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But he was striding away before Gwen could get out more than his name, and she saw the tension in his shoulders and his hands clenched into fists just before he turned a corner.

Oh…fiddlesticks.

She would have to find some better curses. Perhaps Phylis could—though once Michael told her Gwen’s reaction to their news, perhaps Captain Seaton would be unwilling to teach her such colorful language.

Bother, bother, bother.

“What was all that about?” Ernest asked, his voice bewildered.

Gwen sighed, tension twisting in her. “I upset him.”

“You?”

“It’s sort of what we do,” she said wearily, trying to smile and knowing she wasn’t doing a particularly good job of it. “Siblings, you know. Well, perhaps you don’t. It sounds like you and your brother got on well.”

The soft smile the baron gave her only served to make Gwen feel even worse.

Was there something wrong with her? Oh, their parents had always decried the way she and Michael had bickered as children, but Gwen was more than painfully aware that they had always presumed the bickering would cease as they’d grown older.

And it had. In a way. When Michael had left for school.

They’d had to keep up their bickering through correspondence.

“I suppose I am walking you home, then,” said Ernest awkwardly.

Gwen stiffened. “What?”

Which was a foolish thing to say. Only now did she realize that she was standing here with the man alone—that was, not alone, which was the problem.

The pair of them together, alone, in public.

Botheration. Was that a curse?

“I’d better take you home,” said Ernest with a wry smile. “And on the way, you can tell me precisely why it is that you and Michael don’t get along.”

“There is no walk long enough,” Gwen muttered darkly as she instinctively took the man’s arm.

Which, again, was foolish. What had she been thinking?

Perhaps she had not been thinking. Perhaps she had been utterly consumed with the heat that poured between them, the sparking need that erupted in a most unladylike manner in her stomach, the twisting ache between her legs—

Gwen dropped the man’s arm.

This was a terrible idea. After his confession only days ago, the absolute last thing she should be doing is gallivanting around London with a man who liked her!

“Miss Chance, I… I like you.”

She was engaged, Gwen reminded herself sternly, and to another man.

A man she had not seen in days because he was busy.

Which was fine; important men were permitted to be busy, and the Marquess of Ravenshurst was an important man, indeed. She could hardly be going about complaining that her wealthy, responsible future husband was gadding about town being responsible.

Ernest’s smile was brief. “Afraid to be alone with me?”

Gwen stiffened, and her contrary nature immediately made her say, “No.”

Which was not exactly correct. After all, it was scandalous to be alone with him.