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“A tyrant.”
“Nothing like Father.”
“A great big tyrant.”
“You don’t know me,” he snapped, sounding childish.
Freddie, indifferent, patted the horse’s neck. “You don’t know me.”
“Father controlled every facet of my life,” Guy said. “I won’t marry Arabella because he demanded it. I won’t let Sir Walter ruin your life because of Father’s rules.”
“It sounds like he’s still controlling you.” She kissed the horse’s nose, shot a look at Ursula, and nodded at the groom. “Why bother with me and Ursula and a perfect bride, Guy? Tying a ribbon in her hair! If you want to play with dolls, get a dollhouse. Much less trouble that way.”
With the groom’s aid, his perplexing sister mounted her horse and rode away.
Ursula watched them go, saying something that sounded peculiarly, and improbably, like “Man is born free but he is everywhere in chains.” Having apparently quoted Rousseau, she yanked the ribbon from her hair and smashed it onto Guy’s head.
“Bloody hell,” Guy muttered, reaching for the ribbon.
“Bloody hell,” Ursula repeated, and burst into wild laughter.
Guy had to laugh too. “Ursula means ‘little bear,’ did you know that? Like Ursa Minor, a constellation I’ll show you one night. You were well named,” he added. “No one would ever mistake you for a doll.”
* * *
It wasafter midnight when Guy finally saw Arabella again.
She had not appeared at dinner, and further queries yielded nothing. Her mother and friends appeared unconcerned, but Guy could not dispel his unease that he might have contributed to the broken engagement and should help put things right.
Which was absurd. Did he think he had to rescue her? More likely, someone would need to be rescued from her.
Devil knew he did.
His restlessness made him wretched company, even for himself. To avoid going to bed, he sat up late in the Reading Room, a cozy book-lined parlor adjoining the library. Everyone else had long since retired by the time he ceased staring into the embers and headed to his room.
Only to see Arabella hovering outside his door.
At the sight of him, she froze, looking young and haunted. Her bare feet were visible under the hem of her long-sleeved nightgown, and her hair fell in a single braid. The glow of her candle softened her features, turned her eyes large and dark. She set the candle on the small hall table, turned it, picked it up, put it back down.
Around them, the sleeping house was quiet.
“What are you doing here?” he asked softly.
“I shouldn’t be here.”
“Are you all right?”
“I am fine. Nothing is amiss.”
Go into your room and shut the door, Guy ordered himself, only to catch one of her hands in his. “You are chilled.”
“I lied,” she said.
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
She shook her head, impatiently. “I told you I never think of it, but I do. London.”
He didn’t need the clarification. “Was that why…? Your engagement.”
