"Why, Mr. Deveril, you do dance so divinely, if you will pardon the pun." She fluttered her eyelashes coyly, and then cast him a sidelong, calculating glance from under them.
He gripped her arm so hard that she gasped with pain and shook her angrily. "Don't, Miss Ashton. Don't try your flirtatious wiles on me. It is most unsuitable behavior, and inconsiderate of you to treat a friend thus. Even if you are so careless of your own position, I can't afford to be so cavalier about mine. No one would ever trust me again with their daughters if they discovered me responding to your artifice. You would only embarrass yourself by having your name linked with a mere clergyman.
"So please do me the common courtesy of treating me with some respect. I am not to be trifled with. I only hope you do not make this error with a more, shall we say, demanding and forward man, or you will find yourself in far worse trouble than you did with Mr. Prine."
Pamela's eyes filled with tears, and she missed a step in the dance. She would have turned her ankle badly if Jonathan had not caught her more firmly around the waist. But in doing so, he brought them together practically chest to chest, hip to hip.
That was more than either of them could bear. He halted abruptly in his turn, and half-carried, half-dragged her over to a chair. He placed her in it, and began to kneel in front of her.
Oh good Lord, what have I done? He's going to propose to me out of a sense of obligation, she thought in a panic. She sought to rise from the chair.
He pressed her back down, and was about to blurt out his true feelings. Ask her to marry him, and the Devil with the consequences.
Just then several young women fluttered around, staring and giggling.
"Shall I get some ice for your ankle?" he asked in an urgent tone.
"My ankle... will be fine in a moment," she said, catching on to his stratagem just in time. "Thank you so much. I shall just sit here until the tingling stops."
"I shall fetch you some refreshment, then. Pray excuse me, ladies."
With a small bow, Jonathan left her.
Pamela stared after his retreating figure, not sure whether to laugh or to cry. She had certainly got the emotional reaction from him she had been craving, but it was more akin to fury than desire. He had not been about to propose; he was merely checking her ankle, as if she were a horse!
It was not appropriate for him to touch her so, but he was not one to stand on ceremony when someone was injured. She had seen that one day when she had been visiting and he had helped Mrs. Miller when she had cut her hand.
Jonathan gritted his teeth as he made his way across the room. He asked for a cup of punch, a napkin and some ice, and noticed that his hand was shaking as he reached out to accept the items.
Drat the girl! Didn't she know she was playing with fire? Did she not care?
There would have been a time not so long ago when he would have been delighted to play her little games. But he was a respectable vicar now, and worse than that, he cared about her. This was not a flirtatious, worldly game to him. He loved her.
But he could not have her in these circumstances. Not when she saw him as merely another man to be conquered. Certainly not when she was so flighty that she would never make a suitable clergyman's wife. Which, given the current way she had been behaving in Bath, would be never. He was only fooling himself to think that a leopard could change its spots.
Pamela loved to play the coquette, dance and socialize. He could no more turn her into a sober-minded, educated woman with a good social conscience than he could fly to the moon.
And it would not be fair, in any case. He ought to love her for who she was, not who he could try to make her become.
So then why did he love her?
He had asked himself the question a thousand times as he had lain awake at night, tossing and turning in an agony of desire. She was beautiful, exciting to be with. She made him want to become a better man, worthy of her.
He wanted to break his most solemn word in order to spend his days, and nights, with her. He longed for her to look at him as though the sun and moon were rising and setting in his eyes. He desired to kiss her senseless, lose himself inside her, see her carrying his child...
Oh God. His tempestuously passionate yearnings nearly unmanned him right there in the Assembly Rooms.
Romantic fool, he berated himself. There's so much more to marriage than simple attraction, desire, lust.
There had to be respect, esteem, trust. He did not trust Pamela. He most certainly did not trust himself. He had almost blurted out a marriage proposal without any regard for the consequences. He simply had to get hold of his rampaging feelings before he flung them all headlong into disaster.