Page 19 of The Lady Was Lying
“Why?”
Because she was reluctantly curious about the man who wasn’t supposed to be duke.
Instead of telling her sister the truth, she held up the small stack of papers that she’d been perusing before Jane burst into her chambers. “Someone left these laying around and I had nothing else to do.”
“You are interested.”
“I was bored.”
“Whatever.” Jane rolled her eyes. “To answer your question, I’m not worried about the scandal. No one is going to find out. You heard Sebastian and Emmeline. We’re sworn to secrecy, and no one else knows his father wasn’t his father.”
Belinda snorted. “You cannot be that naïve. Are you honestly willing to leverage your future on the assumption that no one will ever discover the truth?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“You want to be revered. A leader in society. If you set your sights on this duke, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed in the future.”
“There aren’t any other dukes available,” Jane pointed out.
It was a valid point, and unfortunately, Belinda had no way of scrounging up another less controversial duke. “If you’re certain he’s the one you want, you have my support,” she replied, even though she intended to stay far away from the duke herself. “Just give yourself enough time to get to know him and to decide that he is who you truly want.” At some point, Jane would remember this conversation, and hopefully she’d make the smart choice about whether she wanted a potentially scandalous duke for her husband.
“You’ll join us for dinner then?” Jane asked, brightening further.
“Absolutely not. I’m going to request a tray in my room while I ponder what I did to deserve such a lovely sister.”
“Ha.” Jane shook her head. “More like ponder what you can do to get me to leave you alone.”
“I would never,” Belinda lied.
Belinda couldn’t say precisely why she was gazing out the window that overlooked the street when the ducal carriage came to a halt in front of the house. Maybe it was because of her conversation with Jane. Or because she was reluctantly interested. Or perhaps it was simply inevitable.
She’d always suspected fate was a fickle bitch. Destiny, too.
Whatever the reason, she was in the perfect position to observe the arrival of the Duke of Avondale. Seeing his crest upon the carriage door should have been enough to make her step away from the window, but she remained, resting her head against the cool glass. She watched as a footman hopped off the perch on the rear and pulled open the door, before turning and standing at attention.
A shiny boot emerged first. Then the top of a black hat dipped into sight, and a man gracefully stepped into view. His head was tipped slightly downward, and the only thing she could see from her perch at the window was dark, well-tended facial hair. He took a couple of brisk steps toward the house and then turned and looked back at the footman.
His lips moved while her world went blurry.
She rubbed her eyes and blinked, but her vision had not deceived her. Her thoughts scattered as she realized that the man who’d refused to kiss her was the Duke of Avondale.
It didn’t make sense. And it made perfect sense.
Her luck was as awful as ever.
If she’d been thinking sanely right then, she would have gone to her bedchamber, shut the door, and remained out of sight until he had left. Under no circumstances would she change into her most flattering gown and paint her lips, and she definitely wouldn’t descend the staircase mere minutes later in search of her family and their guest.
Unfortunately, sanity seemed to have deserted her, and without rhyme or reason, she did all the things she shouldn’t have so she could lay eyes on the duke again.
It was surreal to have the Countess of Greydon wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him into a hug. Just the prior evening, James had been terrified of what she might know. Her probing questions had caused more than a little stress, and yet now he found himself comforted by her warm, almost familiar, welcome.
“I’m so glad you came,” she said, squeezing him lightly before stepping away. “And I’m so sorry about yesterday. I was too shocked to consider the oddity of my reaction and how it might affect you.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” The blame was mostly his. If he’d spoken to his mother sooner, they could have avoided the awkwardness entirely.
“It’s uncanny how much you look like him. I still can’t quite believe it, although I suppose you might never have told us if I hadn’t noticed the resemblance.”
Would he have approached her directly? Or would he have avoided her entirely?
