“Is there something you wish to say?” she asked.
“I got drunk,” he blurted.
She inhaled sharply and then lifted her knife and fork points-up as if the flatware were weapons. Clearly, he’d made things worse.
Why the devil had he started with drink?
“After Almack’s,” he clarified. “I was in no state to accept Asquith’s challenge when he held that loaded flintlock to my head and ordered me to court you or face him at dawn.”
“Well.” She made a huffing noise. “I should think not.”
She hadn’t understood. He tried again. “I was drunk, so I agreed to court you in good faith.”
Her head jerked back, and she blinked. “I suppose agreeing to a spurious courtship would be safer than shooting through the misty morning with an unsteady hand.”
Well, hell.“No. I didn’t mean—”
“Whatdidyou mean?” she interrupted, her tone sharper than he’d ever heard it.
“I meant that I knew I was to blame. Even if I hadn’t been willing to admit as much. Adrian set me straight. When I complained to him, I told him you should have refused to dance with me—”
She inhaled in a rush.
“—and he called me an ass.” Heat slowly climbed his neck. “Quite frankly, he wasn’t wrong.”That’swhat he had meant to say.
“How magnanimous of you to admit it.”
Why yes.
He’d intended to be generous in taking culpability, though he doubted she understood his bungled words had been his best attempt at an apology. Nor did he think she understood that anyone who knew him well would find an apology from him unusual.
His gaze dropped to the tightly gripped knife in her hand.
Her use of “magnanimous” had most certainly been sarcasm. The realization of her fury’s depth landed like a punch to his sternum,briefly halting his ability to respond. How could he explain his actions that night in a way that would lessen her anger?
He’d been undone with renewed grief over Viv. Knowing Viv had married another when he’d expected her to return to him had been hard; seeing her flushed and happy in her new husband’s arms had been intolerable. Then, the patronesses’ disproportionate response to his choice of Cassandra for the waltz in progress had left him flabbergasted.
He had just gotten around to drunkenly pondering what reparation honor would demand when he’d felt the cold barrel of Asquith’s firearm against his temple. Asquith, Cassandra’s guardian, who, though capable, was younger than himself and almost always quiet, reserved and serious.
But the point he’d wanted to make was, even though at the start, Asquith had forced his hand, he had enjoyed Cassandra’s company. He’d found her more desirable than he’d ever anticipated. And, if he could manage to make things right between them, he thought they might become friends. And hopefully…eventually… even lovers.
He attempted to salvage the conversation. “I’m trying,” he managed with difficulty, “to tell you I’m…not…” How should he say this? “…displeasedby the turn of events.”
She smacked the knife against the table so hard he thought she might have bent the tip.
“That’s silver!” he exclaimed.
Her scowl suggested he was lucky said silver had not been energetically inserted into his chest. She took three deep breaths, each one further smoothing the blotches beneath her skin. When she looked up again, her face was a mask—one even more indecipherable than the one she’d worn when he began.
“Harbury—”
For the first time since his father’s death, he’d the urge to ask someone to call him by his given name. In fact, his eyes burned at themere thought of asking her to call him Edward.
“—I neither expect”—she threw down the spoon—“nor require you to explain your actions to me.”
“I wasn’t trying to explain myself, I was—”
She waved her hand as she interrupted. “Oh, just go, would you? Right now, you appear to have lost the ability to converse.”
