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Her lips quirked upward. “Netherborne. Unfortunately, he is aware that I was not alone in Mr. Thatcher’s cottage.”
A chill raced up Timothy’s spine, even though the room was unbearably warm. “Oh? And why has no one confronted me?”
It was her turn to give an eye roll. “Because I refused to name you, sir. I am no longer the girl who wishes to marry a man who doesn’t want me.”
The tightness banding his chest lessened, and he found he could breathe more easily. Yet an inexplicable sadness remained. “Your betrothed knows you spent the night with another man? Has he broken the engagement?”
“Suspended it, if there is such a thing. He is giving me time to repent and prove myself.” With the final two words, her chin lifted as if mimicking the man’s words.
“In London?” Incredulity rang in his voice.
* * *
The astonished lookon Timothy’s face was laughable. Priscilla bit back the urge to react, reminding herself of the seriousness of the matter. “Mr. Netherborne is unfamiliar with London society.”
He lifted an eyebrow, giving him a rather rakish appearance. “Clearly.”
Must he be so deliciously handsome?
“How am I to explain myself if you continue with your rude interruptions?”
His mouth opened, drawing her gaze, but apparently reconsidering, he closed it and motioned with his hand for her to continue.
“As I was saying.” She squared her shoulders with what, she hoped, was a dramatic flair. “Mr. Netherborne believes I shall find London society brash and superficial, sending me running back to find refuge in the country with him and . . . sheep.”
Oh, how he wanted to respond. She could see it on his face. Yet he kept silent, with only his lips quirking in a delightful little smile.
She waited long enough to have the desired effect. “Have you nothing to say about that?”
“I thought I was to keep silent?”
“It’s clear you wish to reply. I give you my permission.”
“Just who is interrogating whom? Don’t turn this around to have the upper hand.”
Oh, how she adored him.
Wait. What?
Her cheeks heated, and she ducked her head lest he see her embarrassment.
“And have you?” he asked, interrupting and unsettling her thoughts. “Found London society unpleasant? Do you wish to return to the country and Mr. Netherborne?”
There was a tinge of something in his question she couldn’t quite place. Worry? Surely not?
“Categorically no. My return to London was more of an escape from the country.”
A muscle in his jaw pulsed, and his posture straightened, leaning toward her. “Escape? Were you in danger?”
“If there is danger in being bored to death. I detest the country. I’ve missed the activity of the city, the parties, the teas—the balls. Granted, this is the first I’ve attended, but merely being in the thick of things has invigorated me. If I hadn’t been able to return, I seriously considered running away.”
He quirked a brow.
“When Mr. Netherborne confronted me, it forced my hand, and I wrote to my father. All things considered, it worked out for the best. If I had run away, I’m ill-equipped to fend for myself.”
He grinned, the sight perfectly adorable. “Except for catching chickens. You seem very adept at that.”
She waggled a finger at him. “Ah, but I was completely ignorant as to how to prepare the poor thing.”
