Despite his driver’s prediction, Rex did not catch a cold after his walk in the rain, and even if he had, it would have been worth the sacrifice. His drenching in that storm did the trick, and by the time of his aunt’s picnic, he had managed to shove any erotic thoughts about Clara down into the darkest corners of his imagination. And he knew it was best if they remained there.

Now that he had managed to wrestle the dragons of lust into submission, however, Rex still had to deal with the scorched earth left behind. There was no acceptable excuse for what he’d done, and he owed Clara an apology for his conduct. In addition, it was quite likely his actions had led her to expect more of him than what he could offer. Most young ladies would, understandably, expect a marriage proposal after a man had taken the liberties he’d taken the other day, and if Clara was no different, if the mutual passion of their kiss had led her to develop expectations of that sort about him, it would be best if he extinguished them straightaway.

By the time of her arrival, he’d managed to compose a speech that detailed everything he needed to say, but as he watched the Duke of Torquil’s carriages turn at the Stanhope Gate, he was tempted to abandon speeches and apologies and plans to atone and just hurl himself into the path of an oncoming train instead. The latter course seemed far easier than the former.

Nonetheless, as the duke’s carriages rolled toward their party, Rex excused himself from the guests he’d been speaking with, and he crossed the turf toward them as the duke’s drivers assisted the passengers to alight. Lord James Standish’s twin sons needed no assistance, for they both vaulted over the side of the open landau before the doors were opened, and kites in hand, they raced past Rex hell-for-leather across the lawn. Their father followed them, giving Rex a wave of greeting as he ran by. Lord David Cavanaugh came toward him at a more leisurely pace than his brother-in-law and nephews had done, escorting the ladies.

“Cavanaugh,” Rex greeted the duke’s younger brother with a nod as they came abreast.

“Galbraith.” The other man gestured to the redhead in green beside him. “You know my wife, of course?”

“I do, indeed.” He removed his hat with a bow. “Lady David, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“And you as well,” she replied. “Though seeing you moving in society is rather a surprise, I confess. How has your great-aunt managed to drag you out? I don’t recall her having much success there in the past.”

“Even I have been known to enjoy the pleasures afforded by good society, ma’am.”

“Yes,” she murmured, giving him a knowing little smile in return. “But more so this season than usual, it seems.”

That remark evoked stifled giggles from the dark-haired girls beside her, and Rex decided that until he could ascertain just what Clara’s expectations were, his best course was to downplay his attentions toward her and keep mum.

When he slid his gaze to Clara, however, she gave him no clue as to what she might be thinking or feeling. Her head was tilted down as she occupied herself with refastening the pearl button of one white glove, and the brim of her hat—an enormous concoction of straw, white feathers, and blue ribbons—prevented him from seeing her eyes. What he could see of her face, however, appeared as smooth as polished marble, with nothing to give her away, and he wondered if perhaps, like him, she had chosen to suppress the events of a week ago.

Even if she had, it would not relieve him of his obligations as a gentleman, however, and he knew he had to find a way to speak with her alone.

“Sarah, Angela,” Lady David said, gesturing to the pair of giggling girls, “may I present Viscount Galbraith to you? Lord Galbraith, the duke’s sisters, Lady Angela Cavanaugh and Lady Sarah Cavanaugh. And you know Miss Deverill, of course?” she added as he bowed to the girls.

“I do, indeed.” He turned to Clara. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Deverill.”

Faced with his direct attention, she was forced to leave off buttoning her glove. She lifted her head, and when he looked into her face, all his efforts to bury that kiss were obliterated in an instant. Her dark eyes were like a mirror, reflecting all the desire he felt and was working so hard to suppress. The sight threw him strangely off-balance, as if the world had just tilted a bit sideways. Any apologies for his conduct suddenly seemed like lies because he wasn’t sorry, and any reassurances that she would be safe from further improper advances on his part seemed laughable and absurd.

“Lord Galbraith.”

Despite what he saw in her eyes, her voice was cool, polite, and distant, reminding him forcibly of their original agreement and what civility demanded of him now. Like the spring rain a week ago, her voice acted on him like a bracing splash of cold water, and thankfully, the world shifted back into its proper perspective.

He turned, gesturing with his hat to the large tent behind them. “My great-aunt and my uncle Albert are by the marquee,” he said to Lady David, offering her his arm. “Shall I take your party to them?”

Lady David acquiesced to this plan, placing her hand on his arm and walking beside him, while her husband fell back to escort the other ladies. During their stroll, Rex found that his companion was both talkative and amiable, a fact that rather surprised him, for though he’d rarely encountered the woman in the past, his recollections of Lady David did not bring to mind a warm and friendly nature.

His great-aunt and his uncle were standing just inside the marquee, and as they came forward to greet the new arrivals, Rex gave way.

“Lady David, how lovely to see you again,” Petunia said as Rex moved to stand beside Clara at the back of the group. “And your sisters-in-law as well. Do please come into the shade here, for the sun is quite warm.”

As the rest of the party complied, Rex took that opportunity to lean closer to Clara. “Might I beg your indulgence for a private word?” he murmured by her ear.

The moment the request was out of his mouth, he felt the need to clarify it, lest she think his private word meant something it did not. “By ‘private,’ I only meant that I don’t wish our conversation to be overheard. We’ll be within sight of everyone the entire time.” He gestured to a pair of empty lawn chairs on the grass about a dozen yards away. “If you were to stroll over in that direction, might I join you there?”

She nodded. “I should greet Lady Petunia and Sir Albert first.”

“Of course. I shall see you in a few minutes, then.” With that, he bowed and left her.

Feeling restless, knowing what he had to say and dreading the prospect of saying it, he occupied himself with a stroll about the lawn. He paused to listen to the string quartet for a bit and chatted with several acquaintances, but as the minutes went by and Clara made no move to depart the marquee, his restlessness and his apprehension grew.

Never before had he put himself in the risky and vulnerable position of having to apologize to a young lady for untoward advances, and by the time she excused herself from his relations and started toward their appointed meeting place, Rex felt like a cat on hot bricks.

She was standing by the lawn chairs when he reached them, and the fact that she had chosen not to sit down only made him more nervous, but he halted in front of her, took a deep breath, and plunged into speech. “Clara, about the other day, you mustn’t think . . . that is, I never intended any impropriety, or meant anything by it—that is, anything untoward. I mean, what I did was untoward, of course it was, but . . .”

He paused, aware that what he was saying wasn’t anything like the speech he’d prepared. This was an incoherent, rambling jumble of words, not at all germane to the point. He took a deep breath and tried again. “What I mean to say is that I wasn’t thinking about propriety, or the ramifications, or any of that when I kissed you. You seemed to be expressing the fear that you weren’t a desirable woman, and it was frustrating as hell listening to it, because you’re not undesirable at all—quite the contrary, in fact, and my only intent was to let you know that, and—”

He stopped again, for talking of her desirability was sending him onto very dangerous ground. Besides, he wanted to be as honest with her as he could be, and his intentions when he’d kissed her were far less noble than he was making them sound. Aware that this second effort was just as inept as his first, he gave up any attempts to be eloquent, took another deep breath, and cut to the chase. “What happened a week ago was a mistake.”

The moment those words were out of his mouth, he grimaced at how blunt, even cruel, they sounded. Her lips parted, and though he didn’t know what he expected her to say in reply, when she swallowed hard and pressed a hand to her chest, staring up at him with those big brown eyes of hers, he felt every bit the cad she’d initially thought him, and he braced himself for either a blistering and well-deserved tongue-lashing or a storm of feminine tears.

“Oh, thank heaven,” she breathed, laughing, displaying nothing of what he’d feared. Instead, she looked . . . relieved. “I’m so glad you said it first!”

He blinked, utterly taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve been in a state all week, dreading this encounter, thinking I’d be obligated to chide you for what happened, and I really didn’t want to do that.”

“No? I’d deserve it.”

“It would be a bit hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it?” she whispered, lowering her gaze to his mouth. “After I . . .”

Her voice trailed off, but he knew she was thinking of her own actions—of her own ardent response to his kiss. The effect of that knowledge on his mind and his body were immediate, but his imagination had barely started down that delightful, agonizing road, before her next words hauled him firmly back.

“I’m not saying what we did wasn’t wrong.” She glanced around to verify no one had strolled within earshot. “If anyone had come in—”

She broke off, as if unable to voice that unthinkable possibility, and he stepped into the breach. “We’d have been in dire straits, no question, and it would have been utterly my fault. My actions were appalling.”

Her cheeks went pink, and she stirred. “I wouldn’t quite say that,” she murmured, touching her gloved fingers to the side of her neck.

That gesture of feminine arousal impelled him to qualify his statement. “Don’t misunderstand me, I beg you. I’m not saying that kiss wasn’t wonderful. It was.”

“Yes.” The acknowledgement was soft, breathed on a sigh. “It was, rather.”

“More than wonderful,” he went on. “Earth-shattering, as kisses go, if you want the truth.” Even as he spoke, he was baffled as to why he was being so frank. Telling her just how ripping that kiss had been hardly served to bolster the regretful apology he was attempting to make. “But,” he said with all the firm conviction he could manage, “it was still a mistake.”

“I agree.” Her hand fell to her side, and her manner became brisk. “We should not have done it.”

“You mean I should not have done it,” he corrected. “Please, Clara, do not keeping saying ‘we’. You are not in any way to blame for what happened. All the blame is mine, and you have my deepest apologies. And if . . .” He paused and took a breath, but he knew he had to say the rest. “If my actions have led you to any expectations, I could not blame you for them. Please believe me when I say that if I led you on, it was inadvertent.”

“Led me on?” She frowned, staring at him in bewilderment. And then, as she realized what he meant, her eyes widened. “You thought I’d expect a marriage proposal? From you?” Her emphasis on the last word made him grimace, and then, she laughed, laughed so merrily that he felt like a complete idiot.

“I need not have worried on that score, it seems,” he muttered, watching her.

“Goodness, no!” Sensing that he was not as amused as she, Clara sobered and gave a little cough. “You may rest assured, Lord Galbraith, that the expectation you fear never entered my head. And if it had, I’d have booted it out again straightaway. We both know you’re not a marrying man.”

“Quite so.” Despite everything, he felt off-balance again, and truth be told, a bit nettled as well. She really was the most unaccountable girl.

“While I,” she went on, “am definitely a marrying sort of woman.”

“Yes,” he hastened to agree, nodding to emphasize that important point. “Most definitely.”

There was a pause. They seemed in complete agreement on the matter, and yet, he felt dissatisfied, as if there was something still unsaid, leaving him no clue at all what to say next.

“Our truce remains intact, I hope?” he said at last.

“Of course.” She gave a deep sigh as she looked up at him. “Oh, I’m so glad we’ve had this conversation,” she said, laughing again. “I feel so much better now. Although . . .” She paused, her smile fading, a little frown etching between her brows that gave Rex renewed cause for concern. “In a way, you’re right that you’ve given me certain expectations, though not quite the ones you feared.”

Rex readied himself—for what, he wasn’t quite sure. “Indeed?”

“The last time you attempted to broker a peace with me, you brought champagne.” She spread her gloved hands wide, demonstrating his failure in that regard, and gave him a look of mock regret. “You set a very high standard for yourself, Lord Galbraith, and now, I’m afraid you must live with the consequences. I’m not sure that I can accept any apologies from you if champagne is not offered in accompaniment.”

He laughed, and the tension and guilt he’d been flaying himself with all week broke apart and floated away on the warm spring breeze. “Now that,” he said as he ushered her to a nearby lawn chair, “is an expectation easily fulfilled. But only if you stop referring to me by my title and start calling me by my name. It’s Rex, by the way,” he added over his shoulder as he walked away, making for one of the footmen milling about with champagne, sherry, and lemonade. He plucked two flutes of champagne from the tray and returned to her side.

“Here we are,” he said, offering her one of the glasses before settling himself in the chair opposite hers. “It’s Laurent-Pierre, ’91,” he added as she lifted her glass. “A vintage as excellent as that ought to put me firmly back in your good graces, I should think.”

“Mmm,” she said, an appreciative murmur as she swallowed a sip of wine. “It’s lovely, but I’m not sure what that opinion’s worth, since I wouldn’t know one vintage from another. In fact, until the other night at Covent Garden, I’d never had champagne in my life.”

“Yes,” he said, smiling as he remembered her happy surprise upon discovering the magic of champagne. “I suspected as much. But I can’t imagine what took you so long.”

“Irene felt, and I agreed, that to imbibe spirits of any sort around Papa would only encourage his drinking, so we both chose to abstain while at home. So, thank you,” she added, raising her glass to him. “For introducing me to my first champagne.”

Among other things.

Thankfully, he managed not to voice that rather naughty thought out loud. “It’s understandable you and your sister would choose to abstain at home, though I don’t know why you haven’t had any champagne in the duke’s household, for they are not teetotalers. In fact, I see Lady David sipping champagne as we speak.”

“Lady David is married. She is also a very strict and watchful chaperone. I drink only what Sarah and Angela are allowed, which is a little taste of each wine served at dinner, and no champagne has been served at home. Unfortunately.”

“Best pace yourself, then,” he advised, grinning as she took another appreciative sip, “since you’re not accustomed to spirits. As for Lady David,” he went on, turning his head to glance again at the woman talking with Auntie Pet, “she seems to be in a more liberal frame of mind today. She’s looking right at us, and she doesn’t seem at all put out that you’re drinking a full glass of champagne in the middle of the day.”

“Yes, well, Carlotta is feeling amiable today.”

That took him back a bit, for Lord David Cavanaugh’s wife wasn’t known to be the friendliest of creatures, particularly not to his somewhat tarnished family. “Indeed?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” Clara said, laughing. “Carlotta is capable of amiability . . . sometimes.”

Rex laughed, too, enjoying the wicked pause she’d put into her remark. “And what accounts for her friendly manner this particular afternoon?”

“That we’re here. The duke’s family hasn’t received many invitations this season.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, remembering what Auntie had told him about her family. “The Dowager Duchess’s scandalous marriage. It hurt the family’s social position badly, did it?”

“It did, indeed. Your great-aunt’s invitations—the ball, and now this picnic—have been welcomed with great delight by all of them, including Carlotta.”

“Well, if anyone knows what the duke’s family is going through, my family does. My parents made my family a favorite target for gossip and a juicy topic of London’s scandal sheets for years.” The hint of bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, even to his own ears. “Sorry,” he added. “I don’t mean to denigrate your family’s livelihood, Clara.”

“No need to be sorry. You have every right to feel as you do. If it’s any comfort, my family didn’t publish scandal sheets at all until my sister invented one. For a time, the Weekly Gazette was a scandal sheet called Society Snippets, and the only reason Irene did that was because a scandal sheet can be very profitable, and we were in desperate need of money at the time.”

“Another thing I completely understand,” he assured her. “And I imagine your father’s drinking made him a very poor businessman?”

She nodded. “His father was the one who turned Deverill Publishing into an empire, but my father managed to destroy it all in less than a decade. Irene got us out of queer-street with Society Snippets, but when she fell in love with Torquil, she changed it back into an ordinary newspaper because she didn’t want to print gossip about his family. And given your history, I don’t wonder that you hate newspapers.”

“I grew weary of seeing my mother’s latest love affair or speculations about my paternity splashed across the pages.”

She grimaced. “I used to enjoy reading the gossip columns, I admit, but then, after I saw what gossip did to people—the duke’s family in particular, I acquired a distaste for it. But I don’t think we ever printed anything about your family in Society Snippets, and . . .” She paused, smiling at him. “I’m glad of it.”

“So am I,” he said, “if it makes you smile like that.”

The smile faded at once, much to his regret. “And,” he went on, feeling the need to keep talking, “I can’t really resent newspapers so much now, can I? I work for one. Speaking of Lady Truelove, did you receive my column yesterday? I sent a footman with it.”

“I did receive it, yes. And it’s every bit as good as last week’s. You have a true talent for giving advice, even if I sometimes question the morality of it.”

That dry qualification compelled him to respond with his best innocent stare. “My advice to ‘Speechless in South Kensington’ was immoral?”

“You know I’m talking about your advice to your friend, Lionel. Although while we’re on the subject, I’m not sure advising a young man to arrange a supposedly accidental encounter with the object of his affections while walking the most adorable puppy he can find is quite aboveboard.”

“I don’t see why not. The poor fellow’s desperately in love, but the girl takes no notice of him. He wants to gain her attention and begin a conversation, and a puppy is an effective way to do both. A baby would have been even better, of course, but I couldn’t imagine any young man would be willing to walk down the street in front of his ladylove’s house pushing a pram. So, I settled for a puppy.”

She laughed. “A wise decision. Though you do realize that within a week, young men all over town who are in love will be acquiring adorable puppies and walking the streets with them?”

“Well, if they keep the puppies, London will have fewer stray dogs, and more young couples will fall in love. I’m not sure I see a negative aspect, except that they’ll all be expected to get married, poor devils. Speaking of marriage-minded people,” he added, glancing past her, “I see Lady Geraldine Throckmorton is here today. Dina,” he clarified as he noted Clara’s bewildered look, “to her friends. Dark hair,” he added as Clara turned her head. “Green walking suit, walking a white poodle on a lead.”

“She’s quite elegant, isn’t she?” Clara commented, sounding a little surprised.

“Very,” he agreed as she returned her attention to him. “Also, fashionable and sophisticated. That’s what drew her to Lionel, I expect. The attraction of opposites.” He paused, looking at Clara, appreciating that truth about human nature more than he ever had before. “People tend to be rather perverse that way.”

“I wasn’t.” Her absurd little nose wrinkled up as she grinned. “I fell madly in love with a vicar.”

“True,” he agreed, and laughed a little. “Your tastes seem to have changed since then.”

He regretted that careless comment at once. He’d meant it to be self-deprecatingly witty, but that wasn’t how it had come out, and he rushed to qualify it. “I didn’t mean to imply that I think you’re falling for me. I’m not the sort to suit your preference. God knows, that’s been clearly established, and—” He broke off, feeling deuced awkward, something he wasn’t accustomed to and didn’t like in the least. “What the devil is it about you, Clara Deverill?” he muttered in chagrin. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever met in my life who can make me stammer like a schoolboy.”

“I certainly seem to be making you stammer today. I rather like it, actually.”

“Like it?”

“Yes.” She smiled that wide, pretty smile of hers. “I’m usually the one doing the stammering.”

That smile not only left him tongue-tied, it also caused the world to tilt a bit sideways again. He looked away, wondering in desperation if this topsy-turvy state was going to continue indefinitely, a question that impelled him to down his remaining champagne.

Fortified, he set his empty glass on the table beside his chair and returned to their previous, much-safer topic. “Unlike Dina, Lionel isn’t the least bit elegant, I’m afraid. He’s more like Fitz—that’s his dog,” he added, as she gave him a bewildered look. “Fitz is a sheepdog, and Lionel’s a great deal like him—friendly, ambling, loyal. Dina, on the other hand, is very much like her poodle, elegant, sharp, perfectly groomed. People are rather like the dogs they choose, aren’t they?”

“Are they?” She tilted her head, studying him. “Which breed are you?”

“Wolf,” he said at once, not knowing if he was reminding her of that fact, or himself.

She made a face. “I meant, what breed of dog do you own?”

“Hounds, though strictly speaking, they aren’t mine. They’re my father’s, and used only for foxhunting. At Braebourne, you see, we don’t breed ratting terriers, or retrievers, or anything remotely practical.”

She laughed, then sobered. “How does your friend, Lionel? Is he all right? Or is he still in the throes of heartbreak?”

“I don’t know, actually,” Rex confessed, keeping his voice light. “I’ve called twice, but his servants have told me both times that he’s not receiving. And I’ve not seen him at White’s when I’ve been there. Unless I want to chase him through the corridors of Parliament, I’m not sure what else I can do but wait for him to soften.”

“He still thinks you betrayed his confidences, then?”

“Seems so. In fact, I’m sure that suspicion is becoming more cemented in his mind with each passing day.”

“Why now?”

He met her gaze. “Word is starting to get ’round that you’ve caught my eye. That, I’m sure, is reinforcing his belief that I was indiscreet.”

She bit her lip. “I’m sorry you’re on the outs with your friend over my actions, and perhaps it was wrong of me to interfere, but his courtship—if one can call it that—was not aboveboard, so I can’t find it in my heart to regret that Lady Throckmorton ended their amour because of what I wrote. And I still think it was very wrong of you to advise him as you did.”

“I did it in the hope of giving them both more time together so they could decide how they truly felt about one another.”

“You did it to help him avoid the dreaded state of matrimony.”

“Not true. Be fair, Clara, if you please, and recall precisely what I said. I first told him he ought to break it off, since he wasn’t sure he wanted to marry her, but when he expressed reluctance to do that, I gave him another option.”

“A morally questionable one.”

“But a better one than having to part irrevocably, in my opinion. And far, far better than to marry in haste and repent at leisure.”

“I don’t know.” She paused, considering. “There could have been serious consequences, you know, to what they were doing. For her, particularly.”

“You mean a child, I assume?”

“That, yes, but if they were caught, there would have been disgrace, ruin, and shame for her, child or no.”

“Lionel would stand up, do the right thing, if any of that were to happen.”

“You seem sure of that.”

“I am sure. I’ve known Lionel since school days. He’s an honorable man. Despite,” he added as she raised a skeptical eyebrow, “what you might think.”

“Then I don’t see why he can’t court Lady Throckmorton in an honorable fashion, especially now that he knows marriage is her expectation.”

“Once two people take the step Lionel and Dina have, they’ve rather crossed the Rubicon.” As he spoke, he wondered if his words were in defense of his friend or a reminder to himself. “Chaperoned walks and a stolen kiss or two behind the hedgerows might seem a bit tame to them now.”

“Or it might have the opposite effect. It might serve to increase their anticipation by suspense.”

“It might.” Irresistibly drawn, he looked at her mouth, then wondered why he was torturing himself. “At least until the poor chap hurls himself off a bridge,” he muttered, leaning back again in his chair.

Desperate for a new distraction, he looked away, and was heartily glad to see Lord James Standish walking toward them. “Standish,” he greeted. “God, man, you look like the devil.”

“No doubt,” the other man agreed as he sank down, breathless and disheveled, beside their chairs, then fell back into the grass. Rolling his head, he looked at the girl beside him. “Why didn’t I bring Nanny, Clara? Remind me.”

“Because it’s her day out.” She looked him over, then she laughed. “Galbraith’s right. The boys seem to have worn you to a nub already.”

“They have, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. William’s with them now, but if that continues too long, the poor fellow’s likely to resign. If Torquil comes back to find we’ve lost our first footman, he’ll be fit to be tied.”

Rex moved to rise. “I can send a footman to fetch your nanny, Standish, if she’s at Torquil House.”

“That’s all right,” Clara said, standing up, bringing Rex fully to his feet and impelling Standish to rise as well. “Let Nanny have her day out. She’s earned it. I’m happy to take the boys for a bit.” She glanced at Rex, then back again. “If you will both excuse me?”

Rex bowed. “Of course.”

“You’re a brick, Clara,” Standish called after her as she crossed the turf toward the twins and the poor footman who was trying valiantly to assist them in launching their kites.

“Your footman deserves a tip, Standish,” Rex said, turning to the other man. “Helping you look after those boys of yours today.”

“He’ll have a large one, I assure you. But if you’ll pardon me, Galbraith, I must take advantage of this heaven-sent opportunity and help myself to some of the sandwiches while I have the chance. Join me?”

Rex shook his head. “Thank you, no. I’ll eat later.”

With a nod, Standish moved off, headed for the marquee where refreshments had been laid out. He’d barely departed, however, before Rex was joined again, this time by Hetty, who was carrying two flutes of champagne.

“Here,” she said, offering him one. “I noticed your glass was empty.”

“You’re an angel, Cousin.”

“Angel?” Hetty laughed, sinking into the chair vacated by Clara. “I do believe that’s the first time anyone’s called me that.”

“For good reason.” He resumed his seat and took an appreciative swallow of champagne. “And given this most uncharacteristic show of solicitude on your part,” he added, leaning back in his chair, “I can only conclude you have a deeper purpose.”

She grinned at him from beneath her yellow straw hat as she tucked a loose tendril of her chestnut hair beneath the crown. “Curiosity. Miss Deverill,” she clarified when Rex gave her an inquiring look.

“Ah,” he said, pretending to be suddenly enlightened. “But why ask me about her? You met her yourself at the opera.”

“A quick introduction before you cut her from the herd. And then the performance started.” There was a wicked, knowing gleam in Hetty’s green eyes that recalled his acute discomfort on the night in question.

“I can’t be of much help in satisfying your curiosity, Cousin, for I met Miss Deverill myself only a few days before you did. Best ask Auntie Pet, if you want to know more about her.”

“Auntie Pet is the one who sent me over here.” She paused and took a sip of champagne. “She seems to think you have a romantic interest in the girl.”

“Hope springs eternal.”

“Auntie’s terrible, I know. She’s the same way with me, and my sisters and brothers—shoving potential spouses at us every chance she has, if that makes you feel any better.”

“It doesn’t. As for Miss Deverill, I can assure Auntie—and you as well, for I know perfectly well that Auntie is not the only one in my family crossing her fingers and hoping for miracles—that the girl is not the least bit attracted to me.” Even as he spoke, the damnable memory of sinking beneath Clara on that settee flashed through his mind.

“A woman who can resist you? Heavens.”

Clara’s lack of resistance seven days ago was, he feared, going to be a fundamental source of torment to him for the foreseeable future. “God, Hetty, you talk as if all the pretty girls of London are falling at my feet.”

His cousin stared at him, her eyes going ingenuously wide. “Is this one pretty? I hadn’t formed an opinion, myself, but it seems you have.”

He gave her a warning look, but of course, being Hetty, she ignored it. Sitting up a bit straighter, she turned in her chair and studied the girl who was standing on an open stretch of turf, holding a reel of kite wool and talking with the twins. “She has a lovely figure,” Hetty said after a moment and sighed. “So dainty. I’d kill for that tiny waist and those long legs.”

Rex set his jaw, valiantly resisting delicious contemplations about Clara’s figure as he watched her attempt to launch the kite. Her effort failed however, crashing the toy almost immediately into the turf and sending her and the two boys into peals of laughter.

If I had children, I’d never be bored.

“She seems quite sweet.”

He stiffened, looking at his cousin. “Are you being catty?”

His voice was quiet, but a hint of what he thought of that comment must have shown in his expression, for looking at him, even his intrepid cousin shrank back a little.

“No, Rex,” she said. “I’m not, actually. That was my impression when I met her, and it’s still my impression.”

Something in him relaxed.

“I only remark on it because . . .” She paused. “Sweet girls aren’t your usual cup of tea, that’s all.”

The attraction of opposites.

He hastened into speech. “Miss Deverill and I are just friends.”

One of Hetty’s dark brows lifted a fraction. “Friends? You and any girl alive . . . friends?”

Her skepticism about that notion made him feel oddly defensive. “Is it so hard to imagine?”

She laughed. “Frankly, yes! Granted, you seem on very friendly terms with women of a certain type, much to Aunt Petunia’s dismay. But I doubt any demirep could be described as your friend. And you’re amiable as can be to women you consider out of bounds—married women, women in love with other men, etcetera. But when it comes to young, unmarried ladies, we know you pay no attention to them at all, as a rule, which is quite right of you, you rake. So, tell me how this particular girl could possibly have become your friend.”

Because God has a wicked sense of humor.

Rex shrugged. “These things happen,” he said lightly.

“Not to you.” She sobered. “Be careful, Rex. Don’t . . . hurt her.”

He stirred, already quite aware of the damage a man like him could inflict upon a girl like Clara if the desire he felt for her was allowed free rein. “I told you, Miss Deverill has no romantic aspirations about me whatsoever. She knows me for just what I am.”

“That’s rather what I’m afraid of.” With that enigmatic comment, Hetty rose and walked away, leaving Rex to watch Clara and battle the dragons of his lust.