"Oh."

We turn our horses and head back in the direction of Harksbury. I like the way he relaxes when we're this far away from it all. I'm starting to realize where he gets his attitude.

Why he's so uptight.

The world rests on his shoulders. But out here, it's just us. A guy and a girl. Riding horses. Hanging out.

"Thank you," he says.

Huh? "For what?"

He twists his reins around in his hands for so long I think he hasn't even heard me. It's the first time I've ever seen him fidget.

The only sound is the crunching of the horses' shod hooves over compact dirt and loose rocks. "For being who you are," he says. "You don't accept anything as it is. Not if you don't agree with it. You see things the way they should he and not the way they are... and it makes me want to do the same."

I just stare at him. Where's Alex and who is this guy?

"I've never met a girl who... challenges me as you do. I find I'm seeing things differently." He exhales slowly. "I should not have raised my voice to you earlier. I am sorry."

I almost choke on my own spit. First a compliment and then an apology?

And yet his apology is for yelling. Not kissing me. So what does that mean? He's not sorry he kissed me?

Something warm spreads through me and makes it impossible not to grin. Somehow, after all those confrontations, I earned his respect. By standing up for something. For someone.

"Oh. Um, thanks," I say. "Does this mean you think I might know a thing or two you don't?" I smile at him and stare straight into his eyes.

Is this flirting?

"Perhaps," he smiles hack at me, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

I wish this moment would last forever. But it can't.

He reaches down to run a hand over the glossy white coat of his horse with one of his doeskin-gloved hands.

Say it. Just tell him you like him.

He looks up at me, and I dart my eyes away and stare straight ahead.

I like you.

But I can't do it. The words are caught somewhere at the hack of my throat.

"I believe my mother would like to host a dance in Emily's honor, to celebrate the impending marriage."

"Really? That's nice of her. I know she thought Lord Denworth was better." I look back at him again. Why can't I keep my eyes off him? Why do I want to just stare at him and smile all day?

He ignores my comment and clears his throat. He looks... uncomfortable? It doesn't suit him. "I'd like you to get a gown. Not one of Emily's. Your own."

I think I stop breathing. "I'm sure Emily has something suitable—"

"Emily is to receive a new gown as well," he says quickly. "You're to see the seamstress immediately."

"Oh. Um. Okay. I mean, thank you." I cough even though I don't need to, just to give me something to do so he won't see the goofy expression on my face as I cover my mouth with my free hand.

He nods and I let the conversation fall. It's got to be one of the most awkward convos I've had since my arrival, even though we're just talking about dresses.

Alex is giving me a gift. A gown. A custom gown. When is that ever going to happen again? Totally crazy.

But why is he doing this? Is this some kind of an I like you and I'm glad we kissed gift? But he's giving Emily one too. So it probably means nothing.

By the time we arrive at Harksbury, we've been gone for what must have been five or six hours. Alex and I ride past the front of the house and meet a groom around back. Alex hands off his reins and walks to my horse, and when I realize he's going to help me down, butterflies swarm my stomach.

I unhook my leg from the lip of the saddle so I'm facing him, and then he reaches up to my hips and helps me slide to the ground.

The result is that I'm standing closer than I'd been this morning when we kissed, with my back to the horse and my hands on his, where they rest near my waist. Am I still breathing? He's so close to me, staring down at me. Will he kiss me again?

Oh God... is he going to... ?

Am I supposed to... ? Please let this be a do-over of this morning... Wait, do I really want to kiss him now? What am I thinking... ? Oh, just shut up and go with it...

I stand on my tippy-toes and edge toward him, giving into the magnetic pull I've felt since the moment I met him. Just as I'm closing my eyes, I see him step back, and then I'm leaning into dead air. He's a few feet away before I right myself.

That was so not what was supposed to happen. He's staring at me with his lips slightly parted, something vaguely resembling worry in his eyes, and I don't want to look at him long enough to figure out what it is. Is he embarrassed? Repulsed?

My face burns. I was really going to kiss him and he just. .. backed away.

"I—" I can't even think of anything to say, so I just mumble something along the lines of see you at dinner and then pick up my skirts and scurry away. What a disaster. I'm such a freak! First, I run away when he tries to kiss me, and then a few hours later, I change my mind and go for it? Could I be anymore confused?

Chapter 28

For the next several days, the servants are lost in a flurry of activity. They're beating rugs and polishing banisters, sweeping floors and washing curtains, trimming hedges and dusting paintings. And every time I think I've seen them all, I see a few more, until I think I've seen at least sixty.

Sixty. That's ridiculous. But then, Harksbury is different from the mansions back home. There are no washing machines or hot water heaters. Someone has to do everything, even haul water upstairs for the little basin I use in the morning to wash my face.

Emily and I go together to the seamstress in town. It's the first time I've seen town since the day after I arrived, and this time I manage to enjoy the scenery and look around a little more. The shops are quaint, all in a line, with windows proudly proclaiming their wares.

A bakery, a butcher, a blacksmith, a hatmaker. Ladies stroll up and down the walkways, parasols in hand. Dust rises from the street as carriages roll by, their wheels squeaking.

Emily climbs down from the carriage with the help of the servant, already lost in daydreams over her new dress. "I do wish His Grace had given us more time. I would have liked to have gone to the linen drapers in London, for they are more likely to have the latest sketches and designs, not to mention a far more varied selection of trimmings."

I nod my head, though I have no idea what she's talking about. We cross the rutted street as she continues to chatter about clothes, and head straight to the largest shop on the corner. The door is propped open, though it's still a bit stifling inside. My eyes adjust to the darkness of the wide room and I see a light-haired woman dressed all in gray approach us and sweep into a low curtsy. "Miss Thornton-Hawke, Miss Vaughn, pleased to meet you."

Emily and I curtsy back. I've mastered it by now, crossing one leg behind the other and bobbing until my skirts mushroom out a little bit and then I stand again. It seems weird, but I'm starting to like the formality. It's a show of respect, something people don't do often anymore.

She leads us past a few young ladies quietly sewing behind cute little desks, and over to a wall of fabrics, brocades and swaths of silk and satin overflowing onto the floor and pooling into a rainbow of color. "I'm afraid the selection is a bit lacking today. I am expecting a shipment of new designs from America in four days."

My mouth goes dry. "America?"

"Yes. Baron Gaverson's shipping company has obtained some of the finest silks this side of India. Or so he has told anyone who will listen."

"Wasn't your ship one of Gaverson's?" Emily asks me.

Oh God. A ship from America. One from the same company Rebecca told Emily she was arriving on.

It's her. She's coming. In four days. The day after the ball. And that's if it arrives on its regular schedule. Who knows? It could already be here.

The ticking clock just became a time bomb.

I grip the edge of a table to steady my quaking knees. Emily hasn't noticed my shock, and yet I'm sure my face must be ash-white.

The woman gestures toward the bolts of cloth again. "So, have you two any idea what you'd like?"

"Scarlet silk," Emily says without pause. "The ball is in my honor. I should like to be eye-catching."

The woman nods, looking pleased. "And you?"

I nod in agreement, my eyes unfocused.

Four days. And then what? As long as I didn't know when she was showing up, I could ignore it. I could pretend the real Rebecca would never arrive at all.

But reality just hit. Hard. I have no plan. Everything is going to explode in four days.

"Certainly you don't intend to match," the woman says.

"What?" I look up at her. They're both staring at me.

"Emily has chosen the scarlet. Do you know what color you'd like?

"Oh. Emerald," I say, without hesitation. "This one."

I don't tell her why. I don't tell her it's the exact shade of Alex's eyes.

I don't tell her what look will be in those eyes in four days, when he finds out what a traitor I am.

Oh God, what have I been doing all this time? Why did I think it was a good idea to parade around as this other girl?

I'm such a fool. Everything is about to come crashing down. They'll probably have me arrested and thrown in jail.