“And behold, I did choose a bride.”
Guy gestured broadly toward Arabella. Although ostensibly in conversation with Mrs. DeWitt and Miss Bell, she was no doubt eavesdropping on every word.
Sir Walter did not spare her a glance. “Of course, of course, and how delighted I am by that choice. But you appreciate my concern, as it is time for our sweet Matilda to marry.”
“Freddie too,” Guy said, with affected casualness. “Have you given any thought to whom she might marry?”
Sir Walter scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Indeed. A very important responsibility for a guardian. Your sister should marry a peer. I have long held that opinion.”
“Have you, Sir Walter? Have you, indeed?”
“Sensible men, such as ourselves, understand that marriage is about improving the whole family. Consider your own example: You had refused to marry Miss Larke, but one glimpse of Vindale Court and you stole her from Lord Sculthorpe. His lordship was not happy about that!”
“Sculthorpe!” The name came out louder than Guy had intended. Arabella’s head swiveled. She was listening openly now. “When did you speak to Lord Sculthorpe?”
“What? Speak? Never! Not seen him since he left. Purely my supposition, my lord. My assumption. My presumption.” Sir Walter accepted a glass of port. “Although you did have a score to settle with him, did you not? Years ago, he stole your sweetheart, and you returned the favor. Of course, your first betrothed ended up as a courtesan. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen again!”
He smiled broadly and sipped his drink.
“My dear Sir Walter, I do believe you have impugned the honor of my betrothed. What a dilemma this poses. Honor says I must defend her, yet the law says I must not shoot you. Which course would you recommend I take?”
He gulped and was spluttering, “It was a jest, I mean, my lord,” when Arabella drifted over to them.
“You are looking decidedly warm, Sir Walter. Perhaps you ought not stand so close to the fire.” She turned to Guy. “Are you two enjoying your conversation?”
“Not really,” Guy said, although in truth he was enjoying himself immensely. “I am debating whether or not to shoot Sir Walter.”
That man emitted a squeaky laugh. “His lordship jests.”
“I should hope so,” Arabella said. “It’s terribly inconvenient when guests shoot each other, plays havoc with the seating arrangements. It would be especially unsporting with Sir Walter’s son arriving next week. Which day will the much-acclaimed Mr. Humphrey Treadgold be joining us, Sir Walter?”
Sir Walter’s brow accumulated a few more beads of sweat. “I’m afraid our Humphrey has been unavoidably detained.”
“What a shame,” Arabella said serenely. “I was so looking forward to meeting him. Weren’t you, Hardbury?”
“Very much.”
Their eyes met. Again, Guy felt that sense of understanding.
“I do feel a trifle warm,” Sir Walter said. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, Miss Larke.”
As Sir Walter scuttled across the room, Arabella flicked a glance to the door. Guy caught her meaning, and together they casually drifted out into the deserted hallway.
“He knows the marriage license is gone but he means to brazen it out,” Guy said, standing close and speaking softly, though no one was there to overhear.
“Yet they have given Mama no indication that they intend to leave.”
“And he was in a very jovial mood. Until we ruined it.”
“Suspicious, isn’t it?” A smile danced in Arabella’s eyes. “No one who is that cheerful can possibly be up to any good.”
“I say, you make a useful sort of ally,” Guy said. “I like having you on my side.”
She opened her mouth to reply, when Miss Bell slipped out of the drawing room into the hallway.
“I’m glad I caught you two alone,” Miss Bell said. “At dinner, Sir Walter was insisting there is something odd about your engagement and that his lordship actually means to marry Miss Treadgold. It might be nothing, but Cassandra and I thought you should know.”
“Thank you, Juno,” Arabella said, exchanging a look with Guy. “Sir Walter appears to be scheming something, but it remains to be seen what.”
Miss Bell’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Then, with a mischievous smile, she said, “Carry on,” and skipped back into the drawing room, blonde ringlets bouncing.
“Well, well, well,” Guy said, once they were alone again. “We shall have to improve our game, if Sir Walter is running around saying our engagement isn’t real.”
“It isn’t real,” Arabella murmured.
“But he mustn’t know that.”
She stood against the wall, head high, back straight, as flawlessly elegant as ever, the rose silk-net of her gown drawing out the soft pink in her complexion.
Quick glances confirmed they had no witnesses. He edged closer to her.
“Guy. What are you doing?”
“Circumstances demand that I kiss you. Stop being obtuse.”
“Someone could see.”
“My point exactly.” He traced the embroidered flowers, sliding his finger along the edge of her bodice. “After all, if we were to kiss, no one would doubt our commitment.”
It would be a mistake to kiss her again, especially here and now, but Guy could not step back. Perhaps Arabella would be sensible and stop this—but she only cast a glance down the empty hallway, before straightening his lapel.
“I suppose that does make sense,” she said slowly.
“Very rational, I thought.”
“It’s important to be rational about these matters.”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“So I expect this to be a rational kiss,” she said.
“It will be the most rational kiss in the world.”
He trailed his wayward hand up her throat to cup her cheek, and her fingers fluttered onto his jaw. As she closed her eyes, he breathed in her scent, basked in her warmth, and touched his lips to hers, in a lingering caress, potent with promise. It reminded him of their very first kiss in London. Everything had been wrong that night, but this, now, felt as if they were finally getting it right.
When he lifted his head, his eyes searched hers, though he could not have said what he sought.
“Well?” he asked.
Her tongue darted out to touch her lips, and she swallowed visibly. “Well what?”
“How does that compare to the other kisses?”
“I…” Her eyes shifted past him, widened slightly. Damn. They had developed a witness. A servant, no doubt, who would be smart enough to vanish like smoke. But that servant’s presence was enough to make Arabella retreat into her usual poise.
“Of all the kisses I have ever received…”
“Yes?” he prompted, not turning.
“That was the most…”
“Yes?”
“Recent.”
Guy chuckled. “For someone who claims not to know how to flirt, you are very good at it.” He brushed a knuckle against her throat. “I’d like to point out that your pulse is racing.”
“And I’d like to point out that my mother is watching.”