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“So did I, for they were all of you.”
Everyone laughed like they were actors in a comedy at Drury Lane, and Arabella had to perform her role, though it felt wrong to perform in a play where someone else wrote the script.
To make matters worse, Guy crossed to take her hand and lifted her knuckles to his lips.
“A touch excessive, wouldn’t you say, Hardbury?” she muttered.
“Not nearly enough,” he murmured, then added, more loudly, “Let me help you with your bonnet, oh wondrous fair.”
As if this was all they had been waiting for, the group moved off down the laneway in the haphazard manner of such groups, while Guy took her bonnet and positioned it on her head.
“I am perfectly capable of dressing myself,” she said, and did not step away.
“I don’t doubt it.” He tilted his head, frowning, as if the task of positioning her bonnet were a grave responsibility. “But to convince the world that we are besotted, I must offer assistance and you must accept it.”
“You mean, I pretend to be weak and helpless to allow you to feel important.”
“If you wish, though asking for help does not make one helpless.”
“It’s only a bonnet, Hardbury.”
“And a lovely bonnet it is too.”
He took his time tying the ribbons, carelessly brushing her throat and jaw, and when he stepped back to admire his handiwork, she immediately missed his summery scent. She touched her bonnet: perfectly straight.
“Teasing you is excellent sport,” he said. “You take on this confused expression, as if no one has ever teased you before and you don’t know what to do.”
“Of course people have teased me. But they’re all rather dead now.”
“As I said, excellent sport.” He flicked a glance at the door. “While we wait for Freddie, smile at my dazzling charm and do everything in your considerable power to demonstrate your adoration.”
Arabella briskly pulled on her gloves. Perhaps flirting with him would indeed be excellent sport, but she hadn’t a clue how to flirt and would not make a cake of herself trying.
“Do you require me to recite nonsense too, to nourish your self-regard?” she asked.
“My self-regard requires only that you bat your eyelashes.”
“I wouldn’t know how.”
“Spare me a blush.”
“Not on your life.”
“And declare yourself devoted to my every pleasure.”
“I haven’t the faintest notion what your pleasures even are.”
He shrugged. “They’re very simple. Comfortable boots, hot buttered toast, and the fragrant silk of your unbound hair sweeping over my naked skin.”
She made a strange sound, like a baby crow’s call.
“Oh dear,” he said. “Seems I won that round.”
Before she could retort, Freddie came striding out, in her green riding habit and hat, Lady Treadgold at her heels.
“Freddie!” Guy called. “Walk with us?”
Freddie hardly glanced at him as she said, “I’m going riding,” and walked in the opposite direction.
