That confirmed his inference. But what hand, if any, had this third party in causing the breach? “Has the other been receiving helmets all along, behind the secutor’s back?”
Claire coughed to cover a laugh. “I’m sure there’s no reason to think so. But,” she added with a pert toss of her head, “who can say?”
Then Miss Harris had not caused the breach. What had? And how serious were its effects? Were Claire and Milstead finished, or merely at odds?
Jonathan shook his head. “I’m afraid I cannot answer your question without knowing the precise nature of the original offense.”
She came instantly to a standstill. “I cannot tell you that.”
“Oh?” Though Jonathan remained outwardly calm, anger simmered inside him. Just what had the blackguard done, that she could not bear to speak of it? “Claire, whatever happened, upon my honor—and your brother’s, too—we shall set things aright. If you’ve been compromised, or threatened in any way?—”
“Horsefeathers, no!” She slapped a hand to her forehead. “Nothing like that! You read too many novels. The truth isn’t a bit sinister. It’s just…” Cringing, she kept her eyes hidden behind her hand. “It’s silly. You would laugh at me.”
“I would not.”
“Yes, you would.”
“No, I wouldn’t, and I refuse to squabble in this adolescent manner. I’ve no desire to force a disclosure.” Indeed, now reassured of her safety, he was pleased enough by his rival’s misstep, never mind the explanations. “But should you wish to confide in me—as your friend—I promise I won’t laugh. I won’t even respond, unless you ask it of me.”
At length she lowered her hand, though without raising her eyes. She seemed about to speak when the silence was broken by the sound of approaching chatter.
“That’s Mr. Hawkins’s voice,” Jonathan whispered. “We can slip away if we hurry!”
Seizing her hand, he drew her outside and to the door of the nearest hovel, which stood ajar. But after peeping in, he shook his head and pulled back.
“Your sister and Talbot,” he relayed in another whisper, hastening her along to the next door. Pushing it open, he yanked her inside.
This hovel was mercifully empty. Thinking it best for both light and respectability, he left the door open.
Blinking as his eyes readjusted to the dim, he recognized the Summer Dining Room, which housed a magnificent mosaic of Jupiter and Ganymede, prince of Troy. But Jonathan didn’t even glance at it, as his gaze was fixed on Claire.
She had made straight for the piscina—a low, hexagonal stone basin in the center of the wide chamber, now empty though it would have once held an ornamental fountain. He watched as she sank abruptly onto its lip and hugged her knees to her chest.
Jonathan was alarmed, for he’d never seen her in such a state, not even during the ordeal of last Christmas. Fearing to startle her, he moved slowly and silently to a corner of the room. There he settled down, leaning against the wall and waiting patiently for her to begin.
She stared at the mosaic floor.
At last he heard a heavy sigh.
“He put a blanket over us both,” she said all in a rush, immediately checking herself with a weak laugh. “I know, I know, it’s hardly a great liberty. Nothing to set the scandal sheets aflame. ‘Unmarried couple share blanket on innocent sleigh ride’—the horror!” Her troubled expression belied her playful tone. “In truth, I’ve no idea whether I had any right to feel bothered. We’ve been courting, after all. I told myself to stop being silly and just ignore it.”
Had Jonathan felt it were wise to interject, he might have countered that it was a great liberty and she had every right to feel bothered. In concert with his own judgment, the fact that Miss Harris, of all people, had found it noteworthy proved the point.
But he thought it better to remain silent. He’d promised not to respond unless asked.
“As it turned out, though, I couldn’t ignore it,” she continued quietly. “So I thought to just nudge the blanket aside inch by inch, very discreetly, and free myself without drawing notice.”
She shook her head in apparent disbelief—though whether at herself or that bounder Milstead, Jonathan couldn’t say.
“Even so,” she went on, “he noticed. He asked me what I was doing and why. When I explained, he seemed at first to take it well. He said he set great store by my distress, and was mortified to have given offense, and made reference to profuse apologies, unendurable shame, and the like. Yet the longer he rattled on, the more he seemed to be speaking of offenses received rather than bestowed.”
Once more Jonathan wanted to interject, but he held himself back.
She blew out a breath, still staring at the floor. “By way of a small excuse for his mistake, he said he’d had no idea that I was so very proper, for I’d shown no indication I was that sort of lady. Of course, now armed with the knowledge, he would happily make allowances…”
Jonathan folded his arms.
“…although he felt compelled to say, for the sake of candor, that my pretense at virtue had left him feeling slightly ill-used. For being no stranger to women’s tricks, and having long prided himself on resisting all our little stratagems, was he now to turn round and cast himself into my trap? In fact, given this new window into my character, he felt it might be prudent to reassess our suitability for one another…”
