forest in full lushness, up and down her frame.
“You truly are perfect,” he said.
She stiffened. His declaration did not give her pleasure. No one thought her perfect. In fact, those words put her on edge. “Perfect for what?”
“Becoming the Duchess of Chase.”
She winced. Her father had said something similar. Why the blazes did they both think such a thing? “No one is going to believe that you wish to marry me,” she said firmly.
“Why?” he countered.
She cocked her own head to the side, mirroring his image, before she folded her arms beneath her breast. She would not be made to say it.
That would be far too galling.
Instead, she gave him a challenging stare, the sort that had sent many a man all but yelping from her presence.
He sighed. “I don’t know why people are so foolish,” he observed. “You seem to be a woman of parts. Why wouldn’t I wish you to be my duchess?”
“Because I am not a diamond of the first water,” at last she admitted, as best she could…without having to state that she was plain. Which was actually a nice way of putting it.
Years ago, she’d mostly made peace with her looks. But every now and then, the cruelty of her first Season and the confirmation that she was, well, ugly would come back in alarming waves.
For some deuced reason, it was transpiring at this moment. She could recall the curled lips of gentlemen. The stares of the young ladies who were meant to be her circle.
The whispers. The laughter as she paraded in a gown that was beautiful. A gown of lace and jewels that had only seemed to exaggerate her shortcomings.
She shook her head. No. She was grateful for her looks. Or lack thereof. If she’d been born a diamond, she’d never have been given any freedom. She’d have been married almost immediately and would likely have several children in the nursery by now.
“Well,” he said after a long pause, “diamonds are beautiful, Victoria.” Her name on his lips was like rough water over smooth stones. “But in the end, what is beauty? It vanishes over time. And it’s a barrier. All people see…is the outside. They don’t bother to look inward.”
She blinked. Was he suddenly referring to himself? After all, he might be considered a male diamond. Was he suggesting he had hidden depths?
His reputation was clear that he was a fellow who loved ladies, wine, and song. But his appearance in her chamber, his determination to see her safe? That suggested there might be more to him.
She licked her lips. “So you’ve recognized the fact that I’m…”
“What?” he asked gently.
“Plain,” she declared more forcefully than she’d intended.
“I have eyes,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I’m not interested in beauty.”
“You’re not interested in beauty?”
“No.” His gaze was so unflinching and determined, she felt as if he was peering into her very soul. Horrible cliché that it was.
Was she turning into Catharine? It was her sister who adored poetry. Not her.
Chase leaned forward slightly, bracing himself on his elbows, which emphasized the muscles of his forearms. “Your finer qualities are far more interesting to me than any particular curve of cheek or turn of eye, Victoria.” That damned voice of his, lush and low and honest, continued, “Those things fade. Who the devil cares about those?”
“I thought men did in general. My father has pointed out—”
A muscle tightened in his jaw as he cut in, “Your father is a person of highly questionable character. I do not think we should be taking any sort of advice from him.”
“I agree,” she said, wanting to laugh and cry at once. Was this happening? Or was this a dream? The nightmare of night, in the light of day, seemed to be opening a wholly new path.