He went to a door at the back of the library and opened it into a small inner office he kept purely for his parliamentary business. It was where his secretary was usually to be found on days when Parliament was sitting, but this evening it was empty. He unlocked a drawer in the oak desk and took out a key, going to the bookcase on one wall and gently tapping the spine of a green leather tome. The section of the bookcase slid back to reveal a safe. Guy unlocked it with his key and took out a small square velvet box. He flipped it open, checked the contents, then slipped the box into his coat pocket. He locked the safe, slid the bookshelf back into place and left the office.

He left the house, bareheaded and gloveless, walking quickly to Brook Street, ordering his arguments in his head. He had to keep his temper in check, however frustrated Petra made him. He had belatedly come to the realization that if he dug his heels in, she would do the same. And he was in no mood for a playground tug-of-war.

* * *

Petra didn’t know how long she sat on the bed, staring into the middle distance, still wondering what had just happened . . . how it was possible to go from the giddy heights of joy to the darkest depths of misery. She was confused and disbelieving, and yet she couldn’t deny what had been said between them. Guy had been adamant and so had she. Why was it so important to him to have this big society spectacle? She had always wanted a small, intimate wedding, ever since she could remember. The traditional little girl’s dream of sailing down a flower-strewn aisle in a cloud of meringue had just never appealed to her. She’d always thought that the most romantic wedding would be a special affair in a little country church in a little village, with a congregation of immediate family and her dearest friends. And afterward, the happy couple would kiss everybody goodbye at the lych-gate and head off into the sunset.

Her lips twisted into a wry grimace. Realistically, of course, it couldn’t be just like that. But Guy’s extravagant vision wasn’t necessary either. There had to be a middle ground. She remembered what he’d said about his reputation. Maybe there would be talk, a certain amount of catty gossip and speculation if they had the wedding she wanted, but what did it matter? They would be married and the talk would die down soon enough when it became clear there was no basis for scandal. If she wasn’t worried about it, and was quite prepared to face it down, there was no reason for Guy to think he had to fight the battle for her.