All she’d wanted was for him to repudiate her fears that he’d lost interest in her or, worse, found someone else. Only he’d been so dismissive. And bored. As if she was a nagging child. So it had been impossible to tell him the truth, for that would have meant revealing the depth of her love. She’d been too upset to do that, but just angry enough to want to provoke him and hurt him for not loving her. And so instead she’d lashed out at him about the mess and the cold and the rain.
Prudence felt a trickle of misery run down her spine, but then, almost in the same moment, she shook her head, anger filling her. He was taking what she’d said out of context and—surprise, surprise—ignoring the part he’d played.
Damn it! Unlike her, he’d actually thought they were married! So why hadn’t he done more to make it work between them? Did he think that relationships just sustained themselves? A lump formed in her throat. It certainly seemed that way. She’d gone to him for reassurance but he’d left her no choice but to walk away, and it had been the hardest choice she had ever made. Even talking about it now made her heart swell with grief.
She lifted her chin. ‘We’re not going to go there, Laszlo. I am not going to talk about the past with you any more.’ Heart thumping, she took a breath. ‘If you wanted to discuss our relationship you should have done so at the time. Frankly, now it’s irrelevant.’
Her grip tightened on the chair as he stepped towards her. She felt her stomach swoop. Close up, his beauty was radiant and piercing—like a flaming arrow. His eyes were more golden, his skin smoother, the angles and shading of his cheekbones almost too perfect to be real.
‘I don’t agree. I think it’s entirely relevant, given that you have brought our past back into my life.’
Her mouth trembled. ‘That’s not true, Laszlo. It was you who contacted Seymour’s.’
She stared at him indignantly. If he hadn’t wanted anything to do with her then why had he chosen to use her uncle’s firm? Only of course he didn’t know it was Edmund’s business. He didn’t even know her uncle’s name, let alone what he did for a living. She shivered. Somehow now didn’t seem like the best time to tell him.
Trying to ignore the pounding of her heart, she swallowed. ‘I know how you hate being responsible for anything, but this is your mess.’
‘And we both know how you hate mess, Prudence,’ he said smoothly.
‘I didn’t care about the stupid trailer!’ she snapped, her temper rising. ‘You just focused on that and wouldn’t listen to me. It wasn’t a criticism of you, or your precious Willerby Westmorland! It’s just who I am.’ Her heart was thumping so hard it hurt. ‘I don’t like mess. I like things tidy and in order and that’s why I’m good at my job. Maybe if you’d thought about that instead of sneering at me—’
‘I’m not sneering, pireni.’ His face shifted, and meeting her angry gaze, he shrugged. ‘And you’re right. Maybe I did focus on that remark—’
He stopped and Prudence gaped at him speechlessly. Was that some kind of apology?
His eyes locked with hers and he sighed. ‘But I’m not going to change my mind, Prudence. You do understand that, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said stiffly. ‘But, given that it’s probably not just your decision to make, I’ve decided it doesn’t matter.’
Laszlo frowned. ‘You think there’s a higher authority than me?’
His eyes gleamed with sudden amusement and she felt her stomach flip over.
‘I hope so—for Mr de Zsadany’s sake.’ Wondering again if Janos knew of her relationship with Laszlo, she felt a stab of pain. He was such a fraud. Why, if he’d believed himself to be married, had he kept her existence secret?
Forcing herself to stay focused, she lifted her chin. ‘Seymour’s is the best there is. Giving this job to another firm would only demonstrate how unqualified you are to have anything to do with the cataloguing.’ Hers eyes flashed challengingly at him. ‘I mean, you don’t even like art!’
‘I appreciate beauty as much as the next man,’ Laszlo said softly.
‘Really?’ Prudence retorted. ‘How do you work that out? The only time we went to see an exhibition together you spent your entire time in the café.’
Laszlo shrugged, his gaze sweeping slowly over her face until heat suffused her skin.
‘I can think of better things to do in a darkened room. You, of all people, should know that.’
Prudence stared at him, trembling, dry-mouthed; her body suddenly a mass of hot, aching need. He let the silence lengthen, let the tension rise between them.
‘Or have you forgotten?’ he murmured finally. ‘Perhaps I should jog your memory.’
He watched her eyes widen and felt his groin tighten in response. But almost immediately he closed his mind to the tormenting tug of hunger.
‘But I digress. I don’t need to like art, Prudence. I just want to support my grandfather and be there for him—’
‘Good luck with that!’ Prudence interrupted him crossly. ‘Being there for someone generally requires an element of reliability or commitment, you know.’
She glared at him as his gaze rested on her accusing face.
‘Meaning...?’ he asked slowly.
‘Meaning that you can’t commit to the next five minutes.’ She stared at him incredulously. ‘Don’t you know yourself at all? Trying to pin you down to a time and place is like asking you to give up your soul or something.’
A slight upturn of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. ‘Ah, but at least you admit I have a soul.’
And then suddenly he smiled, and it felt like the sun on her face. Despite her brain warning her not to, it was impossible not to smile back—for it was a glimpse of the Laszlo she had loved so very much. The Laszlo who, when he chose, had been able to make her laugh until she cried. But then her smile faded and she reminded herself that this Laszlo had cold-heartedly used his power to avenge himself, regardless of the consequences to her or her family.
She frowned. ‘Life can’t always be improvised. Sometimes you have to do boring things too—like learn lines and turn up on set on time.’
Laszlo stared at her, a muscle working in his jaw. ‘You’re comparing our relationship to a film?’
‘Yes. I am.’ Prudence lifted her chin. ‘A very unmemorable silent film, with poor casting and no plot.’
She felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as he smiled again and shook his head slowly.
‘I think your memory is playing tricks on you, pireni. There were some very memorable scenes in our film. Steamy too. Award-winning, even.’
‘For the best short film?’ she snapped.
‘I was thinking more hair and make-up,’ he said, his eyes glittering.
She couldn’t resist. ‘Yours or mine?’
‘Oh, definitely mine,’ he whipped back.
There was a silence, and then both of them started to laugh.
Prudence stopped and bit her lip. ‘Can’t we stop this—please, Laszlo?’ She saw the indecision on his face and for a moment she faltered, and then she said quickly, ‘It’s brutal. And senseless. We’re just going round and round in circles, and all this name-calling isn’t going to change the fact that