Until a movement drew her eyes along the road, to where a lone horse and rider approached.
The rider’s features were obscured, but she knew who it was. She knew from the confident ease of his posture, from his greatcoat and hat, from the hot electricity jolting through her limbs.
Guy had come. She had been sure he would not. But he had.
She stood her ground throughout his approach, until he reined in his horse and stared down at her from his great mounted height. Despite herself, her eyes tracked over his shoulders, his thighs, along his arms to his gloved hands expertly holding the reins. Every inch of their skin was covered except their faces, but she warmed as if they were naked again.
And in his eyes… She dared herself to meet their challenging, amused stare and saw—nothing. Nothing in his look made her recoil. He knew things about her that she had not even known herself, yet he betrayed no sign of gloating or possession, no superiority or scorn.
“I am joining your house party,” Guy announced cheerfully. “Perhaps I’ll even stay for your betrothal ball. You’ll save me a dance, I hope. I promise not to step on your feet more than twice.”
She glared at him. She had been so sure he would not come. “You weren’t invited.”
“Oh, I think we both know that you invited me when you invited my sisters.”
“At least I was able to locate them. You seemed to be having a little trouble with that.”
“After which you used them to lure me here. Very Machiavellian of you.”
“Thank you.”
“Not a compliment.”
“Hm.” She ran her fingers through the nuts in her basket, letting them soothe her. “Be warned: Papa has declared that you are not welcome in his house.”
“I don’t care what your father says. And you, surely, are not surprised to see me. In the circumstances.”
Her heart leaped with— What? Hope? Joy? That he had wanted to see her and… Don’t be ridiculous, she scolded herself. He despised her, and it was better that way. He made her feel weak, but her pride kept her strong.
“Which circumstances might those be?” she made herself ask.
Before he could speak, a twig snapped and leaves crunched. The hardening of Guy’s features told her who had emerged from the woods.
“My sisters being here,” Guy said coolly. He inclined his head. “Sculthorpe.”
Lord Sculthorpe planted himself at Arabella’s side and pressed his fingers to the small of her back. She didn’t cringe or shudder. She supposed she should feel embarrassed, for this was the most awkward situation she had ever been in, but she didn’t feel that either. All she felt was that smug relief at taking back control from Sculthorpe, and her lingering, confused regret over Guy.
“Hardbury. Didn’t know you were invited.”
Guy didn’t answer, as Miss Treadgold came darting out of the woods, her followers crowding in her wake. A warm smile lit Guy’s face. Everyone smiled warmly when they looked at Miss Treadgold, as though the mere sight of her made them happy.
No one ever smiled at Arabella like that. She had never even known she wanted them to. But now it struck her as the most marvelous thing in the world.
“Lord Hardbury!” Miss Treadgold bobbed a curtsy. “What a splendid surprise!”
“The country air agrees with you, Miss Treadgold.” Guy made no effort to hide his admiration. “You make a pleasant sight for a weary traveler.”
“You are too kind, my lord. Lady Frederica is here. You must be longing to talk to her.”
“Of course.” Guy’s smile broadened. “I trust I shall have an opportunity to talk to you too.”
“Oh.” She lowered her lashes and blushed.
So. That was how the wind blew. Again, Arabella ran her fingers through the nuts. Perhaps she should pelt them at him.
Guy had seen; his expression suggested he had guessed her thoughts. Then he dug in a pocket and flipped something at her: a coin that glinted in the sunlight as it tumbled through the air.
Arabella caught it neatly.
“What is that?” Sculthorpe asked.
She turned the coin in her fingers. She didn’t need to look at it to know it was a shilling. Perhaps the exact same shilling she had flipped to Guy that night in London.
“Miss Larke,” Sculthorpe said sharply. “Why did Lord Hardbury toss you a shilling?”
Arabella kept her eyes on Guy. “Oh, just a token from some silly moment in our past. Something silly and foolish that meant nothing at all.”
The horse tossed its head and danced sideways. Guy half laughed, dug in his heels, and rode on.
Guy had vowed to avoid Arabella during his stay at her family’s house, but watching her with Sculthorpe in the drawing room after dinner that first night, he itched to make trouble.
He had already received several subtle admonitions to behave, from Lady Belinda (“I trust you will enjoy a harmonious stay with us, my lord”), Mr. Larke (“That girl will marry Sculthorpe, so don’t you foul that up, Hardbury”), and Sir Walter (“How excessively delightful that we can be friends—nay, family!—my lord.”).
But Guy was growing restless, and of course—of course—Arabella was the cause, so provokingly poised and haughty, from the top of her flawlessly coiled hair to the hem of her glacier-blue gown.
It was her manner toward Sculthorpe that irked Guy. She displayed the sort of familiar forbearance one would expect in a woman two decades after her wedding, not a month before. Sculthorpe chatted freely and did not seem to notice that Arabella did nothing more animated than nod.
How wrong it was that Arabella, vibrant, vexing Arabella, was muted. No wonder Guy wanted to stir her up. Bloody hell. What was this compulsion to tease her? It was proving as dangerous as the obsession that summoned other men back to the tables even after their last penny had been gambled away.
Yet when Sculthorpe brandished his silver cigar case and excused himself to step outside, and Arabella crossed to show Miss Treadgold the sheet music, Guy wandered toward the pianoforte too, only for Arabella to drift away. Guy helped Miss Treadgold choose some music and relinquished the right to turn pages to another man, by which point Arabella was conversing with Freddie. Guy sauntered that way, yet by the time he reached his sister’s side, Arabella was with her mother. Guy sidled toward Lady Belinda…as Arabella glided to the tea tray.
Better he stop now, before anyone noticed that he was chasing Arabella around the drawing room. But when she lifted the teapot, he crossed to her side, creating a small world where they stood apart from the others.
Arabella glanced about, apparently saw no escape, and resigned herself to pouring him a cup of tea he didn’t want. The square bodice of her gown revealed her sharp collarbones. Guy could still feel those collarbones under his fingers, still see his hand splayed over her chest. He tore his eyes away.
“Are you avoiding me, Arabella?” he asked in low tones, so no one overheard.
“Don’t be absurd. I never avoid anyone. I’m merely discerning in my choice of company.”
She turned the teacup’s handle to align its pattern with the saucer, and passed it to him with steady hands.
“What are you up to, Arabella? What do you want from me?”
One eyebrow lifted. “What on earth could I possibly want from you? You have already served your purpose. Or had you forgotten so soon?”