Chapter Fourteen
They walked along one of the more thickly wooded paths. Polly was several paces behind—within sight, but not within hearing. Arabella hoped her nervousness wasn’t apparent. There were a hundred places she would rather be right now.
Coward, she castigated herself.
“Miss Knightley, I should like to know why you told me about Lord Crowe this morning—and why you chose to portray yourself in such a villainous light.” St. Just’s pace was strolling, yet she thought he wasn’t quite as at ease as he pretended.
Was he nervous, too?
Arabella had a sudden flash of insight. Of course he’s nervous. If St. Just still wanted to marry her, he’d be dreading a refusal; and if he’d changed his mind, if he wanted not to marry her, he’d be dreading an acceptance.
“Why did you tell me, Mis
