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He shook his head.

“I promise I can take it,” she pushed.

“Not. Angry. With. You.” He ground the words out between clenched teeth.

“But how can you not be? I was the one who—”

Gavin shot to his feet. “Mrs. Sullivan, would you be so kind as to give Ina and me use of the room?”

If the matchmaker was surprised at the abrupt request, she didn’t show it. Instead she rose. “Certainly. I imagine there are things you’d like to discuss in private.”

“But they can’t be alone together,” said Mrs. Coleman, hand to her chest.

“Mrs. Coleman, please,” said Gavin.

“I can’t allow it,” said her aunt.

Enough. Ina was tired of people talking over her. About her. Half an hour ago, her greatest worry had been settling on a subject for the Royal Sculpture Society’s exhibition. Now her aunt and Mrs. Sullivan were arguing over whether she should marry her best friend to save her reputation from ruin, and no one had stopped to ask either her or Gavin what they wanted.

“Gavin has been visiting my studio without a chaperone present for years,” she said. “And given the events of the evening, I hardly think our speaking together in Mrs. Sullivan’s library will compromise my virtue further.”

“But the kitchen is just down the corridor from your studio, and the servants are always so nearby,” said Mrs. Coleman, sounding not entirely convinced of her own argument.

“My late husband’s study connects to this room,” said Mrs. Sullivan. “If we retire there, we will be right next door.”

Her aunt relented, and the matchmaker hustled Mrs. Coleman out of the room, her long train of indigo silk sweeping the floor behind her. The door shut with a click, and then it was just Ina and Gavin. Alone.

She squared her shoulders and faced him, ready for whatever displeasure he wished to throw at her. She could take it. She was a woman of twenty-three—old enough to know the rules, yet young enough to be punished for breaking them.

“Don’t look at me like that,” said Gavin.

“How am I looking at you?” she asked.

“As though you expect me to blame you for everything that’s happened.”

She tilted her chin up. “I suppose I am.”

He let out a long breath in a whoosh and shoved his hand through his hair. “The only person I blame is myself. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

She placed her hands firmly on her hips. “Are you my governess?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Answer it,” she said.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then it isn’t your responsibility to monitor me at all times. I knew there was risk in slipping out of the drawing room. I never could have guessed that horrid man would be here, but I was the one who walked out.”

“I could’ve stopped you,” he said.

She scoffed. “When have you ever been able to stop me from doing exactly as I please?”

If she’d thought her words would reassure him, she was sorely mistaken. Instead he set about pacing in front of her, his face red and a vein on his forehead standing out.

“I should’ve been there,” he muttered.

“You couldn’t have known,” she said.