“Mon dieu!” Guy groaned and thrust away from her.
Suddenly aware that she’d forgotten her intention to keep him at arm’s length, Hetty pushed at him. “Guy! What is this about?”
He removed his curly-brimmed beaver and ran a hand through his dark locks with a distracted look. “I didn’t intend it to go that far.” He smiled, charmingly apologetic. “I desire you, Hetty.”
She took a deep breath. He was so utterly disarming. “You do?”
“Why do you think I’ve arranged this engagement?”
“Because of Eustace. Because you were in danger.”
“I should have left you safely in Digswell.” Guy shook his head. “But I wanted to get you away from that bean pole.”
“Mr. Oakley?” Hetty was stunned. “But I told you I refused him.”
“We’d best walk.” Guy offered her his arm.
Thrilled as she was to learn how he felt, she told herself sternly that Guy could never marry her. The newspapers would have a field day. She must not forget that she was not one of the Cavendishes that mattered, she was the daughter of a retired army man of modest means. Even her aunt had been astonished at their engagement although Hetty found her abrupt change in attitude difficult to fathom. Aunt Emily did appear quite shrewd when she allowed herself to focus on something other than poetry.
Ahead, sunlight danced on the Serpentine. “Shall we walk to the water?” Guy asked.
“Yes, lets.”
He seemed intent on his own thoughts, and she returned to hers. Had either of them considered what effect a broken engagement would have on her life when the news reached Digswell? They’d hardly been discreet, openly revealing their relationship before theton. Perhaps these things were done differently in France. The French were so much more relaxed about matters of the heart. It was second nature to them, while the English… Hetty gazed into Guy’s troubled face, a face she’d grown to love. She wanted more of his kisses. Desperately, because soon she would lose him.
If a scandal was to follow her home, why not have a good reason for it? Guy would know how to protect her, and they could both gain much from it. After all, once back in Digswell, she would never marry.
They paused at the riverbank to watch a man propelling a rowboat over the water with strong strokes of the oars. “I quite like the idea of an affair,” Hetty said, testing him.
“Quoi!” Guy swiveled to stare at her.
If she hoped he would fall at her feet with delight, she was mistaken. Although this was hardly the place. As excitement built within her like a fire fanned into a roaring blaze, Hetty continued to stroll along the bank. “I prefer never to marry,” she said bravely. “You must agree I will write far better poetry with some experience of life.”
Guy’s hand on her arm swung her around to face him. His eyes flashed. “So, if not me, then Mr. Beanpole will provide your life experience?”
“Good heavens, no.” Hetty laughed at his description. “You’re not jealous of Mr. Oakley?”
He pressed a kiss on her gloved palm, which produced a cry of encouragement from an elderly gentleman sitting on a seat nearby. “I will be the only one to make love to you.”
“You?” Hetty’s eyes widened. She took a deep breath. “Oh, Guy, I want that, too.” She stared over at the man, thankful he was out of earshot. “But where?”
Guy pulled her by the hand. “Come on.”
Thrilled, she gasped. “Where are you taking me?”
“Back to your aunt.”
“What? Why?” Guy’s stride was so much longer than hers. He dragged her along. Her bonnet fell back onto her shoulders, suspended by its cherry ribbons, and she almost dropped her parasol.
“Because if I ever climb out of this mess I’m in, I intend to do the thing properly.”
Hetty wasn’t quite sure what he meant by “the thing”, but she was more than keen to find out, as her intention to keep her heart safe from hurt evaporated.
She was not to learn of it today, however. Guy, tight-lipped, escorted her to the phaeton and drove her directly home. He answered her questions in monosyllables, and she eventually gave up trying. Then he left her with her aunt with a bow and his apologies, murmuring that something had called him away.
Her aunt frowned. “Did you have an argument?”
“No. At least I don’t think so,” Hetty said, bemused.
