She thought over his words from the previous evening.
I will come for you tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock. Do not be late.
That last demand had been her reason for dawdling. But…damn him. He had not agreed at all, had he? She had been so deuced flustered from the sudden press of his mouth to hers—that brief, chaste,hated, wondrous kiss—that she had simply taken his words as accord.
“What is the matter, beloved future countess?” he drawled, sounding amused. “Nothing to say?”
He was toying with her. Enjoying this.
She glared at him. “Are you taunting me because I made you wait half an hour for me?”
“Moi?” He cast a smug glance in her direction, grinning. “Never.”
She had suffered quite enough of his games and his presence both. “No more of this nonsense. I demand you give me the audience I requested, or I will not marry you.”
“Do not shout, princess.” He turned away from her once more. “Everyone is watching the most notorious man in London and society’s darling, traveling together in the same barouche. How shall we convince them of our love match if you do not gaze upon me as if I have just descended from the heavens?”
“More like dredged up from the fiery depths,” she grumbled.
“I beg your pardon?” His lips compressed.
“You heard me.” Her vexation increased by leaps and bounds with each passing moment.
“Tsk, princess.” He clucked his tongue in admonishing fashion. “Being a brat will not get you what you want.”
“I am not a brat.” She scowled at him.
“Only a brat would invent such ruthless, damaging lies about a man the way you did,” he countered coldly. “Did you think your chicanery would not bring about the utter ruination of my reputation? Did you not think labeling me a murderer who would seek to profit off his own sick acts would be the end of me in this unforgiving society of ours?”
Of course she had thought she would ruin him. That had been her intention.
What if you were wrong about him?
That same, uninvited voice returned. Her conscience, she supposed.
What if he can prove his innocence?
She sent the voice to the devil. Because she needed answers first.
“Spare me your endless games, my lord.” She pinned a false smile to her lips when she noted everyone around them continued to watch.
Of course they were watching. All London thought he had killed his wife and her brother. Thanks to her.
At least they were finally reaching the end of the promenade. She wondered if he had any intentions of taking her to meet his former mistress after all.
“And spare me your theatrics,” he returned. “As I have warned you before, you are not in control any longer. You may have begun writing this farce, but I am the one who will end it, and we will do so in my way, as I see fit. Now smile for all your admirers, and then laugh as if I have just delivered the cleverest sally you have ever heard.”
The truth hit her then. He had orchestrated this drive through the park, on Rotten Row, at the fashionable hour, specifically so they would be seen together. He was further entrapping her.
Because he did not trust her to hold to her word.
Fair enough. She had no reason to trust him either.
If she had to play by his rules to get the reassurance she needed, then she would. Callie beamed at him. Then she laughed. Loudly, while holding a hand to her heart. He cast a suspicious glance in her direction, and then something else crossed his face. An emotion she could not define.
He clenched his jaw and inclined his head. “Better. We will pay our visit on our return trip to Westmorland House. I will have your promise, however, that you never write a word about her.”
She detected a roughness in his voice, a note of caring she had never before heard.
