He actually looked serious when he said that. In point of fact, despite his many witticisms, he’d taken the entire conversation seriously. That felt dangerous too, in a different way.
But it was a good offer. He was saying that he wouldn’t fog her reason up with want, the way he was so clearly able. As long as she could hold on to her logic and take her time to think things through, she could talk herself out of anything he talked her into. She’d wanted control; he’d offered it to her.
“So you’ll…do it?” She couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his gaze as she asked. But she could hear him, hear the delighted intake of his breath, hear the rustle of fabric as he leaned toward her rock.
“What, precisely, is the ‘it’ that you are referring to? Describe it with particularity so that we are sure to be talking of the same thing.”
Damn him. He knew. He knew it embarrassed her to say it. “You’ll…” Her voice dropped to almost nothing. “You’ll kiss me?”
“There’s a sixty percent chance I’ll say yes.”
Oh. Her heart plummeted. She had assumed, based on his teasing words and his seductive looks and the way he nudged her arm and…so many things…that he actually had a cursory interest in her. She had imagined that he wanted her, at least a little, that he’d thought about her when he wasn’t here. Obviously, that had been too proud by half on her part. By sixty percent, perhaps.
“And there’s a forty percent chance,” he said, interrupting this depressing spiral of thought, “that I’ll say yes, but loudly.”
Chloe shut her eyes and let her forehead fall into the palms of her hands. Had she thought him serious? No. He was such a jackass. How had she forgotten that about him? She was going to get her first kiss from an absolute jackass, and she didn’t even regret it. She took a deep breath in. Yes, he was who he was. Long exhalation out. But—and this was a very relevant but—she was ultimately in charge here. He had hired her. She was getting money. As a completely independent matter, she was also getting a kiss. And then he was leaving and she could forget him and concentrate on the things that mattered: proving her worth to her father and selling Unnamed Sauce to the entirety of the United Kingdom.
She was going to end the Wedgeford Trials this year with all of her dreams fulfilled. All she had to do was set up the terms and manage Jeremy.
She straightened her spine, smoothed back her hair, and picked up her board clip from where it sat next to her feet. “Right. Now that we have all that squared away, it’s time to get to business.”
“Already? I love how eager you are. But kissing right here? I know there’s nobody in the immediate vicinity, but we’re still visible to others. How very courageous you are.”
“Our other business.” Time to remember that he was marrying someone not herself. “I have come up with a framework for the inquiry into your requirements in a wife, so that we might manage this matter as efficiently as possible. We must make sure that what I have done is adequate for your needs.”
“Oh. That.” He leaned back on his rock and waved an insouciant hand in the air. “I had quite forgot about that. Please. Proceed.”
She dipped her hand in the little pocket at her waist and removed her spectacles, then placed them on her nose before putting her board clip on her knee. “The first step is to identify the key characteristics of a wife. By my count, those characteristics fall into one of four categories: physical properties, intellectual capabilities, emotional character, and ambitions for the future.” There. She’d make it a rational exercise. She could do rational.
“You’ve left off wants,” he said lazily. “Desires. Fantasies. We should definitely discuss those, particularly as they pertain to you.”
Chloe found her cheeks heating. Wants. Desires. Fantasies. She’d already admitted that she wanted him to kiss her; did he honestly want her to tell him everything else? To talk about the things she thought about late at night?
She glared at him through her spectacles. “Discussing those would be redundant. The things you list are nothing more than ambitions for the future.”
“You are referring to ordinary concerns for day-to-day existence—things like how one chooses to make a living?”
“Precisely.”
He turned his head to look at her. “You tell me, Miss Fong. Are the fantasies that keep you up at night composed of nothing but dry ambitions for your future?”
How did he even know about her nighttime fantasies? A flash of memory came to her—thoughts of the last year he’d been here and the way he’d twined their fingers in the dark. How many times had she imagined not putting a hand on his chest when he leaned in, not begging him to be serious? How many times had she envisioned him pushing into her space with his arrogant confidence, until his body was pressed against hers? Her entire being was singed with heat.
“My ambitions are lofty,” she said with a frown. “They are not dry.”
“Hmm. Not dry. Do you, by any chance, at the moment, find yourself becoming the opposite of dry? Because that would be very interesting.”
“Stop,” she squawked, shutting her eyes. Her cheeks felt hot; how annoying that he had managed to break through her reserve despite her best efforts. “I take it all back. Let’s just call them dry. Dry as dust. Dry as a desert.”
“Parched,” he said with a grin that she could feel clear to her toes, “and in need of a long, cool drink.”
“Oh, stick your head in the river and swallow,” she snapped.
He let out a delighted laugh. “Right. Put that on the list for me. I want a wife who says exactly that to me. With those exact words. If she doesn’t say it at least once, I won’t marry her.”
God. She was going to lose her mind. She cleared her throat. “Please recall that efficiency is paramount. Moving along from this pointless diversion and back to the framework that I am proposing for our inquiry. For our second point of discussion, we should identify differences between me and your potential spouse.”
He straightened and frowned at her. “No. That’s not necessary.”
She blinked. “Of course it’s necessary. I can see that you might want someone who has my steadiness of mind, as you are so severely lacking on that front, but you don’t actually want me. You want someone who brings her own financial…whatever…to the marriage. Property and family connections and that sort of thing. Which I lack.”
“Not necessary,” he repeated tersely. “I don’t require a list of differences.”
Well. He had said that he was going to give the list to his aunt. His aunt would likely trouble herself with the practical matters. It probably wasn’t necessary.
She let out a sigh. “If you insist. It’s less work for me this way, and as I have mentioned, I am excessively busy these next few days.”
“Are you participating in the Trials this year?”
“My father and I will be selling buns. It will take all our time.”
He turned, swiveling his entire torso toward her. “Will it? So you’re not at all involved in…”
Frauds, he didn’t say. Chloe was not involved this year. She was not. It had taken enormous effort to remain uninvolved, but she had done it.