“That is the most fetching hat, Lady Delmont is wearing,” Petra said. It was a towering confection elaborately adorned with silk flowers and what looked remarkably like a bird in a gilded cage, but one couldn’t be certain at this distance, Petra thought, hugging to herself Guy’s clear displeasure.

“Lady Delmont’s dress sense is always impeccable,” Guy said coolly. “She has unerring taste.”

That wasn’t quite what Petra had hoped to hear but she had to admit it was only the truth. It seemed though that perhaps Guy and the lady had had a falling-out when she considered his present clear displeasure combined with what he had said to her on her doorstep about not worrying about Clothilde. But it also seemed to her that there might well be some unfinished business between them. And complications were always dangerous. Just when you thought something was settled, some twist or other would upset the apple cart.

Guy glanced down at Petra, aware of a sudden rigidity in the slight frame beside him. He saw the line of her jaw harden and frown lines deepen between her arched eyebrows. And once again he had the strange sensation of something loosening within him, followed by conviction, the absolute knowledge of what had to come next.

“Come.” He took her hand, drawing her away from the front of the box.

“What? Where? Guy, the race is about to begin,” Petra protested in a fierce undertone.

“Never mind that.” He pulled her inexorably beside him, circling her waist with an arm, guiding her through the box. No one paid them any attention, they were all too intent now on the racecourse, binoculars in hand, and they reached the ground outside the box without notice.

“Guy, what are you doing? I want to see the race.” Petra pulled back, digging her heels in. “Are you mad?”

“No, probably saner than I’ve been in a very long time,” he responded. “I have something to say to you and it can’t be said in a crowd. This way.” He gave a quick pull on her hand that almost unbalanced her and she flailed for a few seconds trying to get her footing. But she was propelled along nevertheless until Guy stopped in a far corner of the Royal Enclosure, as far from the course and the spectators as it was possible to get.

“Hush, Petra,” he said imperatively, as she looked ready to launch into an indignant tirade. He put a finger on her lips, keeping it there as his steady gaze held hers until she took a breath of acceptance and was still.