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“I do.” She cast him a cool look. “In particular, I admire the way she makes you men fall over yourselves to do her bidding.”
“You would like that. But at least she only makes us pick up ribbons. If we were to do your bidding, the streets would be running with blood.”
It was only a jest, of course, the sort she had never minded before, but now it stung. Guy had said he wanted to know her; odds were, he wouldn’t like what he saw. What a strange turn! People often didn’t like her; it had never bothered her before. Soon, he would be gone, still thinking poorly of her.
“Guy, I have to tell you… That I…”
“That you?”
“That I’m really rather harmless.”
He fired off a rough round of laughter. Frustrated, she rapped her fingernail against her glass, as if its hollow ring might embolden her like a war drum.
“You persist in thinking the worst of me,” she said. “But you see I… I never…”
I never meant to hurt anyone. But sometimes I get frightened and my pride takes over and I say things I do not mean.
“You never what?”
“I’ve never stabbed anyone. Or poisoned them. Or shot them,” she said.
“How very restrained of you.”
“I’ve never tried to trap anyone into marriage by running around in my nightgown. I know you think I did, but I didn’t. And I’ve never…”
His glass hovered at his lips, but his eyes did not leave hers. Nervousness—thatwas this unfamiliar sensation! How horrid it felt, to want someone’s good opinion, to care so much what another person thought that she had to say these things. How did people live like this?
“Go on,” he said softly.
Again, she tried to shoot out the words, but all she said was, “And I’ve never dropped a ribbon in my life.”
* * *
Guy sipped his brandy,not taking his eyes off Arabella. She perched on the edge of the settee like a hawk about to take flight, gripping her glass so tightly it might crack.
Her words were nonsense, but Arabella never talked nonsense.
For all his flippancy, Guy was fascinated by her keen intelligence, bright and sharp and multifaceted like a diamond. He admired her gift for seeing several moves ahead, whereas he could only react to the now.
If she was talking about dropping ribbons, the topic must have some meaning for her.
She was trusting him, after all. With something she could not express but that mattered so much she betrayed her nervousness. He simply had to listen.
“But I suppose that’s why you like Matilda Treadgold,” Arabella went on. “Because she makes men feel strong and important and necessary.”
“Men are strong and important and necessary.”
“Well, good. Who wants a man who is weak and insignificant and useless? But I don’t see why a man cannot feel strong and important and necessary all by himself, without running around picking up a lady’s ribbons.”
Arabella scowled at her brandy, as though something had gone terribly wrong and it was all the spirit’s fault.
Guy had picked up Miss Treadgold’s ribbon that evening with no illusions about why that ribbon had fallen at his feet, but he had done it to tease Arabella. It seemed his every action concerned Arabella these days, driven by this intemperate longing that simmered beneath his skin.
“So Matilda…” he prompted.
“Exactly.Matilda.” Arabella’s hands twitched as if she meant to hurl her glass. “She’s so very good at dropping ribbons. But whereas I am good at most things I attempt, dropping ribbons is one thing I simply cannot do.”
This conversation was fast reminding him of a youthful effort to cross the Yorkshire moors in the middle of a fog, when he had to take great care where he put his feet, to avoid being sucked into a bog. Well, he always had enjoyed a challenge.
