“Rarely,” he replied. “Lady Arabella, I do not profess to be without flaws. If the Season ends and we have discovered no match better than this, I will list them for you, so you will know what to expect. Although, for your sake, I pray happiness comes the way you desire it to.”
She fell oddly silent, chewing upon her lower lip as though thinking intently of something. An impulse urged him to ask, but sense held him equally silent, fearing she would not appreciate an intrusion into her thoughts.
They walked down a dappled path, where sunshine struggled to pierce the dense canopies of full-leafed boughs. Observing her discreetly, he saw a diurnal transformation in her. Devoid of the gaudy purple and now wearing an unpretentious gown of magnolia yellow, with a simpler hairstyle, and heat-pinkened cheeks, she looked astonishingly pretty, right down to the dusting of freckles across her nose.
He was about to remark upon how pleasant she looked, when a sight up ahead caught his eye. A gaggle of Society ladies were fanning themselves furiously at a crossroads between paths. Deep in conversation, they kept looking over at Henry and Arabella, though they took their sly glimpses in turns.
“It appears the joyous news has spread,” Henry whispered.
Arabella snapped out of her reverie. “Pardon?”
“Those ladies are talking about us.”
“How can you tell?” Her remarkable eyes squinted toward them.
“I have witnessed enough gossipmongering to understand the body language.” He smiled. “You see, they have all turned themselves away, as if disinterested, but they keep peeking back over their shoulders. And their heads are inclined, so they can mumble at each other without fear of being overheard. Then there are the hands—you see how they are waving them about, most animatedly?”
Arabella nodded.
“That means they have something juicy to discuss. They are excited by it, or angry about it. That part is hard to decipher without getting closer and seeing their facial expressions,” he went on, unexpectedly charmed by the rapt manner in which she was listening to him.
Her fingertips curved around his forearm, reminding him of the ferocious way she had clutched his upper arm during their Viennese Waltz. He had not shown it, at the time, but it had felt rather nice, as if she needed his strength and safety to rely upon. Of course, that had all evaporated when he had run away to expel the contents of his stomach, but the memory lingered as a pleasing one.
“What do we do?” she murmured, leaning into him until the sides of their heads were almost touching. He could smell her faint perfume, drifting into his senses like the breath of a cherry blossom. Sweeter, perhaps.
“Hmm?” The scent had distracted him.
“What do we do?” she repeated.
He straightened up. “Ah, yes. We have a mission to carry out, and I daresay it ought to begin now.”
Turning slowly to face her, he slipped her hand from his forearm and raised it to his lips. He kept them pressed to the cotton of her kid gloves for longer than he should have done, inhaling the smell of lavender that had woven itself into the fabric. It likely came from a fragrance pouch which her lady’s maid kept in the drawers of her dresser, but it reminded him of home. A pang struck him in the chest, for he had been away for much too long.
“Are you stuck? Did you catch yourself on the buttons?” Lifting his gaze, he found Arabella smiling down at him. Her cheeks, formerly pink, blazed a deeper shade of red. Had he embarrassed her once more? The flush said yes, but her eyes said no, though they were terribly difficult to read.
He planted one smaller kiss upon her hand before restoring it to his forearm. “I had to make it dramatic, or the ladies up ahead would not care. Every last one of them needed to see, for witnessing something in person lends itself to the longevity of gossip.”
“But how are we to seek the courtship of others, if we display a public affection, and everyone thinks we are desperately in love?” Her nose crinkled, shifting the constellations of her freckles.
He laughed but it felt strangely hollow. “Those who have long admired you will crawl from the woodwork and try to persuade you of their ardent affection for you. For me, there is nothing so tantalizing to some women as a man who is already taken. They relish the challenge.”
“That isnottrue.” Arabella gaped in disbelief.
“I assure you, it is.”
Arabella shook her head. “Surely, you would not want to align yourself with such a woman? If they could tease you out of the hands of your betrothed, who is to say they would not try to tease another man from his wife, or betrothed, once you were wed?”
“There is a firm difference between me and you, My Lady,” he said quietly.
She frowned. “What is that?”
“I do not care what my wife wishes to do once we are married. If I truly, wholeheartedly loved her, of course I would, but I do not believe such a thing exists for someone like me.” He surprised himself with his vulnerability, but he could not reverse time and coax the words back onto his tongue.
This heat is worse than brandy for loosening the blasted thing…
Arabella’s fingers curved around his forearm once again, feeling like a miniature hug. It troubled him, for he was unused to displays of kindness. He had been raised to spot weakness and stamp it out, though years away from his family had mellowed that impulse somewhat. As such, he did not know how to act, and his limbs no longer seemed to be listening to his mind’s instruction. Already, his arm had edged nearer to her, almost touching hers.
“Why would you think that? Is it because I called you monstrous?” She sounded genuinely worried that she might be the cause, not realizing that he had nearly three decades of being taught that he was unworthy of love. He was a pawn, a tool, a means to an end, nothing more.
