He bit back a smile. “In other words, you don’t want to marry me, but you don’t want anyone else to marry me, either.”
Judging from the way she jerked her gaze back to the road, he’d hit the mark. “It’s not that I don’t want to marry you in particular,” she said. “I told you, I have no intention of marrying anyone.”
“And why is that?”
Her face grew shuttered. “I’m not the romantic sort, that’s all.”
“You don’t have to be the romantic sort to marry.”
“No, but you have to be affectionate, at least.” She stared blindly ahead at the road. “And I am also not the affectionate sort.”
“I see.” But he didn’t see at all. He couldn’t imagine her as a cold, unfeeling woman, no matter what she seemed to think.
She babbled on. “Men want affectionate wives. They deserve them, just as women deserve affectionate husbands. Since I can’t provide that, I wouldn’t think it fair to marry a man under false pretenses.”
“If you say so. But that’s all the more reason you shouldn’t try to dictate whom I should marry.”
Not that it would ever be Miss Trevor. He couldn’t endure a wife who dressed so outrageously. But he wasn’t going to tell Clarissa that. He was having too much fun watching her attempt to manage his future.
“I’m not trying to dictate it. I just think that you . . . and Miss Trevor . . .” She glanced over to see him smirking at her, and muttered, “Oh, forget it.”
“No, do go on. You’ve told me she’s stubborn as a mule and that you find her sudden appearance in society suspicious, but beyond that, you haven’t said exactly why we won’t suit. Unless the reason is simply that you don’t like her.”
“I like her perfectly well. Just not for you.”
“Because?”
Clasping her hands primly in her lap, she murmured, “It wouldn’t be polite to say.”
“Which means you have no reason.”
“I should think I know what type of woman you’re looking for.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” he said with a laugh. “And what type is that?”
“The type who won’t make a fuss. Who’s a pillar of society and follows every propriety. Who will cater to your every whim.”
Just like that, his amusement vanished. Grimly he steered the phaeton around a hole. “I don’t have ‘whims.’”
“You know what I mean,” she said, clearly exasperated. “You’re looking for a woman who will march to the beat of your drum.”
Blast it, he was tired of people accusing him of such a thing. First Warren, now Clarissa. Her image of him as a morally superior arse had begun to grate.
It was precisely why he’d asked for his reward—to show her that he, too, could rouse desire in a woman. In her. That he was capable of pleasing a woman, and not just running roughshod over her. It was a matter of pride.
A matter of lust, you mean, his conscience said.
That, too. Even though he knew it couldn’t go anywhere. Mustn’t go anywhere.
Still, he had to set her straight on one thing. “I am not a bully, whatever you may think of me.”
“I wasn’t saying—”
“I want a companion in life, someone with her own ideas and opinions. But yes, I do want a woman who is quiet and responsible. If you must see that as a wife who ‘won’t make a fuss,’ go ahead. I see it as calming.”
Calming might be, as Warren said, a tad dull, but it was far better than the seething tempest that had been his parents’ marriage.
“Well, that would never be Miss Trevor,” she said triumphantly. “You wouldn’t have a moment’s calm with her.”
She was probably right. “Fine,” he clipped out. “You’ve made your point.” It was absurd to argue about a woman he never meant to pursue anyway.
They rode a while in silence.
“So,” she said at last, “what are you planning to do this evening?”
Claim my reward. No, that was what she wanted him to say, so she could demand to be told the when and where of it. He was not playing that game. If she wanted to know, she could ask him outright. Indeed, he was rather surprised she hadn’t already. Clarissa didn’t usually mince words.
“I’ll probably go to the club, have a drink, read a book. I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead. Why?”
“I just . . . I wondered if you were staying for dinner.”
He cast her a sidelong look. Her cheeks were as flushed as he’d ever seen them. She was clearly dancing around the issue of the reward, and he was tempted to prolong the dance, to see how far she’d go.
“With your mother ill,” he said, “I hardly think that’s wise.”
She snorted. “Mama isn’t ill. She’s very blatantly trying to throw us together for her own purposes.”
“Ah. Does she know of your refusal to marry?”
“She does not. And I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“Yet another reason I shouldn’t stay for dinner,” he said dryly. “I’d prefer not to lie.”
“You don’t have to lie. Just don’t volunteer the information.” She steadied her shoulders. “And of course you should stay for dinner. Mama will be disappointed if you don’t.”