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Again, that impatient shake of her head. “Sculthorpe doesn’t know about London. No one does. You are safe. It was badly done of me.”
“What happened with Sculthorpe? Do you need help?”
“Oh, will you be quiet about that beast? You, I mean. It was badly done of me. In London, to put you in that situation. To use you like that. To… You know.”
“Seduce me?”
“Yes.”
Guy stepped closer, amused. “I say, Arabella, that sounded suspiciously like an apology.”
“Don’t be absurd. I never…” She sighed. “Just accept the wretched apology, would you?”
“I am a grown man. I could have kicked you out at any point.”
It was dark, and she was in her nightwear, and he still held her hand; it would be disastrous if anyone discovered them like this. But no one was around, not at this hour. He moved only to put his candle down beside hers.
“Do you regret it?” he asked. “London?”
“Do you?” she countered.
He had no answer. He regretted his own folly at impulsively playing a game that he had lost. Yet the astonishing experience of knowing her like that… He could no longer imagine his life without that experience in it.
She withdrew her hand from his. “No one must ever know,” she whispered. “You will choose a bride soon, I think. You must choose a woman who will make you happy, a woman whom you can love.”
“Now you’re worrying me,” he said. “If there are consequences from London, you will tell me.”
“There are no consequences.”
Her eyes dropped to his chest. As if in a dream, Guy watched as she placed one palm against him, flat and firm and scorching. She eased closer. Her hand traveled over his ribs, to his waist.
“Put your arms around me.” Her whisper was half command, half plea. “I’m all right. I just want…”
Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her, welcoming the feel of her pressed against him. She ducked her head, rested her cheek on his shoulder.
A sound. A door. A footstep.
Guy dropped his arms. Arabella held on. He pulled away, forcing her to let him go and transfer her hug to her own belly.
Suddenly, Guy recognized the impulsive words riding unspoken on his lips: to offer to marry her if she needed it. And how clear they became, the steps of her plan, laid out like a game of chess, a dozen moves in advance. She was ambitious and she had explicitly declared her desire to be a marchioness. She had tried to persuade him to marry her and paid bribes to make him listen. Following her engagement to Sculthorpe, she had come to Guy at night in a bid to trap him into marriage. She had used Freddie and Ursula to lure Guy to Vindale Court. Now, after getting rid of Sculthorpe, she stood outside his door, in her nightgown, in a house full of guests. Everyone knew this age-old scheme to catch a husband.
Regret rolled through him. If only this was no plot or ploy. If only he could simply hold her, and kiss her, and take her into his room.
Bloody hell. He was in a bad way. He needed to escape this house and this woman as quickly as he could.
“Yet another scheme,” he hissed. “Who had you intended to see us?”
The softness in her expression melted like mist. Once more, she stood straight and proud, and replied in her usual imperious drawl.
“Good grief, Guy. As if I would employ such a tired ruse as that. Grant me a little credit.”
Without another word, she picked up her candle and swept away.
* * *
Arabella slept late,and awoke with her eyes gritty and dry. She lay in bed and probed her body. Her side was tender, and the marks on her forearms had turned an interesting shade of purple. All of her still felt Guy’s solid, comforting warmth.
Fool.
