“He is to be Annabelle’s husband,” she said. “There will be no repetition of this afternoon. I would hate you to despise either Justin or me permanently.”
“You care for him,” he said, answering his own question.
“Thank you for not saying anything,” she said. “You have not done so, have you?”
He laughed softly. “Did you really think I would bear tales?” he asked.
She shook her head. “But thank you, anyway.”
“You should have decided to flirt with me this week,” he said. “It would have been a way to divert your mind.”
“That would have been using you for my own ends,” she said. “I like you too well for that, Josh.”
“But I would have been using you too,” he said. “To avoid boredom and to ward off a little of something else, too, perhaps.”
She looked at him inquiringly, but he merely smiled at her and flicked her jaw with one knuckle.
“Are we friends again?” she asked. “Or do I have to spend the next few days making very sure that we are at opposite ends of the room and that our eyes do not meet.”
“Friends,” he said. “And perhaps I’ll prove a better friend to you than you think, Rosamund.”
He did not explain his words. He got to his feet and strolled across to talk with Lord Wetherby and Annabelle. After a few minutes he and Annabelle left the room.
The earl looked across at her, hesitated, and came to occupy the seat Lord Beresford had just vacated.
“You made your peace with him?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so,” she said.
“He has dragged Annabelle off to show him the portrait of his grandfather in the picture gallery,” he said. “Late evening is not quite the time for viewing portraits, and Annabelle was clearly reluctant to go with him there, but he would not take no for an answer. I hope he is not going to upset her by saying anything about this afternoon.”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t think Josh would want to hurt her.”
“Rosamund,” he said, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about this afternoon.”
“About going there or about getting caught?” she said, half-smiling. “I have been trying to sort out my feelings and have come to the sad conclusion that I would not be feeling nearly as guilty if Josh had not seen us together. But it was wrong, Justin. What we had in Northamptonshire was a purely physical thing and should be put behind us. We cannot renew that relationship and there can be no other except the aunt-nephew one. Stolen moments, stolen kisses are sordid.”
“It did not seem sordid before Josh came,” he said.
“No,” she agreed. “Sometimes it is a shock to see ourselves through someone else’s eyes, is it not?”
“Anyway,” he said, “I wanted to say I was sorry.” He smiled. “And sorry for beating you so badly at charades just now despite all your energetic efforts.”
“You are not sorry at all,” she said. “Doubtless you would be sulking if you had lost.”
“Unfair,” he said. “Did I sulk when you beat me at billiards? Or when you built a larger snowman than I—-though that is arguable?”
“You sulked when you could not make as graceful an angel as I,” she said.
“I punished you for making fun of me,” he said. “That is not sulking. I greatly enjoyed administering the punishment, I must confess, but that is not sulking, either.”
“I enjoyed being punished, too,” she said, her eyes sparkling back into his. “But I ought not to confess as much, ought I? There is some perversion in enjoying punishment.”
He laughed.
“Rosamund.” The marquess was standing before them, one hand held out to her. “I know you have just finished a strenuous game of charades, my dear, but I really cannot have such a talented pianist sitting idle. Come and play for me.”
She put a hand in his and smiled at him. “It would be my pleasure,” she said.
