“Only that you and your confederates are well known for your love of the sporting life,” Simon answered, feigning confusion, “…in all the forms thatsporttakes for a gentleman.”
Jeremy resumed his walking, clenching his fists behind his back and gritting his teeth behind a smile that was merely a movement of facial muscles.
That alone is grounds for me calling him out, but I cannot, and he knows it. Now I look weak in front of Harriet. Not that it matters. I am not trying to win her.
Ahead, Philip and Jane walked with their heads together, laughing and talking. They walked in an entirely proper way, arm in arm, but displayed to the world that their closeness was the result of love. As he watched, Philip disengaged an arm and touched Jane at the small of her back. It was a gentle, subtle, and brief touch, enough to let her know his feelings while remaining so small that it was simple for an observer to miss.
Glancing to the side, he felt an unexpected pang of jealousy which he repressed brutally.
I have nothing to feel jealous over. I care nothing for Harriet except as a means to an end. Anything else is simply a complication.
But the jealousy grew in ardor, like a surging river that would not be diverted. He watched Harriet laughing at a comment Simon made and gritted his teeth. He saw Simon's head lean towards her, and Jeremy's fingernails bit into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists tighter. Was she leaning her head towards Simon, the better to share a conspiratorial whisper? Or even a kiss?
Harriet raised a dainty hand to fan herself; the sun was directly overhead, hot in a cloudless July sky. She was tossing her hair, revealing her swan-like neck to Simon.
Jeremy's control snapped.
It is not jealousy but a matter of pride! I am supposed to be pretending at being betrothed to her. And she to me. This is destroying my plan and breaking our agreement!
He told himself that was the sole reason for his anger. Jealousy had nothing to do with it. Nothing. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that very moment, Harriet cried out, dancing away from Simon, waving her arms as though to ward him away.
Has the blackguard taken advantage and touched her inappropriately?
Protective anger surged in Jeremy at once, and he stepped between Harriet and Simon, taking her firmly by her upper arms and pulling her close.
“Harriet! You are quite safe. What has happened?” he demanded even as Simon attempted to intervene.
Jeremy fought the urge to burn his entire plan and strike Simon on the nose, horrified that he knew he would actually do it if it turned out he had overstepped the mark.
“A bee!” Harriet cried, “I saw it coming, and I think it went into my hair.”
Simon burst out laughing. Jeremy glared at him over his shoulder before turning back to Harriet.
“A bee cannot hurt you with its sting. It would kill itself and it knows it,” he said calmly.
“No!” Harriet cried, “you don't understand. I was stung once as a girl. I am susceptible to the venom. Even one sting could leave me unable to breathe.”
Jeremy frowned, never having heard the like but believing the sincerity in Harriet's voice. He looked over her hair, then moved it aside to look beneath, studying her pale neck and delicate ears. He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms, as though tenderly searching for an injury, taking care not to presstoo heavily. Harriet stood still, but her eyes were wide and her breathing hard.
He reached her hands, running his fingers over hers and then running his hands up the inside of her arms and down her sides, searching for any sign of a small, shuffling insect.
With the measured movement of his hands over her body, Harriet seemed to calm, and her trembling eased. Finally, Jeremy's hands reached her waist. He held her there for a moment, tightly enough that she would feel the pressure of his hands and hopefully be comforted.
“There is no sign of a bee. It must have been frightened and flown off,” he said at last.
She nodded, eyes still flicking side to side with every breath of air. Then they rose to meet Jeremy's. He smiled at her, and she smiled hesitantly in return.
“For the second time today, you come to my rescue,” she whispered.
Jeremy was dimly aware of Simon shifting behind him, clearing his throat as though searching for a way to interrupt.
“Ah, speak of the devil! I believe you know theMademoiselle de Rouvroy?” Simon finally chirped with a tone of triumph.
Jeremy began to turn in the direction that he was now looking, but at that moment, Harriet cried out. She slapped a hand to her neck, and Jeremy saw something small and black fall to the ground.
A bee.
She met his eyes. Her face went white, and her eyes as wide as saucers. Her terror was contagious. Jeremy's skin crawled, and his stomach turned to ice.
