didn’t throw him off with any more sighs, he remarked, “I’ll leave those pastries for you. You’re too skinny.”
She hadn’t really looked at him yet, but she certainly did now. “I am not!”
“And you’re too pale,” he added for good measure. “You’ve got no color in your skin.”
“As it should be.”
“I would have thought you’d want to be at your best.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the way I look. I’m so damned beautiful it’s disgusting.”
Whoa. Take a step back. Did he hear that right? And in such a bitter tone?
“Yes, quite,” he agreed jauntily. “Very disgusting. Extraordinarily so.”
She narrowed her blue eyes on him. “You needn’t belabor it.”
“Was I? Beg pardon. Let’s discuss another one of the rumors you started then.”
If he’d thought to put her off guard by tossing that out there so abruptly, it didn’t work. She sat back and looked nothing but curious now. “Yes, please do, since I don’t recall starting any others.”
“I believe your friend, or rather, ex-friend would disagree. What was it Mavis said you spread about her? That she was a liar and a backstabber?”
“No, she called me a backstabber. I merely called her a liar in front of Jane and Edith, our mutual friends. She provoked me one time too many. My temper snapped. But it went no further than that. I knew Jane and Edith wouldn’t repeat it. They happen to like Mavis.”
“But not you?”
She glanced away from him. “I know you overheard that second conversation between Mavis and me. No, Jane and Edith have never really been my friends. They pretend to be, but they aren’t.”
“That bothers you?”
“Hardly. I don’t want people to like me. I tend to make sure they don’t.”
That statement was so bizarre, it rendered him speechless for a moment. Of course he didn’t believe it. But why would she even say it? A defensive excuse?
He pointed out the obvious to her: “No one goes out of their way to be disliked—deliberately. It’s against human nature.”
She merely shrugged as she glanced at him again. “If you say so.”
She wasn’t going to argue her case? Quite annoyed with this new indifferent attitude of hers, he said, “Very well, for what conceivable reason would you deliberately alienate your friends?”
“So I don’t have to wonder if they’re sincere when I’m sure they aren’t.”
“You don’t trust anyone? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Exactly.”
“I suppose that includes me?”
He was actually hoping for a denial, though he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t get it.
“Of course it does. Like everyone else, you’ve lied to me.”
“The devil I have,” he said indignantly. “I’ve been completely honest—”
Her snort cut him off. “You told me you were driving me to London, not in so many words, but you certainly implied it. That wasn’t lying?”
He flushed with color, guilty as charged. “That was an exception, merely to avoid your theatrics until we got here.”
“Oh, I see. That it prevented me from finding help until you got me to this place, which is so remote there is none, was merely a bonus? But one exception or a dozen, what’s the difference? I rest my case.”
His flush got a little darker. “I apologize for misleading you for mere convenience, but I won’t apologize for trying to help you.”
“You don’t need to apologize for lying, either. And certainly not for the sake of convenience. I do so quite often myself.”
“Is this flaw number three?”
“No, I’m not a compulsive liar. If I lie about something, it’s quite deliberate. My flaws—my impatience and my temper—I have no control over, lying I do.”
“You don’t see that as a bad trait?”
“Don’t be a hypocrite and say you do.”
“Actually I do, but I suppose therein lies the difference between us. I prefer to be honest, you seem to prefer dishonesty.”
“I don’t prefer it,” she retorted, then admitted, “I even used
She hadn’t really looked at him yet, but she certainly did now. “I am not!”
“And you’re too pale,” he added for good measure. “You’ve got no color in your skin.”
“As it should be.”
“I would have thought you’d want to be at your best.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the way I look. I’m so damned beautiful it’s disgusting.”
Whoa. Take a step back. Did he hear that right? And in such a bitter tone?
“Yes, quite,” he agreed jauntily. “Very disgusting. Extraordinarily so.”
She narrowed her blue eyes on him. “You needn’t belabor it.”
“Was I? Beg pardon. Let’s discuss another one of the rumors you started then.”
If he’d thought to put her off guard by tossing that out there so abruptly, it didn’t work. She sat back and looked nothing but curious now. “Yes, please do, since I don’t recall starting any others.”
“I believe your friend, or rather, ex-friend would disagree. What was it Mavis said you spread about her? That she was a liar and a backstabber?”
“No, she called me a backstabber. I merely called her a liar in front of Jane and Edith, our mutual friends. She provoked me one time too many. My temper snapped. But it went no further than that. I knew Jane and Edith wouldn’t repeat it. They happen to like Mavis.”
“But not you?”
She glanced away from him. “I know you overheard that second conversation between Mavis and me. No, Jane and Edith have never really been my friends. They pretend to be, but they aren’t.”
“That bothers you?”
“Hardly. I don’t want people to like me. I tend to make sure they don’t.”
That statement was so bizarre, it rendered him speechless for a moment. Of course he didn’t believe it. But why would she even say it? A defensive excuse?
He pointed out the obvious to her: “No one goes out of their way to be disliked—deliberately. It’s against human nature.”
She merely shrugged as she glanced at him again. “If you say so.”
She wasn’t going to argue her case? Quite annoyed with this new indifferent attitude of hers, he said, “Very well, for what conceivable reason would you deliberately alienate your friends?”
“So I don’t have to wonder if they’re sincere when I’m sure they aren’t.”
“You don’t trust anyone? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Exactly.”
“I suppose that includes me?”
He was actually hoping for a denial, though he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t get it.
“Of course it does. Like everyone else, you’ve lied to me.”
“The devil I have,” he said indignantly. “I’ve been completely honest—”
Her snort cut him off. “You told me you were driving me to London, not in so many words, but you certainly implied it. That wasn’t lying?”
He flushed with color, guilty as charged. “That was an exception, merely to avoid your theatrics until we got here.”
“Oh, I see. That it prevented me from finding help until you got me to this place, which is so remote there is none, was merely a bonus? But one exception or a dozen, what’s the difference? I rest my case.”
His flush got a little darker. “I apologize for misleading you for mere convenience, but I won’t apologize for trying to help you.”
“You don’t need to apologize for lying, either. And certainly not for the sake of convenience. I do so quite often myself.”
“Is this flaw number three?”
“No, I’m not a compulsive liar. If I lie about something, it’s quite deliberate. My flaws—my impatience and my temper—I have no control over, lying I do.”
“You don’t see that as a bad trait?”
“Don’t be a hypocrite and say you do.”
“Actually I do, but I suppose therein lies the difference between us. I prefer to be honest, you seem to prefer dishonesty.”
“I don’t prefer it,” she retorted, then admitted, “I even used
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