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Even from afar, Guy could not deny Miss Treadgold’s appeal, but he kept his eyes on his sister. The ringlets and profusion of blue flounces and ribbons did not suit her, but he’d know that face anywhere: the slightly upturned nose and wide mouth, big eyes and fierce brows, a face that could appear mischievous and elfin one moment, and sullen and mutinous the next.
On his visits home from school and, later, university, she used to run from the schoolroom to throw herself into his arms, and he’d swing her around while she squealed. She would have to marry soon, but perhaps not for another year; they’d have time to get to know each other as adults, rebuild their family first.
He glanced back at Arabella. “I would never have found her myself. Thank you.”
“In terms of an engagement, I’m only talking—”
“No talking. No engagement. Enough.”
She inhaled through her nose, audibly, and flicked a glance over his shoulder. “Freddie needs your protection. I suspect that Sir Walter may be scheming—”
“Of course he is. Arabella. Desist.”
He closed the gap between them. Again she did not budge, as yielding as a marble pillar.
“You are not part of my family, and never will be,” he said. “Do not tell me whom to marry, or how to manage Sir Walter, or what my sisters or I need.”
“I’m saying this for Freddie’s sake, not for yours.”
“You are meddling.”
“Don’t be absurd. I never meddle. I simply fix other people’s problems for them.”
“I do not need you to fix my problems.”
He did not need her at all. Their fathers’ agreement was not her fault, any more than it was his, but damned if he would sacrifice himself for anything, whether his dead father’s persistent tyranny or Arabella’s persistent ambitions.
Besides, they were not children playing war games on the lake. They were adults, both unmarried, and matters had a way of getting confused. Their entire relationship had been characterized by mutual resentment and the desire to defeat each other; that, at least, had not changed.
Time for their final farewell, though Guy felt an urge to make a truce first. “I truly regret that you have spent these years awaiting my return, only to be disappointed now.”
“Disappointed,” she repeated dryly.
“But you are an accomplished, attractive lady with excellent connections, breeding, and wealth. You will have no trouble finding a husband.”
Unexpectedly, amusement glimmered over her face. “You have no idea,” she murmured.
“Good night, Arabella.”
Guy spun around and strode toward Freddie. He fancied he felt Arabella’s gaze searing into his back, and he quashed his impulse to retrace his steps and ask her what she meant.
Chapter 3
Arabella watched Guy stride off toward Freddie and Miss Treadgold, his red cape swirling around his booted legs. Once he had reached them, she turned around to consider her next move.
No need: Her next move was already decided. For there stood Lord Sculthorpe, black tricorne tilted back, studying her with a faint smile. Society called him handsome, though surely a wealthy, heroic peer could never be called anything else. Certainly, all his features were present and correct and arranged in the usual way. The overall effect might be described as strong and square: quite unobjectionable. But then, Arabella’s objections had never been about his face.
As their eyes met, his smile broadened and he headed toward her.
“No trouble finding a husband,” she murmured ruefully to herself. “It seems my husband has found me.”
Her sole gambit had failed. Now Sculthorpe would propose, and if Arabella refused, her father would cut her off and cast her out.
Proud and haughty, they called her. The lady who had everything, they said. Well, the lady who had everything would lose the lot in the next ten minutes if she did not take care.
Lord Sculthorpe was still smiling as he reached her. “Good evening, Miss Larke, or should I say Minerva? You make a fitting goddess.”
“And you, my lord, make a dashing outlaw.”
