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“Good grief, Guy,” she drawled. “I had no idea you had such a penchant for drama.”
“What the deuce are you doing here? I might have stabbed you.”
“Which would have been awkward for us both, I agree.”
She lowered her eyes pointedly to the blade still aimed at her breastbone. Guy stepped back. He thought he had faced everything during his adventures, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of Arabella, in his house alone at night, calmly removing her gloves and whisking off her cloak to reveal a dowdy gray gown better suited to a governess.
“Is this another of your schemes, some attempt to trap me into marriage?” He waved the letter opener at the door. “Will your mother come bursting in and scream about honor and ruin?”
“I sincerely hope not. But if she does, please refrain from stabbing her. I’m very fond of my mother.”
Guy had to laugh, though from absurdity or horror he could not say. He tossed the letter opener onto the desk and reclaimed his wineglass. It seemed he might need it.
“What have you done with Clare? I recognized her handwriting. Was it hers, or have you added forgery to your accomplishments?”
“Not yet, but that’s an excellent suggestion.” Arabella swept across the room like a diva taking center stage. “Miss Ivory penned the note at my request.”
“How do you even know her?”
“I know everyone.”
She poured herself some wine and gulped it down in an incongruously unladylike manner.
“I am here,” she announced to the room at large, “because I have something for you.”
“You have nothing I want.”
“An opportunity for revenge.”
“Against whom?”
“Lord Sculthorpe, of course.”
Her glass hit the table with a thud. Guy waited but she only aligned the glass with the carafe. She straightened a fork. Nudged a cup.
“Revenge against Sculthorpe for what?” he finally prompted.
She frowned at him. “You have to ask?”
“Certainly, he beat me up years ago, but…” Guy shrugged. “He was a trained soldier, and I didn’t know how to fight. The past is the past. I have no interest in revenge.” He carried his wineglass back to the fire and flung himself into his chair. “Now get out before I throw you over my shoulder and hurl you into the mews.”
“You’re not much of a strategist, are you?” She moved only to perch on the chair opposite him. “You intended to marry Clare Ivory, but Sculthorpe seduced her. Now Sculthorpe intends to marry me, but you can seduce me first.”
Guy spluttered, sending his mouthful of wine up his nose and into other places wine had no business being. He coughed, eyes watering, glass slamming onto the table. Unperturbed, Arabella handed him a serviette.
“I canwhat?” he managed to say.
“Revenge,” she repeated impatiently. “Doesn’t that sound like something you might want to do?”
“No. It sounds like something Sculthorpe might want to do, but I’m not Sculthorpe.” He wiped away his last tears and tossed the serviette onto the table. “Have you completely lost your reason?”
She appeared to consider this. “No.”
“If you don’t want to marry Sculthorpe, don’t. None of this involves me.”
“Oh, I’ll definitely marry Sculthorpe. You may calm yourself on that point. Now, shall we repair to the bedroom? I haven’t much time.”
She stood and looked down at him, her face unreadable in the golden candlelight. Even unadorned, in that plain dress and her dark hair in a simple knot, she made a compelling sight. Guy couldn’t help running his eyes over the promising, intriguing curves and shadows of her figure. His daft body stirred. If they were strangers… If it were a different time and place… If—
