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She opened her mouth to reply, when Miss Bell slipped out of the drawing room into the hallway.
“I’m glad I caught you two alone,” Miss Bell said. “At dinner, Sir Walter was insisting there is something odd about your engagement and that his lordship actually means to marry Miss Treadgold. It might be nothing, but Cassandra and I thought you should know.”
“Thank you, Juno,” Arabella said, exchanging a look with Guy. “Sir Walter appears to be scheming something, but it remains to be seen what.”
Miss Bell’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Then, with a mischievous smile, she said, “Carry on,” and skipped back into the drawing room, blonde ringlets bouncing.
“Well, well, well,” Guy said, once they were alone again. “We shall have to improve our game, if Sir Walter is running around saying our engagement isn’t real.”
“It isn’t real,” Arabella murmured.
“But he mustn’t know that.”
She stood against the wall, head high, back straight, as flawlessly elegant as ever, the rose silk-net of her gown drawing out the soft pink in her complexion.
Quick glances confirmed they had no witnesses. He edged closer to her.
“Guy. What are you doing?”
“Circumstances demand that I kiss you. Stop being obtuse.”
“Someone could see.”
“My point exactly.” He traced the embroidered flowers, sliding his finger along the edge of her bodice. “After all, if we were to kiss, no one would doubt our commitment.”
It would be a mistake to kiss her again, especially here and now, but Guy could not step back. Perhaps Arabella would be sensible and stop this—but she only cast a glance down the empty hallway, before straightening his lapel.
“I suppose that does make sense,” she said slowly.
“Very rational, I thought.”
“It’s important to be rational about these matters.”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“So I expect this to be a rational kiss,” she said.
“It will be the most rational kiss in the world.”
He trailed his wayward hand up her throat to cup her cheek, and her fingers fluttered onto his jaw. As she closed her eyes, he breathed in her scent, basked in her warmth, and touched his lips to hers, in a lingering caress, potent with promise. It reminded him of their very first kiss in London. Everything had been wrong that night, but this, now, felt as if they were finally getting it right.
When he lifted his head, his eyes searched hers, though he could not have said what he sought.
“Well?” he asked.
Her tongue darted out to touch her lips, and she swallowed visibly. “Well what?”
“How does that compare to the other kisses?”
“I…” Her eyes shifted past him, widened slightly. Damn. They had developed a witness. A servant, no doubt, who would be smart enough to vanish like smoke. But that servant’s presence was enough to make Arabella retreat into her usual poise.
“Of all the kisses I have ever received…”
“Yes?” he prompted, not turning.
“That was the most…”
“Yes?”
