“You’ve been so kind.” She took a step forward, hands tightly clasped in front of her. Her gaze was on the floor. It reached as far as his boots. “I don’t know how to repay you, but believe that you have my gratitude. Sincerely.”
While she refused to look at him, he was at liberty to study her from head to toe. The dress was no less ugly. Her figure no less fine. Her hair had come down in stray tendrils as she’d laboured at the bath. He wanted her, viciously.
As though she could feel the tracking path of his gaze, she brushed at her skirts then tucked a softly curling wisp of hair behind her ear.
He murmured a thank you for her thanks, as was polite. And impolitely, he studied her mouth as he said it, the way the full lips compressed and she gave a small nod, her attention still anywhere in the room but on him.
He walked to where she stood and propped an elbow on the mantelpiece above the fire.
From the corner of her eye, she must have seen him begin to fold down his shirtsleeves and refasten the buttons because she suddenly became intently interested in studying the wallpaper on the opposite wall. For a widow, she was amusingly scandalised by a man gettingdressed.
“We need to talk about the wager, Mrs Ardingly.”
She gave a sharp nod. “And how to undo the damage I’ve done to your chances.”
“Much of it depends on Lady Frances.”
She glanced round just as he gave his cuffs a final straightening tug.
“If she deigns to still recognise me, you mean? Or perhaps she has already told the story far and wide and made me a laughingstock. Even more of one than I was before.”
“Not without incurring my displeasure. She knows about the wager, remember.”
She let out a rasp of laughter, very far from amused. “Oh, such terribly badtonto rescue that boy! Clearly the polite and fashionable thing would have been to let him die.”
“Leave aside the boy for a moment. You leapt from a carriage in a crowded street and ran pell-mell for some distance with your skirts hitched almost to your knees.”
“Howunladylike.Howunwomanlyto care so desperately for a child! But I suppose only men are to do the rescuing, and us women just stand by and admire it.”
“Youcouldhave called to me for help. I was riding close to your carriage.”
“And you would have spent ten minutes arguing with me, and by that time, if you’d ever deigned even to act, the boy would have been beyond help.”
“I think the truth is that you never thought to ask for help.”
“From you?”
“From anyone.”
Her nose wrinkled. There were faint freckles there, like the dusting of some fragrant spice. He could imagine tasting them.
“And why would I? Knowing what anyone’s reactions would be? Precisely this—condemnation and ridicule. Do you think I care? Do you think I care for anything except that the boy is safe? Yes, I am conscious of the obligation I owe you, and I admit that your help has been…has been…admirable, in its way, but don’tthink to convince me I should have acted any differently. I would do the same thing again.”
Her grudgingin its waymade him smile, but it was a secret smile, not audible in his voice. “I don’t condemn you, Mrs Ardingly. Neither do I ridicule you. But I would ask that the next time, please feel certain you can turn to me for assistance.”
“You?” That doubting, aghast word made him smile again. “But this…but this doesn’t help you win yourwager. It doesn’t help yourstanding. Why would you want to help me?”
“I suppose I’ve given the impression I would blithely stand by and let any number of young boys be beaten to a bloody pulp?”
“Yes! Those were almost precisely your words when we last discussed this matter. You’re in favour of small boys being beaten, do I need remind you? It makes for strong leaders or some such thing.”
His mouth pursed and he ran a thumb along the chamfered edge of the mantlepiece. “There is a vast difference between what happened in that alley and the necessary corrections of a schoolteacher.”
“Is there? For I see no difference of type at all, and in some cases, there is very little difference even of degree.”
“Mrs Ardingly…”
“Now you laugh at me, after saying that you would not! But you saw his back. That boy has beencorrectedandcorrectedand will wear the scars of it for life. You told me once, and quite proudly, that you were soundly thrashed as a boy. How doesyourback look, my lord? Or were your masters careful not to scar your high-born flesh?”
