"Then it served its purpose."
"Which was?"
"To make you think better of me than you should."
"And why would you care what I think?"
Another pause, longer this time. "I honestly don't know."
The vulnerability in his admission caught Catherine off-guard. She'd expected another quip, another deflection. Not honesty.
"Your turn," he said before she could respond. "Something true."
Catherine considered. She could tell him something safe, something small. Instead, she found herself saying, "I'm running away."
"From what?"
"A betrothal. Or rather, an almost-betrothal. To a man who collects butterflies and insists on showing me every single one while explaining their Latin names."
"Horrifying."
"You have no idea. Did you know there are over seventeen thousand species of butterfly?"
"I did not, and I was happier in my ignorance."
"Sir Reginald knows them all."
"Sir Reginald sounds like he needs to be pushed into a lake."
"I couldn't agree more. Unfortunately, he owns the lake in question. Several lakes, actually. Also most of Northumberland."
"Ah. And your family approves of this match?"
"My mother does. She says security is more important than happiness."
"And you disagree?"
"I think I'd rather be insecure and happy than secure and listening to another lecture on the mating habits of the Purple Emperor."
"The Purple Emperor has mating habits?"
"Everything has mating habits according to Sir Reginald. He's very... thorough in his explanations."
"My goodness."
"Precisely."
They fell quiet again. The violin had switched to something livelier—a jig that had people clapping along below.
"So you're escaping to London?" he asked.
"To my aunt. She's promised to sponsor me for the Season. Give me a chance to find my own husband. Or not find one, which is also perfectly acceptable."
"A radical notion."
"Are you shocked?"
"Impressed, actually. It takes courage to defy expectations."
