But really, after the events of yesterday—his new cousin, the possible loss of his title, his home, probably even the clothes on his back—the ramifications of an illicit country picnic seemed trivial. What could possibly happen? Someone would see them and they would be forced to marry? They were already betrothed.

Or were they? He no longer knew.

“I know that it would only hasten a ceremony that has been preordained for decades, but”—here her voice became tremulous, and it pierced his heart with guilt—“you don’t want that. Not yet. You’ve made that clear.”

“That’s not true,” he said quickly. And it wasn’t. But it had been. And they both knew it. Looking at her now, her blond hair shining in the morning light, her eyes, not so hazel today, this time almost green—he no longer knew why he’d put this off for so long.

“I don’t want it,” she said, her voice almost low enough to be a whisper. “Not like that. Not some hastily patched-up thing. Already no one thinks you really want to marry me.”

He wanted to contradict her, to tell her she was being foolish, and silly, and imagining things that were simply not true. But he could not. He had not treated her badly, but nor had he treated her well.

He found himself looking at her, at her face, and it was as if he’d never truly seen her before. She was lovely. In every way. And she could have been his wife by now.

But the world was a very different place than it had been this time yesterday, and he no longer knew if he had any right to her. And good Lord, the last thing he wished to do was take her to Belgrave. Wouldn’t that be fun? He could introduce her to Highwayman Jack! He could imagine the conversation already.

Amelia, do meet my cousin.

Your cousin?

Indeed. He might be the duke.

Then who are you?

Excellent question.

Not to mention the other excellent questions she was sure to come up with, most notably—what, exactly, was the state of their betrothal?

Good God. The mind boggled, and his mind, on the mend but still worse for the wear after a night of drink, preferred to remain boggle-free.

It would be so easy to insist that they not go to Belgrave. He was used to making the decisions, and she was used to having to abide by them. His overriding of her wishes would not seem at all out of character.

But he couldn’t do it. Not today.

Maybe her mother would not seek her out. Maybe no one would ever know that she’d not been where she said she’d be.