Page 70 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

"This morning." Here she finally glanced up, but her expression was inscrutable as she added, "Her reasoning was sound."

He left the library and went to find Arabella. This time, he finally found her.

She was in the small sitting room off the garden, composing a letter, it seemed. She looked up when he entered, and the expression on her face made his blood run cold.

It was pleasant. But so artificial she might have been donning a mask.

"Lord Alderton." She set down her pen. "I was going to find you."

Lord Alderton. So they were back to formal address now.

"Arabella, what is going on?" He had not meant to sound so blunt, but the formality in her voice had knocked the diplomacy straight out of him.

She leaned back in her seat. "I've had a letter from my father. He's requested I return to London. He wishes to finalize arrangements with Lord Edgmond."

He stared at her as the name registered and then⁠—

His stomach dropped.

"Edgmond," he repeated.

"I had been putting him off, as you know. My situation with Pierce made any engagement impossible. But if the duchess is as close as she believes…" She lifted a shoulder. "There is no reason to delay."

"No reason to—" He took a step toward her. "Arabella. Three days ago⁠—"

"Yes, our time together has been lovely." She said it with a smile that made him want to put his fist through the writing desk. "But you and I both know that a rainstorm and a gazebo do not constitute a plan for one's future. As my father has so often pointed out, when it comes to one's future, one must be reasonable."

The words hit him like a slap. They were perfectly measured, and delivered with the same elegant composure she had used on Cecily and Henrietta and every other person she had ever needed to manage.

And that's what she was doing. She was managing him.

"That is not what happened and you know it." His voice had gone rough and he did not care. "That was not a passing fancy. That was not⁠—"

"John." Her voice softened, and for one moment he thought she was going to crack. That perhaps this placid mask would give way to some semblance of genuine feeling.

But that moment passed as she continued. "I am grateful for everything you have done. Truly. You and your family have been kinder to me than I deserve."

"Stop it," he snapped.

She blinked.

"Stop talking to me like I'm one of your acquaintances at a garden party." He crossed the room in three strides and took her by the arms. Not roughly, but firmly enough that she couldn't move away. "Look at me. Whatever this is— Whatever has happened, tell me the truth."

She looked at him.

And he saw…nothing.

He hadn't thought his stomach could sink any further, but the blank look in her eyes had him feeling like he'd stepped into a chasm with no bottom in sight.

There was no anger in her eyes, no flicker of fear. The fierce, complicated, infuriating woman who had teased him and kissed him and made his heart feel alive for the first time in years…

She was gone.

In her place was someone beautiful and perfectly composed and…absolutely unreachable. He might as well have been holding a porcelain doll.

"The truth," she said quietly, "is that my father expects me home. And I have delayed long enough."

His hands tightened on her arms. He wanted to pull her against his chest and hold her until whatever wall she'd built came down. He wanted to say I know you are lying and I know you are scared and I am not going to let you do this.