Lady Clara,
The gardens at Kensington are particularly lovely in the morning.I should like the pleasure of your company.
Yours, C.H.
P.S.Wear something scandalously innocent.
The phrase lingered in her mind longer than it should have, igniting a flicker of something she dared not name—amusement, anticipation, or perhaps the treacherous thrill of being seen not as a pawn but a woman who could play the game just as well as he could.She nibbled her lip and turned her attention back to the letter, reading the final line.
It suits your particular brand of mischief.
Clara groaned and tossed the letter on the table.
Yet an hour later, she found herself stepping into the carriage, hat properly pinned, gloves pristine, parasol in hand.She had no idea why she went.Perhaps to confront him.
Perhaps, if she were being disgracefully honest, to see what the devil would say next.Though she loathed to admit it—she was drawn by a maddening curiosity and something deeper, more dangerous.
Kensington Gardens was alive with spring.Sunlight filtered through budding trees, dappling the wide gravel paths.Crispin was already there, lounging on a bench like a lord surveying his domain.He rose as she approached, bowing low with exaggerated gallantry.
“You came,” he said, clearly pleased with himself.
“Only to tell you I will act my part so long as this farce must continue.”
“Good morning to you as well, dearest.You look radiant.”
She ignored the compliment.“I am caught in a web of my making and will therefore cease my complaints.For now.”
“And what a lovely treat you make.”He gave a devilish grin.
She narrowed her gaze.“I will not stand for further dishonor.You must behave as a gentleman should,” she said, though even as the words left her lips, Clara wasn’t sure she believed he ever would, or that she truly wanted him to.
He stepped closer, measured and calm.“I always do.”
“You kissed me.Again.And in front of your brother.”She squared her shoulders.
“Edward is not so easily scandalized.”
“This is not a joke, my lord.”
He sobered slightly.“No.But it is convenient.”
They walked slowly along the path, her gloved fingers gripping her parasol with more force than necessary.
“My mother and yours are planning our wedding.”Her throat tightened.Visions of vellum and lace flashed through her mind, followed by their mother’s delighted smiles.
“I noticed.”
“You promised this would buy me time.Instead, it is accelerating my doom, and there is a real danger that we will find ourselves shackled...to each other.Your mother is planning an engagement ball for tomorrow evening.”
He stopped walking and turned to face her.“You could have slapped me.Accused me of accosting you.You did not.”
“Because there were a hundred people watching, and I panicked,” she seethed.
He leaned closer.“And what a performance you gave.I nearly believed it myself.”
Clara narrowed her eyes.“I do not need you to save me.”
“No,” he said.“But you let me.That tells me all I need to know.”
