Mr and Mischief. Кейт Хьюит

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.

      CHAPTER THREE

      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, so sometimes it took her a few seconds even to realise he was joking.