It didn’t take long before she heard the steady crunch of boot steps over the gravel pathway coming toward her. “Meg?” came Hart’s deep voice just before he rounded the hedge and found her standing there.
“Hart,” she said inanely. There were a few twinkling candles spread throughout the path, but otherwise only the moon illuminated the gravel, the shiny dark-green leaves of the hedges, and Hart’s ever-so-handsome face. He wore dark superfine trousers and a dark blue coat. His cravat was a startling white against the shadowy darkness, highlighting his perfect white teeth when he smiled.
“There you are,” he said. “I was looking for you. Lucy thought perhaps you might be in trouble.”
“Trouble?”
Hart stepped closer. He was only a pace or so away from her. She could smell his spicy cologne. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent, trying to work up the courage to say what she needed to say. It was more difficult than she’d imagined with him standing here, tall and handsome and smelling good and looking at her with that charming smile.
She ran her hands up and down her chilled arms.
“You’re cold?” he asked.
“A bit,” she replied.
He pulled his coat from his shoulders, stepped forward, and hung it over hers. She pulled it close with both hands. This was so like the night in the gardens next to her father’s house. But so much had changed since then.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Meg, I want to tell you something,” Hart began.
“Good because I want to tell you something, too.” She had to be the first one to speak. She had a bad feeling he was about to tell her he planned to ask Lady Eugenia for her hand and if he did that, there was no way she could tell him she loved him.
“I’m sorry about what happened to Winford,” Hart continued.
Had that been what he’d planned to say?
“It’s not your fault—” She took a step toward him.
“Yes, it is. At least it feels as if it is.” Hart paced away and scrubbed his hand through his hair. Then he turned back toward her. “It feels as if I’ve done nothing but cause you trouble ever since the Hodges’ ball.”
Meg blinked. “Caused me trouble? I don’t understand.”
“I kissed you, I locked myself in a silver closet with you, and then I caused serious injury to the man you hope to marry. The timing could not have been worse, with your father about to cart you off across the Continent.”
“I still don’t understand.” Meg searched his face.
“I’m trying to say that I hope you’ll forgive me for ruining your marital prospects.”
“Ruining my—” Meg opened her mouth and closed it again. She had no idea how to answer that. It was so different from what she’d thought he might say she wasn’t certain how to respond.
She pushed a slipper through the gravel and twisted her fingers together. “Oh, Hart, you haven’t ruined my marital prospects.”
“You won’t have a chance to see Sir Winford again before you leave, will you?”
The last thing she wanted to talk about with Hart here in this romantic garden was Sir Winford. “He’s broken his leg. He’s not dead.”
“You didn’t answer the question. He won’t be able to leave his bed until after you’re gone, correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“That proves it,” Hart replied. “I’ve officially ruined your martial prospects.”
Meg took a deep breath. “Hart, there’s something I must tell you. Something important.”
“There’s something else I must tell you, too. Some guilt I need to resolve myself of.”
“Guilt?” She shook her head. “I told you, you haven’t ruined my marital prospects. I—”
