Too intimate. She could smell his cologne, feel his breath against her hair. She was achingly aware of how his costume hugged every line of his lean, lithe body. And that her costume was too loose, too floaty and insubstantial. And that she was pressing up against him in a way that would not be approved of in polite circles.
She had to break this feeling of... intensity. Conversation, that was the thing. “What made you dress as a matador?” she asked.
He shrugged infinitesimally. “There was a costume in the shop. And I liked it. I saw several bullfights in Spain.”
“Weren’t they very terrible?”
He smiled. “For the bull, yes, but very exciting to watch.”
She shuddered. “I could never watch such a thing. You were in Spain for the war, weren’t you?”
“Yes.” After a moment he added, “I’d like to go back there one day, now that peace has come. It’s a fascinating country.”
“You want to travel again?” It surprised her. Most Englishmen she’d met—admittedly not all that many—seemed to dislike the idea of foreign travel.
He appeared to think it over, then gave a decisive nod, as if he’d just made up his mind. “Yes. I do. I have a mind to join the diplomatic service.”
“Really? Don’t you have responsibilities here? I mean, isn’t there an estate or something you’re supposed to look after?” Not that she knew anything about a nobleman’s duties.
“My father controls all that. There’s nothing for me here.” They circled the courtyard again, and he added, “What about you? If you had the opportunity to travel, would you take it?”
In a heartbeat, Lucy thought. But it was not to be. “I’m marrying a lordly octogenarian, remember?” she said lightly. “I doubt I’ll get to travel.”
“About that. I think I have the solution to your problem.”
She looked up at him. “Oh yes?”
For a minute or two he said nothing, just twirled her around in the moonlight. Then, just as she was sure he wasn’t going to speak, he cleared his throat and said, “Become betrothed to me.”
She dropped his hand and stepped away. “What? No. Marryyou?”
He held up his hands pacifically. “Calm down. I didn’t say ‘marry me’—I said ‘become betrothed.’ ”
“No. That’s ridic—”
“Hear me out. You don’t want to marry a lord, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, but—”
“But in order to save Alice from whatever your father has threatened her with, he needs to believe you are going to marry a lord.”
She frowned. “Ye-es.”
“A formal betrothal would convince him, would it not? If it was officially announced in theMorning Postand theGazette, and the banns called in St. George’s, Hanover Square.”
She thought about it. If Papa believed it was a done deal, and he probably would, with it being all formal and official, it could, just possibly work. Though he did say he’d come to her wedding. “Maybe.”
“Then you and I will announce our betrothal.”
She shook her head. “But you can’t! You don’t want to marry me!”
“Don’t worry. We can call it off as soon as Alice gets those letters back from your father. Actuallyyouwill call it off. A gentleman cannot honorably withdraw once the announcement has been made.”
“Why not?”
“A gentleman cannot break his word.”
She snorted. “Rubbish. Men break their word all the time.”
