Highly Unsuitable: Mr and Mischief / The Darkest of Secrets / The Undoing of de Luca. Kate Hewitt
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but Emily didn’t intend to debate the point. As far as Jason was concerned, written off would do very well indeed. ‘I told you, I’m happy as I am.’
‘Happy to have fun.’
‘Yes.’ She stared at him defiantly. He made fun sound like a naughty word. She knew he thought she was a bit scatty, perhaps even a little wild, and she took a perverse pleasure in confirming his opinion. Even if she still felt that bizarre flicker of hurt.
‘Yet you seem to be interested in finding love and marriage for others,’ Jason noted dryly. ‘Stephanie and Tim being a case in point.’
‘Just because I don’t want it for me doesn’t mean it isn’t right for other people,’ Emily replied breezily. ‘I’m a great believer in love. Just not for myself. Not now, anyway.’ She took a sip of wine, averting her eyes. She wasn’t quite telling Jason the truth, but she had no intention of admitting that she wasn’t looking for love because she didn’t want to be disappointed when it proved impossible to find, or didn’t live up to her expectations. She’d witnessed a love match first-hand—or almost. Even though her mother had died before she had any real memories of her, Emily had heard plenty of stories about Elizabeth Wood; she knew from her father—and his grief—that they had loved each other deeply and forever.
That kind of love didn’t come to everyone. She was afraid it would never come to her. And it was much easier to convince herself—and Jason—that she’d never wanted it in the first place. ‘In any case,’ she continued in an effort to steer the conversation away from such personal matters, ‘we were talking about Richard and Helen. And I think it’s safe to say that I know a bit more about these things than you do.’
‘These things?’
‘What women want when it comes to romance. Love, even. I may not be looking for it myself, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what most women want.’ She’d had enough late-night sessions with friends over a bottle of wine or even just the idle chatter by the coffee machine at work to be quite the expert.
‘Is that right?’ He sounded amused, which annoyed her. She did, in fact, know what she was talking about, much more than Jason ever would. She could just imagine Jason sitting some poor woman down and asking her to make a go of it just like Richard Marsden had. Knowing Jason, he wouldn’t ask; he’d insist. He’d probably propose marriage with a drawn-up business contract in his breast pocket. The thought sent an unreasonable flame of indignation burning through her.
‘Yes, I do,’ she told him firmly. ‘Women want a man who will romance them, Jason. Woo them with flowers and compliments and thoughtfulness and … and lots of other things,’ she finished a bit lamely. The wine was really going to her head; her brain felt rather fuzzy. ‘And what they don’t want is to have someone sit them down and tell them they might be suitable, but first they need a trial period.’
‘I doubt Marsden said it like that.’
‘Close enough. The meaning was clear.’
Jason cocked his head. ‘And you don’t think Helen Smith could tell Marsden just where to put it if she didn’t like his idea?’
Emily let out a reluctant laugh. ‘Perhaps—if she had more backbone. She’s young and impressionable. In any case, another man will surely come and sweep her off her feet while Richard is deciding whether they can make a go of it or not. She’s very beautiful.’
‘So you’ve told me.’ His mouth curved upwards once more. ‘But if you ask me, which I am quite aware you are not, Richard’s suggestion is very sensible. And, in the long run, far more romantic than a bunch of plastic-wrapped bouquets and meaningless compliments. I think he could be just the thing for her.’
‘You make it sound as if Helen has a head cold and Richard is a couple of paracetamol,’ Emily protested, her mind spinning in indignation over Jason’s dismissal of everything she’d just said. Plastic-wrapped bouquets and meaningless compliments! God help the poor woman he decided to approach with his own sensible plan. ‘That’s not what a woman wants out of love or marriage, Jason.’
Jason leaned forward, his eyes alight. They really turned the most amazing colour sometimes, Emily thought a bit dazedly. Almost amber. She swallowed, aware that she probably shouldn’t have had a second glass of wine. And where was their food?
‘But you said you weren’t interested in love or marriage,’ he reminded her softly.
Emily swallowed again. Her throat felt very dry. How had this conversation become so personal and … and intimate? ‘I told you, I’m happy as I am.’
‘With no intention of ever falling in love?’
With no intention of telling Jason any more about her own love life, or lack thereof, Emily amended silently. ‘Perhaps love is overrated,’ she said, throwing his own words back at him. ‘I’ve had two relationships and although I didn’t love either of the men involved, they were still definite disappointments. I’m not interested in searching for something that might never actually happen or even exist.’ Or being hurt when it couldn’t be found or didn’t work out. She thought of her father’s two decades of mourning. No, love wasn’t overrated. But the aftermath might be underestimated.
Jason sat back, seemingly satisfied. ‘Wise words. I quite agree.’
‘So no love or marriage for you?’ Emily said, meaning to tease, yet the question came out a little too serious.
‘I didn’t say that,’ Jason said, and his dark gaze settled on Emily with a frown. ‘I’ll have to marry some time. I need an heir for Weldon, after all.’
Now that sounded positively medieval. She could see Jason arranging some awful marriage with a sour-faced socialite just because she was of good breeding stock. She shuddered. ‘How practical of you,’ she told him. ‘I hope I’m not on your list of candidates.’
Jason’s expression darkened, his brows snapping together rather ferociously. ‘Never fear, Em. You most certainly are not in the running.’
Well, he didn’t have to sound quite so certain, Emily thought, feeling rather miffed by his hasty assurance. Of course they’d make a terrible couple—they were far too different—but did he really have to look as if the thought of marrying her was utterly repellent?
‘Well, that’s a relief, then,’ she said lightly. ‘So what kind of woman are you looking for?’
‘Someone who shares my view on love and marriage.’
‘Someone sensible, then.’
‘Exactly.’
Emily made a face. It all sounded really rather horrible. ‘Not one of the starlets or models you’ve usually had on your arm?’ she said, trying to tease even though she still felt a bit miffed, and perhaps even hurt.
Jason frowned. ‘Those were just dates,’ he said. ‘Not wife material.’
Emily shuddered theatrically. He sounded as if he were talking about a lump of clay, moulded to the shape he preferred. ‘Well, good luck with that,’ she said, her voice sharpening despite her intention to still sound so insouciant.
Jason inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Thank you.’
Emily smiled back, but inside she found she really didn’t like thinking about Jason and his sensible bride-to-be—whoever she was—at all.
THE rest of the meal passed pleasantly, and Emily was relieved to have the conversation move on to more innocuous matters. The chicken, although unadventurous, was delicious, and Emily found she enjoyed chatting with Jason about things as seemingly insignificant as the weather or the latest film. She’d forgotten what a dry sense of humour he had,