Page 51 of The Lady Was Lying
“Thank you,” the sisters parroted, perfectly in sync.
Belinda took a small bite, and her nose wrinkled. Perhaps she was picky, but her ice wasn’t nearly as good as she’d hoped it would be. She took another bite. It lacked something. Just like with her mood, she couldn’t discern exactly what was missing.
“You don’t like it?” James asked.
She shrugged and, unwilling to admit she had chosen poorly, said, “It is fine.”
“You don’t like it,” he stated. “Here. Trade me.” He held his ice in front of her.
“I cannot take your ice,” she protested.
“You aren’t taking it. We’re swapping. I’ll eat most anything, and this way you can try another flavor. If you don’t like mine, I’ll give you yours back.” He thrust his ice even closer to her.
She hesitated, and Jane added, “It’s good. You’ll like it.”
“Fine,” she relented.
After swapping, she was determined to be critical, so she took the smallest bite imaginable.
James wasn’t impressed. “That was hardly even a taste,” he urged. “Try a real bite.”
“Fine,” she repeated and tripled the size of her first bite.
It was far tastier than her selection. “It is good,” she grudgingly admitted.
“Excellent.” James smiled. “You keep that one then,” he said before taking a bite of hers.
More unsettled than she’d been in the park, she finished his ice in silence. Why did he have to be so bloody kind?
By the time James returned home, it was nearly dark.
Since the only engagement on his calendar that evening was the musical that Jane had told him she and Belinda were not attending, he headed toward his study instead of going straight to his chambers to change into evening wear.
“Please let my mother know that I will be staying in tonight,” he informed his butler. “The carriage will be at her disposal.”
“Of course, Your Grace. But?—”
“If she would like to dine before she leaves, make sure the kitchen provides her with a tray. I have some business to attend to and will eat in my study.”
“Of course,” the butler responded. “But your?—”
James pushed open the door. The hearth was already lit, and a tightly coiled bun streaked liberally with white was visible over the top of the settee closest to the fireplace. It appeared that Griggs did not need to inform his mother of anything.
“Mother,” he said, striding across the room. “Why are you waiting for me? Is something amiss?”
“Nothing at all. I simply wanted to speak with you.” She waited until he stopped in front of her to add, “The scandal sheets have it wrong, don’t they?”
“What scandal sheets?” There was so much gossip, it was difficult to keep up.
Not that he was trying particularly hard.
“When did you meet Lady Belinda?” she asked, ignoring his question.
He stiffened. “At her sister’s debut.”
“The same night you met Lady Greydon.”
“Indeed.” It wasn’t as if he could deny it.
