“I did, truthfully. I’m not certain that I trust you wish to change. Perhaps my brother put you up to this? Made you his spy?”
A deep chuckle rumbled from him. “Apsley has not put me up to anything. Not yet, anyway. As for wishing to change, I will admit that sometimes I’m torn about the matter myself. I do wish for your good opinion, but I thoroughly enjoy our battles. It is a difficult thing to juggle, you see.”
I folded my arms. “Yes, your behavior supports the challenge. You will forgive me, then, for the apprehension.”
He smiled, and his eyes twinkled with amusement. “Of course.” He gestured to the basket resting at my feet. “So, what are we doing out here, Annette?”
“Miss Apsley.And we are picking flowers.”
“Picking flowers,” he repeated, brows drawing tight. “Whatever for?”
I shrugged. “You’ll see.”
I grabbed the basket and spun around, only making it a few yards down the path before the lieutenant caught up with me. He stole the basket from my hands. I allowed it, but only because his proffered elbow distracted me.
“This is not a pleasant stroll through the gardens,” I said, frustrated that he had not reacted to my uncouth hair as he had last time. “Not atête-à-tête. I do not require your escort.”
He merely smiled in response, and when he did not drop his arm, I rolled my eyes and turned my attention forward. Neither of us spoke again until the path diverged from beneath the trees into an open area surrounded by rose beds. The path continued through a building with an open archway at its center and two towers to either side of it. Ivy crawled up the stone walls, creating a lattice of greenery.
“What is this?” the lieutenant asked, lowering his arm and staring up at the façade in boyish awe. “I’ve passed it several times on my morning rides.”
“The Towers,” I answered. “It was an old gatehouse for the ruins not far from here. They were built in the fifteenth century, I believe.”
He ran a hand over the wall’s rough surface. “It is in impeccable shape.”
“I assure you, the ruins are very much in a state of distress, but since this building is situated within our gardens, my grandfather had them fully restored.”
“I cannot blame him. They are exquisite and give the gardens a great deal of character.” He met my gaze. “What of the inside? Are the rooms in use?”
I had always adored The Towers. In my youth, I had even attempted painting them and the surrounding gardens, but art was not a skill I possessed. Still, seeing the lieutenant appear completely enraptured the same way I so often was stirred something within me. I had never experienced a desire to share the magic of the old structures on the estate with anyone besides Margaret, but the appreciative look and curiosity he wore begged me to do so.
I clasped my hands. “Father and Mother have been known to use them at times. Even guests. Perhaps I might show them to you during our tour tomorrow?”
The lieutenant turned to face me. “You intend to give me a tour tomorrow?”
“That was our agreement, was it not?”
“Yes. I simply expected you to attempt a way out of it.”
I should have taken offense at the remark, but I found myself fighting a smile. The man knew me too well. Or, at least, as well as I would allow him. “After careful study and consideration, I cannot think of a way out of it; therefore, I will honor our deal. I am a woman of my word.”
One of his dark brows lifted. “You broke our last deal, if you will recall.”
I gaped. He was right, but… “I had good reason. What was I supposed to do? Beg my parents to allow me to stay in Town without them? And what use would I have been to you, then? Spending all of my time fretting about my father’s health and—”
My words cut off with the press of his fingers against my lips, and my pulse raced. Warmth spread over me at his nearness, and I held my breath, uncertain whether to heed the disdain or pleasure of having him so close.
“I do not fault you, Annette. I would not wish you to remain in London while your father is so unwell and understand why our agreement was severed early.” His voice dropped to a hushed whisper again. “Please forgive me for the way I reacted that day in the alley.”
I swallowed. For which part of that exchange was he requesting forgiveness—his frustrated response to me ending our ruse or the kiss of passion that followed? Both? Upon reflection, I did not want him to apologize for the latter, and that realization struck me with panic.
Seeming to take my wide eyes and lack of response as a rejection, the lieutenant dropped his hand. “Please. I care for your family. Surely, you must know I would never sincerely wish pain on any of you.”
His pleading snapped me from my spiraling anxiety, and I shook my head. “No—that is, I know you do not. There is nothing to forgive from that day. Nothing.” I whispered the last part and averted my gaze. I did not want him to know how little I regretted that exchange or how frequently I thought on it.
Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.Why could I not convince myself of it?
Expecting him to retort with some sort of tease, his next words surprised me. “Then, are we to be friends again?”
