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Instinctively, he stepped back, excusing himself, already looking past her at the crowd. But the Minerva made no effort to move aside or apologize. Indeed, she did not betray any surprise at all.
Now he was paying attention, it dawned on him that this particular Minerva was tall for a woman. That the dark curls artfully arranged under the elegant helmet did little to soften her pale, angular features. That her gaze was as blue and unflinching as the desert sky. That her lips naturally curved upward at the corners, in the promise of a smile that would never come.
And when her eyebrows arched ever so slightly, wielded with as much control and skill as an orchestra conductor wielded his baton, Guy reached the dismaying conclusion that this was not any Minerva.
This was Arabella Larke.
Arabella Larke, matured from a gangling, scowling brat to a poised, haughty woman. Her unfashionable height was increased by the warrior’s helmet, whose mane of red feathers cascaded down her back. The drapes of her long Roman robe were fastened at one shoulder with an owl-shaped brooch, a reticule resembling a shield dangled from one wrist, and her pale arms were bare but for a silver snake coiled around her upper right arm.
His thoughts shattered. Arabella had somehow transformed into a compelling woman, and the sight crashed against his memories of her as a child. He shook off the sensation. Seeing people after a lengthy absence was always strange; that was all. He had last seen her when she was fifteen or sixteen; it was only natural that she had matured. Besides, judging by her demeanor, quite unlike the obvious amiability of the young ladies he had admired, she had not otherwise changed.
So Guy saw no need to change his typical greeting.
“Oh no, not you,” he said. “And I was having such a lovely evening.”
“So it’s true: You’re not dead.” Her drawl was as imperious as ever, but her voice had developed an appealing huskiness. “The government was in quite a state over your absence.”
“So touching to know they cared.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t take it personally. It just doesn’t look good for the country, to go around misplacing its marquesses.” She eyed him with some perplexity. “How astonishing that no one did kill you.”
“Many tried. None succeeded.”
“Perhaps one did succeed but the Devil spat you out again.”
“He sends you his regards.”
Was that—a smile? No, not from Arabella. She had never been one to give smiles away easily.
Then she flinched, and a strong hand gripped Guy’s wrist.
Instinct had him jerking away, spinning, arm raised, ready to strike. Only to freeze— It was a jester who had grabbed him. Stars above, Guy had nearly hit the jester, and he felt sick to see that same knowledge reflected in the other man’s eyes.
With a resigned nod, Guy forced himself to relax; Arabella had distracted him, and it was too late to escape. He had to suffer through it, suffer through the two jesters pressing his bare forearm against hers, suffer through them deftly wrapping their joined arms with an ungodly length of ribbon. Her skin was soft and warm. What a surprise: She was not made of marble. He thought he caught a matching surprise in her eyes, but her eyelids lowered before he could be sure.
A greater surprise was that she did not object to being manhandled in this way. How disappointing, if the years had turned Arabella docile. Her ferocity had been one of her few charms.
“Three thousand guests are attending this party,” Guy said. “What are the odds that I’d get tied to you, of all people?”
“Rather better odds than if I’d not paid for it to happen, I suspect.”
“Huh. You bribed them,” he said, nodding. She must have guessed he would refuse to talk to her, so she went to these extremes to get her way. But then, Arabella always had cared more about winning than about trivial things like rules. “I ought to have guessed.”
“Do calm down. I’m not the only one who had the idea of thus securing an audience with you.”
“But you’re the only one with no scruples about doing it.”
“I beg to differ. It was a very scrupulous bribe.”
“A bribe, by definition, cannot be scrupulous.”
She lifted one silk-clad shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “I factored in the risk these men would take to assist me, and offered an exceedingly generous payment accordingly. Which makes this bribe scrupulous, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I agree,” said one of the jesters.
“As do I,” said the other.
“There,” Arabella said. “Everyone is content with this arrangement.”
