“I wouldn’t admit to a snuggle with any girl, but that’s beside the point. You’re prevaricating, St George. You were there, she was there, and you won’t admit it.”
We were coming upon the low stone wall where he’d stood last night, at the edge of the garden, and I took a seat on it and crossed my ankles. Christopher sat down next to me, and Crispin looked around.
“This is where you were standing last night,” I told him. “And up there—” I pointed, “is the lavatory window. I had quite a good view, as you can see. It was dark, of course. But the moon was out. A quarter moon, admittedly. Not full. But it was clear…”
“Fine!” He slashed a hand through the air. It came nowhere near me, of course. He wasn’t actually trying to strike me, just make me stop talking. “Good Lord, Darling, do you ever shut up?”
“Rarely,” I said.
He took a breath. In through the nose, slowly. Out through the mouth, equally slowly. Then he pulled out his cigarette case and offered it around. Christopher and I both took one—we might as well, if they were on offer—and Crispin did, too, before he tucked the case back inside his jacket pocket. After everyone’s fag was lit, he took in a mouthful of smoke and blew it out again before he said, “What is it you want me to say, Darling? You heard about what happened in the parlor.”
“Not in the detail I would have liked,” I said, “but yes. Enough to get the general idea.”
“One of them called you a coward,” Christopher added. He had one knee draped elegantly over the other with his elbow planted on it and the cigarette in his hand. “I assume it was Lady Laetitia, if Johanna was the one who ran after you. Is it safe to assume that one or the other wanted you to declare yourself, and you refused?”
Crispin glanced at him and then at me. “I’m not discussing this. Not in front of her.”
“Don’t mind me,” I told him. “I already don’t think much of you, St George. Whatever happened, I don’t imagine it’s going to make me think less.”
He bared his teeth. “I don’t care what you think of me, Darling. But I’m not baring my soul in front of someone who’ll only get a good laugh out of it.”
“I wasn’t aware you had a soul,” I said.
“Yes, you were. You asked me yesterday whether it was intact. You must have assumed there was one there to begin with.”
I sighed. “Fine. If I promise I won’t laugh at you, will you tell us what happened?”
“No,” Crispin said. “There is nothing you can offer me that would make me risk showing feelings in front of you.”
“I’m not that bad,” I protested. “But fine. How about this? You tell us, and I won’t tell Tom you lied to him.”
He arched a brow. “Blackmail.”
I shrugged. Christopher chuckled. “You might as well get it out, old chap. You know how she gets.”
“Oh, I know exactly how she gets,” Crispin said. “Fine, then. Johanna came after me into the garden to tell me she loved me.”
He stopped. I waited, but when he didn’t say anything else I arched my brows. “That’s all?”
“What do you mean, all?” He threw his hands up. “Yes, that’s all! Do you think women regularly throw themselves in my arms and declare their undying love?”
In a word, yes. “With as many women as you have on your string, I assumed it happened rather a lot.”
“No,” Crispin said. “That’s the point. I don’t want what I do to be about love. I want—”
He stopped, right before he might have said something interesting.
“Don’t mind me,” I invited. “Do go on.”
He growled. “You’re awful, Darling. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. What’s not to enjoy?”
He didn’t answer, and I added, “Come now, St George. It can’t be the first time some woman has told you she loves you.”
“Believe it or not, Darling, it happens less frequently than you’d think. Mainly because I make very sure whatever I do won’t descend to that level.”
He sucked on his cigarette, hard enough that his cheeks appeared hollow. I had ignored mine in favor of talking to him, and it had mostly burned away already. I dragged the tip of it across the stone wall to put it out, and tossed it outside the garden wall where I could forgot about it.
