The door to the hallway flew open. Lady Treadgold hurtled into the room, Mama drifting along in her wake.
“Matilda, I— Miss Larke, you—” Lady Treadgold stared at them both. “What is going on here?”
Arabella gave her haughtiest stare. “It’s not what you think. I never touched the girl!”
A startled expression crossed Lady Treadgold’s face and Mama pressed two fingers to her temple, as though she had a headache coming on. Matilda was fighting a smile.
“Is that—” Lady Treadgold’s eagle eyes snagged on the table. “Brandy? There has been a man here!”
Arabella could only pray Lady Treadgold did not read the title of Guy’s book, but Mama moved more quickly, casually drifting across the room to shake her head at the glass.
“Arabella, darling, really. I have told you before not to drink that.” She picked up Guy’s book and glanced at the page. Her eyes widened and she hastily dropped it, then turned back to the other women. “I hope I can count on your discretion in this matter.”
They promised to be discreet.
“Now, Lady Treadgold,” Mama went on. “What was it you wanted me to see?”
“I must have the wrong room.”
“You said the Reading Room. This is the Reading Room.”
“I meant the room with the peacocks. Isn’t that the Reading Room?”
“No. The room with the peacocks is the Peacock Room.” Mama’s eyes met Arabella’s and skated on without giving away a thing. “My dear child, look at you in only your nightgown. You must be freezing. And who knew whom you might have encountered.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Matilda recited doggedly. “I came down for a book. I did not expect to encounter anyone.”
Lady Treadgold stepped forward. “Don’t you believe her?”
“Of course I believe her. It happens all the time.” Mama smiled. “Perhaps this excitement has made you sleepy.”
“Yes, come along, Matilda,” Lady Treadgold said and ushered her niece out.
Arabella folded her hands and waited for her scolding.
“Are you heading for bed, Arabella?”
“I thought I might sit a little longer. In the quiet. Alone. Reading my book. And…drinking my brandy.”
Mama shook her head. “Take care, my dear.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Take very good care.”
And the door clicked shut behind her.
Chapter 19
Arabella counted out two minutes on the ticking clock before she opened the door connecting the Reading Room to the library.
“Guy?” she whispered.
A shadow detached itself from a nearby chair. Guy sauntered back in and leaned against the door to study her. In another world, she would have the courage to go to him. In this world, she did not move.
“You never touched the girl?” he repeated.
She laughed. “That whole situation was ludicrous. And you owe me a thousand pounds.”
“I owe you something.” He peered at his nearly empty glass. “I hear you have a drinking problem.”
“Mama was covering for you. Ladies don’t drink brandy. Besides, it’s vile.”
“Have a drink with me anyway, to celebrate my near escape from a life of Sir Walter Treadgold.”
“Not escape Matilda?”
Shooting her a glance, he went to pour drinks. “I like Matilda. A man could do worse. Her main drawback is her dreadful family.”
“Hm.”
Enough said. She would not embarrass herself with another outburst he might misinterpret as jealousy.
She should leave. But it was warm here in the Reading Room. And intimate, when the house was asleep and the firelight was bright. Guy was in a good mood, and that escapade had left Arabella enlivened.
She lowered herself to the settee.
“So that was Sir Walter’s scheme,” Guy mused, with a rattle of the brandy decanter. “Why he was so pleased with himself.”
“It wasn’t a very good scheme,” Arabella said. “It is risky, hackneyed, and difficult to execute.”
“Tried and true.”
Guy didn’t seem bothered. But then he was not a schemer, so he had no talent for spotting others’ schemes, or the flaws in their schemes.
Neither did he admire clever schemers, such as herself.
“Sir Walter could be in serious trouble when you reveal his intentions for Freddie,” Arabella explained. “Yet all he was banking on was a pretty girl in a nightgown? And what about Freddie? I cannot believe he would so easily abandon his attempts to take advantage of his guardianship.”
Guy shrugged. “If I had to marry Matilda, he would be safe, as I wouldn’t press charges against my wife’s nearest relative. Or maybe he thinks I would agree to marry Freddie off to his son.”
“Either way, it was poorly planned and executed. I am disappointed in them. This charade would be more stimulating if we had worthier adversaries.”
“We have each other.” Handing her a brandy, which she took without thinking, he dropped onto the cushions beside her. “If you were any worthier or more adversarial, I’m not sure I’d survive the experience.”
“I’m not sure I can survive such flattery.” She laughed, but something still niggled. “I thought he would be more sophisticated than that.”
“You give the man too much credit. He is nothing more than a rank opportunist. Not a mastermind like you.”
He sprawled back and studied her thoughtfully over his drink. Avoiding his gaze, she ran her finger around the rim of the cut-crystal glass, achingly aware of his legs, long and strong and close. They might never have a moment like this again. What if she… No, she would not attempt to seduce him again, not after her embarrassingly clumsy effort in the crypt.
“And so you rescued me from her,” he said. “Are you determined that I do not marry anyone else?”
“Didn’t you wish to be completely free to choose your own bride? By all means, if Matilda Treadgold is your choice, I’ll merrily plan the wedding myself.”
“She’s very pleasant. Easy.”
Arabella studied the reflected firelight dueling in her glass. He was after another reaction. Not a chance.
“Exactly what you claimed to want,” she said.
“And you claimed to have a high opinion of her.”
“I do.” She cast him a cool look. “In particular, I admire the way she makes you men fall over yourselves to do her bidding.”
“You would like that. But at least she only makes us pick up ribbons. If we were to do your bidding, the streets would be running with blood.”
It was only a jest, of course, the sort she had never minded before, but now it stung. Guy had said he wanted to know her; odds were, he wouldn’t like what he saw. What a strange turn! People often didn’t like her; it had never bothered her before. Soon, he would be gone, still thinking poorly of her.
“Guy, I have to tell you… That I…”
“That you?”
“That I’m really rather harmless.”
He fired off a rough round of laughter. Frustrated, she rapped her fingernail against her glass, as if its hollow ring might embolden her like a war drum.