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Miss Prescott’s brother smiled and shook his head. “Not at all.”

“We shall find you after taking some refreshment.” With a tip of his hat, Archie led Miss Prescott away, his body full of a new awareness of her proximity.

“I think Mr. Fowell…suspects something,” Miss Prescott said in a low voice.

Looking down at her beside him, Archie lifted a brow. “Is that not what we were hoping for?”

Her cheeks and nose were pink from the cold, nearly matching the lips he found his gaze drawn to more and more frequently.

She shook her head. “He was watching me after I joined the group in the corridor last night. He connected our simultaneous absence, and I am quite certain he thinks that you and I…that we….”

Archie’s stomach dropped. He had promised to do nothing that would compromise her reputation, but the moment he had seen her slip out of the drawing room, he had been determined to follow her.

And then when she had tried to leave him in the corridor, he had acted rashly, stopping her. He had not even realized he had taken her by the waist, and when he had realized it, his fingers had not obeyed his command to release her.

“Forgive me,” he said. “What happened in the corridor…I…forgot myself.”

She glanced up at him, searching his face before speaking. “I should not have tried to sneak away.”

He smiled slightly. “That we can agree upon.” He paused, his brow furrowing again. “Will you forgive my thoughtlessness, Miss Prescott? I promise I shall ensure no harm comes to you.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” she said kindly. “I only mentioned it to make you aware.”

They reached the mulled wine, and he took two mugs, giving the man a coin in exchange.

Miss Prescott leaned closer, bringing with her the hint of violets. “I detest mulled wine.”

Archie chuckled. “Well, as Fowell is watching us at this moment, you will have to risk him knowing we lied or gird your loins and drink it.”

She looked into the cup, and after a moment’s hesitation, brought it to her lips and tipped it back.

She took one gulp. Then another. And another.

Archie’s brows went up with each one, until finally, she sputtered.

She covered her mouth with a hand, and Archie placed a hand on her back until she had recovered.

“Well,” he said, “he will certainly not think you detest it. He may well believe you to be passionate about it. Are you well?”

“Of course not,” she said, putting her gloved hand to her mouth.

He laughed. “You had better turn toward me, for your enthusiastic consumption”—he guided her so that she faced him—“is still insufficient for convincing when compared with the expression you are wearing.”

“You told me you were not coming,” Miss Prescott said, still recovering from her overzealous acting.

I wanted to see you.

“Yes, well,” Archie said, “after forcing you to join in the silhouettes last night, I thought I owed you an appearance.”

She let out a laugh. “Appearing at the event your family is sponsoring is your idea of payment for the humiliation you forced upon me last night?”

“I assure you, the cost of sponsoring this fete is nothing in comparison to what it costs me to be here.”

“Poor Lord Dalmeer,” she replied with humor in her eyes. “I would not wish for you to faint from the harrowing toll of attending a joyful village fete.”

He put the back of his hand to his forehead and shut his eyes. “All I ask is that you catch me if I do faint. The ground is muddy, and I am partial to this coat.”

“It is handsome,” she agreed. “I have never caught anyone before, but I cannot imagine it is so very difficult.”