He pulled her more tightly to his side than he should. Anyone watching from a window, as they had been, would see, would wonder, would eventually whisper. No reason for it, though. They were friends, nothing more. Could he not enjoy a conversation with other women once he wed? Of course he could! Particularly when visible to the entire square! Everything perfectly proper. Except, perhaps, the way his body reacted to her like a starving man at his first meal, ravenous to dig in, almost weeping at the relief soon to come.
Down, loins. No relief today. Or ever. With Lady Emma.
“How is your courtship of Lady Huxley progressing?” Lady Emma asked, her voice soft in the fading light.
“Do you hope to offer advice?” God, anything but that.
“No. Not unless you ask. I find myself curious about the lady, though. We spoke at the Coldpepper ball.”
“And what did you think of her?”
“A lovely woman, an excellent candidate for duchess. Quite… candid in her thoughts.”
“What did you speak about?”
“That is none of your business.”
“I suppose so.” When they reached a path that led into the garden, he opened the gate and guided her through. “Have you considered the jealousy question further?”
“Yes, actually. I think Bransley is eaten alive by it.”
“And the other suitors?”
“Similar. They’ve increased their attentions.”
“And Felicity? She seems… pleased by current circumstances.”
Lady Emma laughed. “Indeed, she does. Not jealous a bit, but giddy from so much jealousy surrounding her.”
“Should I be worried?”
“I’ll let you know when it comes to that.”
He trusted she would, and that made some tightly held worry in his chest loosen, dissolve. With Lady Emma, he need not shoulder all the care alone. “What are your next steps? To match Felicity with someone perfect?”
Her gait slowed, and she rolled her lips between her teeth. “I think—and do not yell—I need to speak with Bransley.”
“I will not yell!”
“You’re yelling.”
“Because you need do nothing about Bransley! Except send him away!”
“Clearford.” She gave him a look. It saidsettle down. It saidstop being a nodcock. It saidyou do not always get what you want, and you are not always right.
That last he already understood. Didn’t mean he liked it.
He pulled away from her and headed toward the center of the garden. King George would help him think. Above Clearford House, the sky glowed pink and purple, above it a blanket of navy blue. No stars yet. But the world was whirring toward silence, and he welcomed it, needed an absolute absence of sound to hear reason within his own mind.
He sat on the grassy base of the king’s statue, rested his elbows on his thighs, and hung his hands. Hung his head, too. But he heard her approach, saw the sway of her blue skirts brushing the grass a mere inch away from the toes of his boots.
“Explain it to me,” he said without looking up. “Because I see a man who hurt my sister, a man without sense, and I’d rather push him off the top of St. Paul’s than let him anywhere near her. Frankly, I would not even have to move from my perch at a window to take care of him. Choose a knife, take aim… You will advise against that, I presume.” He ventured a look at her, tilting his head back.
Was rewarded with the prettiest, most amused smile curving her pink lips. “No. I cannot say that would be advisable.” She sat next to him, her shawl falling off her shoulder as she folded her hands in her lap.
He tugged it up to her neck, loving the heat of her skin, before falling back onto his palms behind him to stare up at the gray sky. “What, then?”
She rubbed her neck where his fingers had brushed against her, then pulled the shawl more tightly about her, clutching it with both hands against her chest. “We should not trust him.”
