He could have argued that point. He didn’t. He sat back.
“But you didn’t, Your Grace,” she pointed out.
“But you didn’t, Gavin,” he corrected. “I prefer you to use my given name. After all, we are beyond some formalities, aren’t we?”
“It doesn’t feel right.”
“It won’t if you don’t become accustomed to it. I would have you say it.”
Her stubbornness came out. Instead of granting his small request, she said, “We both know you want something from me, but I’m not certain exactly what it is.”
Nor did he know himself.
Yes, he wanted to bed her.
But he also wanted her regard. He wanted her to not be suspicious. He wanted her to care for him . . . because, and he wasn’t yet certain, he believed she was of importance to him—
Gavin shot to his feet. This was dangerous thinking. There were lines that he could not cross, and yet, she tempted him. He did want more than sex.
“Let’s leave this room,” he said.
“And go where?”
Anywhere, he wanted to say, realizing he had no desire to spend the evening here with her waiting for him to pounce. “Tell me, where would you go on a July evening like this?”
“Where would I go?” she repeated, confounded by the request.
Gavin took her hand and pulled her from the chair, suddenly ready for fresh air and time with this woman without the damn barriers between them. “Yes,” he said, “if you had an evening to go anywhere, for fun—where would you go? What would you eat? What would you enjoy?”
“I haven’t had the money to enjoy anything but work,” she started.
“But if you could go someplace, where would you go?”
“Vauxhall,” she said. “On a summer evening like this, I would want to go to Vauxhall.”
Gavin had never been to Vauxhall. His father claimed it was where the rabble went. Even when he’d received invitations there, his sire had refused to go, and Gavin had done the same—more out of habit than preference.
And now he realized what a terrible mistake he’d made. No wonder he was seen as a paragon. He’d set himself aside.
“Let us go to Vauxhall,” he announced. “Where is your hat?” He reached for his own where she’d set it on the table.
“You are jesting, aren’t you?” she said, not moving.
In answer, Gavin walked into the bedroom and saw her hat beside the water basin. He carried it to her.
She still didn’t seem certain even as she placed her hat on her head and tied the ribbons. She picked up the shawl draped over a chair. “You really wish to go to Vauxhall?”
“I can’t imagine any place better,” he said and offered his arm. There would be no ghosts of his father there. For one evening, he wanted to be like every other man. Who knew? Considering the duel on the morrow, this might be his last night. He wished to enjoy it.
She placed her hand on his arm, staring at him as if she was truly seeing him for the first time.
Perhaps she was.
Gavin didn’t understand himself. The duel might be an impetus. Or could it be that he was tired of fetching and carrying for the government? That he wanted a respite from all the formality, that he wanted Sarah Pettijohn?
Having her sitting close to him in the hack he hired for their trip, he could feel the tension easing from her as, instead of discussing their hell-born bargain, she began to anticipate the outing. In that respect alone, he believed going to Vauxhall a stroke of genius.
He had no idea what to expect, but she knew. Instead of letting the vehicle take them over the bridge, she had them delivered to the riverbank. There, hired boats carried them across the river.
