But she wouldn’t be, she knew, if the family and staff developed the impression that she was both injured and ill. And because Whit was looking at her as if seriously considering the possibility of consumption, she took a deep breath and—God help her, she just couldn’t stop herself—cleared her throat for the fourth time.
“I want to apologize for my behavior in the library,” she began in a rush. “You were—have been—very kind to me, and rather than thank you as I should have, I”—threatened to do you bodily harm with your great-great-grandmother’s cane, she thought with a wince—“I was inexcusably antagonistic. Being uncomfortable makes me testy, and I’ll admit my ankle does give me some pain. I don’t mean to use that as a justification, I—”
“It’s all right, imp. Apology accepted.”
She waited a beat before asking, “That’s it?”
“What more were you expecting?”
“Well, I rather thought you might milk it a bit,” she replied, a trifle surprised.
“I might have, a few days ago,” he admitted. “But we made an agreement, if you recall. Any particular reason you waited to tell me this?”
She wanted, badly, to shift in her seat. “I didn’t want to give you an excuse to leave me behind.”
“I’m not in the habit of reacting to an apology with spite,” he said a little indignantly.
“Of course not,” she was quick to agree. “But I wasn’t certain you’d react to my admission of pain by letting me come along either.”
“And made the decision to postpone your conscience until we were safely away from Haldon?”
This time she did shift in her seat. “Essentially.”
He nodded. “I thought as much.”
She risked a glance at him. “You’re not angry, then?”
“No, I’m not. In fact, I’m delighted you behaved in such a way as to require an apology.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve one of my own to make,” he began by way of explanation. “And after having your own so generously, so selflessly, so—”
“I believe I grasp the general idea, Whit.”
“—charitably accepted,” he finished. “You really have no other choice but to do the same in return, or else run the risk of appearing petty and vindictive by comparison.”
“That’s a twisted bit of logic.”
“But sound if one takes the time to follow it.”
“And equally irrefutable if one doesn’t care to be bothered—which, I confess, I don’t.” She twisted further in her seat to look at him. Now that she’d finished with her apology, it didn’t seem so hard a thing to catch his eye. “What could you possibly have to apologize for?”
“For maneuvering you into spying on Kate,” he said, suddenly serious. “It was ill done of me.”
“Yes,” she agreed without the heat of anger. “It certainly was.”
“I’m sorry for it.”
A corner of her mouth quirked up. “Are you only sorry now that it’s become apparent that spying was unnecessary?”
“I don’t recall asking you to qualify your apology,” he evaded, suddenly paying much closer attention to his driving.
“You asked why I waited to offer it,” she pointed out.
“Only after accepting it to start.”
“You’re right,” she laughed and sat back against the cushions. “And it hardly matters now anyway. Apology accepted, Whit. Although, I don’t think it will do for us to start expressing regret for every past misdeed. We’d never speak of anything else.”
“You have a point.” He gave the matter some thought. “Perhaps we should agree not to extend any more apologies for crimes committed against each other before the house party.”
“Will I have to apologize for getting you into trouble with your mother, then?” She grinned at him. “Because I’m not sorry I did it.”
“You would have been,” he promised her, looking quite smug. “Once I enacted my revenge.”
“Well if you’re certain of it, there’s really no reason for me to tell you I’m sorry. It would be redundant.” She tapped a gloved hand against her leg. “What was your revenge going to be?”
Whit shook his head. “I don’t think you should know. There’s no guessing how long our truce will last, and I’d just as soon keep it in reserve.”
Mirabelle had always found it aggravating to be kept out of a secret—which was only natural to her mind—and as this particular secret pertained directly to her, she found its continuing secrecy twice as aggravating. This would require, she decided, twice the usual tenacity in finding it out.
“How’s this,” she tried, “I’ll say I’m sorry—”
“Only you’re not.”
“True, but you’re certain I would have been, and that amounts to the same thing, really,” she explained reasonably. “But you first have to agree to tell me what you had planned.”
“I’ve done more agreeing in the last two days than I typically do in a year,” Whit chuckled.
“Can’t be helped,” she said dismissively. “What do you say to my offer?”
He thought about it—which she found perfectly reasonable—and thought about it—which she could forgive him for—and thought about it some more—which was a little annoying—and then finally decided.
“No. No, I don’t think I will.”
Which was entirely unacceptable.