“Lord Galbraith.”
Despite what he saw in her eyes, her voice was cool, polite, and distant, reminding him forcibly of their original agreement and what civility demanded of him now. Like the spring rain a week ago, her voice acted on him like a bracing splash of cold water, and thankfully, the world shifted back into its proper perspective.
He turned, gesturing with his hat to the large tent behind them. “My great-aunt and my uncle Albert are by the marquee,” he said to Lady David, offering her his arm. “Shall I take your party to them?”
Lady David acquiesced to this plan, placing her hand on his arm and walking beside him, while her husband fell back to escort the other ladies.
His great-aunt and his uncle were standing just inside the marquee, and as they came forward to greet the new arrivals, Rex gave way.
“Lady David, how lovely to see you again,” Petunia said as Rex moved to stand beside Clara at the back of the group. “And your sisters-in-law as well. Do please come into the shade here, for the sun is quite warm.”
As the rest of the party complied, Rex took that opportunity to lean closer to Clara. “Might I beg your indulgence for a private word?” he murmured by her ear.
The moment the request was out of his mouth, he felt the need to clarify it, lest she think his private word meant something it did not. “By ‘private,’ I only meant that I don’t wish our conversation to be overheard. We’ll be within sight of everyone the entire time.” He gestured to a pair of empty lawn chairs on the grass about a dozen yards away. “If you were to stroll over in that direction, might I join you there?”
She nodded. “I should greet Lady Petunia and Sir Albert first.”
“Of course. I shall see you in a few minutes, then.” With that, he bowed and left her.
Feeling restless, knowing what he had to say and dreading the prospect of saying it, he occupied himself with a stroll about the lawn. He paused to listen to the string quartet for a bit and chatted with several acquaintances, but as the minutes went by and Clara made no move to depart the marquee, his restlessness and his apprehension grew.
Never before had he put himself in the risky and vulnerable position of having to apologize to a young lady for untoward advances, and by the time she excused herself from his relations and started toward their appointed meeting place, Rex felt like a cat on hot bricks.
She was standing by the lawn chairs when he reached them, and the fact that she had chosen not to sit down only made him more nervous, but he halted in front of her, took a deep breath, and plunged into speech. “Clara, about the other day, you mustn’t think... that is, I never intended any impropriety, or meant anything by it—that is, anything untoward. I mean, what I did was untoward, of course it was, but...”
He paused, aware that what he was saying wasn’t anything like the speech he’d prepared. This was an incoherent, rambling jumble of words, not at all germane to the point. He took a deep breath and tried again. “What I mean to say is that I wasn’t thinking about propriety, or the ramifications, or any of that when I kissed you. You seemed to be expressing the fear that you weren’t a desirable woman, and it was frustrating as hell listening to it, because you’re not undesirable at all—quite the contrary, in fact, and my only intent was to let you know that, and—”
He stopped again, for talking of her desirability was sending him onto very dangerous ground. Besides, he wanted to be as honest with her as he could be, and his intentions when he’d kissed her were far less noble than he was making them sound. Aware that this second effort was just as inept as his first, he gave up any attempts to be eloquent, took another deep breath, and cut to the chase. “What happened a week ago was a mistake.”
The moment those words were out of his mouth, he grimaced at how blunt, even cruel, they sounded. Her lips parted, and though he didn’t know what he expected her to say in reply, when she swallowed hard and pressed a hand to her chest, staring up at him with those big brown eyes of hers, he felt every bit the cad she’d initially thought him, and he braced himself for either a blistering and well-deserved tongue-lashing or a storm of feminine tears.
“Oh, thank heaven,” she breathed, laughing, displaying nothing of what he’d feared. Instead, she looked... relieved. “I’m so glad you said it first!”
He blinked, utterly taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve been in a state all week, dreading this encounter, thinking I’d be obligated to chide you for what happened, and I really didn’t want to do that.”
“No? I’d deserve it.”
“It would be a bit hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it?” she whispered, lowering her gaze to his mouth. “After I...”
Her voice trailed off, but he knew she was thinking of her own actions—of her own ardent response to his kiss. The effect of that knowledge on his mind and his body were immediate, but his imagination had barely started down that delightful, agonizing road, before her next words hauled him firmly back.
“I’m not saying what we did wasn’t wrong.” She glanced around to verify no one had strolled within earshot. “If anyone had come in—”
She broke off, as if unable to voice that unthinkable possibility, and he stepped into the breach. “We’d have been in dire straits, no question, and it would have been utterly my fault. My actions were appalling.”
Her cheeks went pink, and she stirred. “I wouldn’t quite say that,” she murmured, touching her gloved fingers to the side of her neck.
That gesture of feminine arousal impelled him to qualify his statement. “Don’t misunderstand me, I beg you. I’m not saying that kiss wasn’t wonderful. It was.”
“Yes.” The acknowledgement was soft, breathed on a sigh. “It was, rather.”
“More than wonderful,” he went on. “Earth-shattering, as kisses go, if you want the truth.” Even as he spoke, he was baffled as to why he was being so frank. Telling her just how ripping that kiss had been hardly served to bolster the regretful apology he was attempting to make. “But,” he said with all the firm conviction he could manage, “it was still a mistake.”
“I agree.” Her hand fell to her side, and her manner became brisk. “We should not have done it.”
“You mean I should not have done it,” he corrected. “Please, Clara, do not keeping saying ‘we’. You are not in any way to blame for what happened. All the blame is mine, and you have my deepest apologies. And if...” He paused and took a breath, but he knew he had to say the rest. “If my actions have led you to any expectations, I could not blame you for them. Please believe me when I say that if I led you on, it was inadvertent.”
