lifting of his chin, “you have not addressed my original point.”
“Which was?”
“That Lady Whistledown will ruin you!”
“For God’s sake,” she muttered, “you talk as if she were a separate person.”
“Well, excuse me if I still have difficulty reconciling the woman in front of me with the harridan writing the column.”
“Colin!”
“Insulted?” he mocked.
“Yes! I’ve worked very hard on that column.” She clenched her fists around the thin fabric of her mint-green morning dress, oblivious to the wrinkled spirals she was creating. She had to do something with her hands or she’d quite possibly explode with the nervous energy and anger coursing through her veins. Her only other option seemed to be crossing her arms, and she refused to give in to such an obvious show of petulance. Besides, he was crossing his arms, and one of them needed to act older than six.
“I wouldn’t dream of denigrating what you’ve done,” he said condescendingly.
“Of course you would,” she interrupted.
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Then what do you think you’re doing?”
“Being an adult!” he answered, his voice growing loud and impatient. “One of us has to be.”
“Don’t you dare speak to me of adult behavior!” she exploded. “You, who run at the very hint of responsibility.”
“And what the hell does that mean?” he bit off.
“I thought it was rather obvious.”
He drew back. “I can’t believe you’re speaking to me like this.”
“You can’t believe I’m doing it,” she taunted, “or that I possess the nerve to do so?”
He just stared at her, obviously surprised by her question.
“There’s more to me than you think, Colin,” she said. And then, in a quieter tone of voice, she added, “There’s more to me than I used to think.”
He said nothing for several moments, and then, as if he just couldn’t drag himself away from the topic, he asked, practically between his teeth, “What did you mean when you said I run from responsibility?”
She pursed her lips, then relaxed as she let out what she hoped would be a calming exhale. “Why do you think you travel so much?”
“Because I like it,” he replied, his tone clipped.
“And because you’re bored out of your mind here in England.”
“And that makes me a child because . . . ?”
“Because you’re not willing to grow up and do something adult that would keep you in one place.”
“Like what?”
Her hands came up in an I-should-think-it-was-obvious sort of gesture. “Like get married.”
“Is that a proposal?” he mocked, one corner of his mouth rising into a rather insolent smile.
She could feel her cheeks flushing deep and hot, but she forced herself to continue. “You know it’s not, and don’t try to change the subject by being deliberately cruel.” She waited for him to say something, perhaps an apology. His silence was an insult, and so she let out a snort and said, “For heaven’s sake, Colin, you’re three-and-thirty.”
“And you’re eight-and-twenty,” he pointed out, and not in a particularly kind tone of voice.
It felt like a punch in the belly, but she was too riled up to retreat into her familiar shell. “Unlike you,” she said with low precision, “I don’t have the luxury of asking someone. And unlike you,” she added, her intention now solely to induce the guilt she’d accused him of just minutes earlier, “I don’t have a massive pool of prospective suitors, so I’ve never had the luxury of saying no.”
His lips tightened. “And you think that your unveiling as Lady Whistledown is going to increase the number of your suitors?”
“Are you trying to be insulting?” she ground out.
“I’m trying to be realistic! Something which you seem to have completely lost sight of.”
“I never said I was planning to unveil myself as Lady Whistledown.”
He snatched the envelope with the final column in it back up off the cushioned bench. “Then what is this about?”
She grabbed it back, yanking the paper from the envelope. “I beg your pardon,” she said, every syllable heavy with sarcasm. “I must have missed the sentence proclaiming my identity.”
“You think this swan song of yours will do anything to dampen the frenzy of interest in Lady Whistledown’s identity? Oh, excuse me”—he placed one insolent hand over his heart—“perhaps I should have said your identity. After all, I don’t want to deny you your credit.”
“Now you’re just being ugly,” she said, a little voice at the back of her brain wondering why she wasn’t crying by now. This was Colin, and she’d loved him forever, and he was acting as if he hated her. Was there anything else in the world