How awkward.
“Forgive me,” she said.
“I did not mean to speak atop you.”
There was something about that phrase—atop you—uttered from those sinful lips of the Marquess of Dorset that made her stomach feel as if it were inhabited by butterflies once more. Her cheeks were going hot.
Drat her mind. Where were these improper thoughts emerging from? Curse this attraction she felt for him.
“We must put an end to our betrothal,” she blurted, for it was the only answer.
Distance between them. That was what she needed. The Marquess of Dorset was a rogue and he had no intention of marrying her, and her heart would forever belong to Walter.
What if there is room in my heart for another?
“Immediately,” he agreed quickly.
Far too quickly.
Perversely, she found herself irritated with him. Why, she could not define. Had he not found himself plagued by memories of their kisses as she had?
Mayhap kissing ladies in the moonlight was a common occurrence for a rake like him. Even more perversely, the notion of him holding another woman in his arms and kissing her as he had done to Clementine sent an unexpected jolt of jealousy straight through her.
“Why not now?” she asked, unable to keep the sharpness from her voice. “We can inform everyone else that we have changed our minds, and when we return to the house, we can also let our host and hostess know.”
“You are eager to sever our agreement,” he pointed out, his frown deepening.
“Why would I not be? Far better to put an end to this nonsense before we take it any further.”
“Nonsense,” he repeated, his baritone taking on a new tone.
“How else to describe it? No need to inflict more misery upon ourselves than we already have. It is plain as the clouds in the sky overhead that we loathe each other.”
“It did not feel as if you loathed me when you kissed me,” he said, slanting her a knowing look.
The utterrogue.
“I would have reacted the same way with any gentleman,” she lied.
“Oh?” He stopped and turned toward her. “And how many other gentlemen have you been kissing, Clementine?”
None.
She was forced to stop and face him as well. The rest of the party was far ahead of them by now, utterly out of earshot. If any of them thought it was odd that Clementine and Dorset were lingering behind, squaring off like a pair of prizefighters preparing for a bout, there was no indication. No one even cast a glance in their direction.
She jerked her attention back to the tall, handsome, glowering male before her.
“As my former betrothed, it is hardly any of your concern whether or not I have been kissing other gentleman,” she informed him. “Nor how many of them I have been kissing.”
“You are not yet my former betrothed,” he countered. “Indeed, my lady, I regret to inform you that you are still very much mycurrentbetrothed.”
She tipped up her chin and pinned him with a glare. “You are the last man in the world I would ever wish to marry.”
“And you are the last woman I would wish to wed.”
“Then we are in agreement.” She resisted the urge to stamp her foot.
“Utterly,” he growled.
