Arabella looked at him in surprise. This was the first she had heard of such plans. He had said they were going to interview the stewards Friday. Staying four days? What on earth-
Blake could see her staring at him. Really, he was letting his jealousy get the better of him. But Arabella would need time to pack, interview the steward, issues instructions, close up the house, and so on.
He took the opportunity to explain this to her when they were at last alone together in the parlor back at Michael's house that evening after supper. Their weary friend had retired for the night, leaving them alone for almost the first time since they had left London.
"That's very thoughtful of you. I understand it all now. Though I don't really have that much to pack up. Mainly clothes and things."
"I imagine there are a lot of mementoes of your family you would like to have with you, though. Things you have been doing without."
"True, but we're not settled here. I mean, we're moving from house to house staying with friends, and I'm not even sure how long I will remain with you. I mean, if I were to get married or-"
"I doubt you will be getting married in the next few months, at any rate, so I don't see the harm," he said stiffly. "As for Philip Marshall, I like him well enough as a man, and he is a very dear friend of Thomas's, though I am not sure exactly what sort of past history there is between them. I suspect Thomas got him out of some very bad scrape once upon a time.
"But I have to tell you that even Thomas warned me off him. So I have to say candidly that he would not be an appropriate choice should he decide to pay court to you more assiduously than he already has done."
Arabella stared at him, stunned. "Philip? You mistake his intentions. He's only being friendly."
"I know only too well where the friendship of a rake can lead," he drawled sarcastically.
"I give you my word, he has not said or done anything which would lead me to suspect he nurses a tendre for me. Can you say the same of Rosalie and Leonore?" she challenged.
"There's no need to get so defensive."
"I'm not getting defensive. I simply asked…"
Blake lost his temper then. "I am your guardian. You are not mine. I don't have to explain…"
Arabella rose. "You're correct. Forgive me. It just seems that one of us has broken our pact and been dishonest, and it is most certainly not me."
Gripping her knitting as though she would tear it to pieces, she sped out of the room.
Blake was left alone to kick himself mentally for having been so much of an utter fool as to drive her away. And did he know nothing about women? The more he made a fuss about the unsuitability of the man, the more likely it was that she would cling to him. Such was the contrary nature of human relations, and the female gender in particular. Forbidden fruit always seemed to taste sweetest…
Damn and blast, if he wasn't guilty of precisely the same thing! But then he had tasted her, and she had been most sweet. Divine, in fact. Once again he found him wondering how different his life would have been if he had just allowed himself to move a bit further along and-
Hot colour suffused his cheeks and he stood up and poured himself a brandy. Anything to numb the dull ache that filled him every time he thought of Arabella. He sighed and went up to his bedchamber. It was small consolation, but at least he had his lovely torrid dreams of her to keep him company for the long, lonely night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Blake and Arabella departed on Thursday for the journey to her former home at Kennington, a cozy mid-eighteenth century manor house with a central staircase and eight rooms on each floor. Blake was impressed with the house-it was commodious and beautifully decorated. The fields were well-tended, cultivated with winter crops.
Her business affairs ended up keeping them occupied for a full four days, or so Blake thought. He didn't not even suspect that Arabella was in such turmoil over their quarrel and her feelings for him that she was deliberately avoiding him, pretending to be more busy than she was with papers and instructions so she would not have to be alone with him.
Maggie the housekeeper sensed it at once, however. "You're in love with him," she accused, her eyes wide.
"Sush, not so loud, he'll hear you!" She shut the study door quickly.
"Oh, girl, that man is your guardian. It isn't proper."
"I know. But I met him before I knew who he was. He helped me during the whole ordeal after the coach accident. I owe him my life."
"You mustn't confuse gratitude with love."
"I'm not," she denied hotly. "I love everything about him. But he has a mistress, and a former fiancee."