“You played right into her hands.”
“The poor girl was terrified.”
“And I suppose you find that very becoming.”
Her tone was sharp. Her shoulders were stiff, her eyebrows issuing a challenge.
“Well, well, well.” Guy clapped his hands once. “You are jealous.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t be absurd. I never get jealous. I simply have limited patience when otherwise sensible men turn into fools over a woman.”
Indeed, Guy was turning into a fool over a woman, but that woman was not Matilda Treadgold.
“But I suppose you cannot help yourself,” she added. “What with her trembling need and her smiles and her blushes…”
“You are jealous.”
“Good grief, Guy, I’d hardly be jealous of a few blushes. But do try to recall that we are meant to be engaged, and it hardly helps appearances if you insist on flirting with another lady.”
Her tone was icy, but in her eyes lurked that bleak vulnerability, undermining her proud façade.
Tenderness pierced him. Curse him for his blather, when it was neither blushes nor jealousy he sought.
He wanted Arabella to trust him enough to let him inside her walls. To reveal herself to him of her own free will, to lower the drawbridge and invite him in.
“I don’t care whether or not you blush,” he said gently. “All I want is to know you.”
Her chin jerked up. Her brow creased with confusion. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that emerged was a huff of breath. She tried again; again, no words. Finally, with an impatient shake of her head, she whirled around and marched away.
Guy stared at her stiff, retreating back, resisting the urge to run after her. He didn’t fully understand what had just happened, but he understood this: If he wasn’t careful, Arabella was going to break his heart.
Chapter 18
Later that evening, when Arabella was dressing for dinner, Holly warned her that the Treadgold family appeared to be brewing a plot.
The maid’s suspicions made for a happy distraction. Hours after that scene outside the crypt, Arabella was still mortified over her outburst.
“All I want is to know you,” Guy had said. Well, he knew now, didn’t he? He knew that proud, perfect Arabella Larke was turning pathetic over a man. How embarrassing!
“’Twas something that Eliza said,” Holly explained, as she pinned up Arabella’s hair. “Eliza said that Tabitha said that she heard Lady Treadgold say something to Miss Treadgold about biding their time and acting at night.”
And then, Holly reported, she’d heard from Ernest that Sir Walter’s man had asked Lord Hardbury’s man about his lordship’s habits at night. “That is,” Holly said that Ernest said that Sir Walter’s man said, “if Sir Walter wanted to find his lordship at night, where might be a good place to look?”
And then the other Eliza—the Treadgolds’ Eliza, that was, not the Larkes’ Eliza—well, Mrs. Ramsay said that the Treadgolds’ Eliza said that Lady Treadgold said that Miss Treadgold would not need her that night, and, as Holly said that Mrs. Ramsay said, “Whoever heard of a young lady not needing her maid at night?”
Who indeed.
Arabella praised Holly for the intelligence gleaned through the remarkable network. “I shall petition Mama to give the whole household an extra bonus,” she added.
Holly thanked her. “We won’t say no to that, but… We like Miss Treadgold, she’s always pleasant and polite, but it’s just not right, is it?”
No, indeed.
So it wasn’t jealousy but perfectly justifiable suspicion that made Arabella pay special attention to Miss Treadgold that evening, as their much-reduced party sat in the drawing room. Miss Treadgold was reading, and Lady Treadgold and Mama talked quietly as they sewed. Guy was writing a letter, Sir Walter and Freddie played cards with Mr. Larke and the last of the ornithologists, and Arabella played pianoforte, a simple piece she knew so well that she didn’t need to think. From this excellent position, she could see everyone else.
Then Guy finished his letter, stood, and started across the room.
Arabella looked at Lady Treadgold, who shot a look at Miss Treadgold, and Miss Treadgold rearranged her shawl. The movement dislodged something in her lap, something shiny and green, which slithered onto the floor.
A ribbon.
A ribbon falling right at Guy’s feet.
Guy stopped walking. Miss Treadgold kept reading. Lady Treadgold shot a look at Mama.
But Mama was studying her sewing and did not see.
Arabella glanced back just as Guy scooped up the shiny, green ribbon.
Of course he did.
He twirled it in his fingers, shot a glance at Arabella, and dangled the ribbon in front of Miss Treadgold like she was a kitten and he wanted to play.
“Miss Treadgold,” he said. “I do believe you have dropped a ribbon.”
“Oh, did I? Thank you for picking it up, my lord.”
“I am honored to do you a service.”
Oh, good grief.
Miss Treadgold reached for the ribbon and Guy jerked it away as though she really were a kitten, and he grinned, and she smiled and said, “Oh, Lord Hardbury, you are too wicked!”
Still grinning, Guy flicked another glance at Arabella, but Arabella looked away, which was why she saw Miss Treadgold shoot a look at Lady Treadgold, who passed the look on to Mama.
But Mama was studying her hands and did not see.
“This is a very pretty ribbon.” This time, Guy let her have it. “But the color does not match your gown. What is it for?”
Arabella hit the wrong key. If he was that interested in the girl’s ribbons, he should just jolly well marry her!
“I am using it to mark my place in my book.”
“And what is your book?”
Arabella hit another wrong key but no one seemed to notice. Miss Treadgold kept her eyes lowered, and yet again Guy glanced at Arabella, so Arabella looked away. Which was why she saw that Lady Treadgold seemed set to have a fit, her gaze was shifting so rapidly between Guy and Matilda and Mama, and then Lady Treadgold saw Arabella looking and turned away, and Arabella looked at Mama.
But Mama was studying a teacup and did not see.
“It is a book on Italy, my lord,” Miss Treadgold said.
“Why, so it is! Are you interested in Italy?”
“I think it is the most fascinating place in the world. I have heard that you spent some time in Italy, my lord. Perhaps you could entertain me with your experiences.”
“Miss Treadgold, it would be my immense pleasure to tell you all about it.”
Again, Guy looked straight at Arabella, who again looked away, so again saw Miss Treadgold look at Lady Treadgold, who again looked at Mama, who again was looking absolutely anywhere else at all and so, of course, did not see.
“Perhaps we could do that later this evening, my lord.”
“Of course.” Guy strolled over to Arabella, who kept playing the pianoforte determinedly. “You are not reading tonight, Miss Larke?”
“Why on earth would I read? I already know everything worth knowing.”
He chuckled and sauntered off. She did not look at him, nor at anyone else either, because she did not care who looked at whom.