Page 11 of The Lady Was Lying (Greydon #3)

“It hardly matters why he is coming.” Jane tugged at her neckline. “More bosom or less?”

“Neither. Your gown fits perfectly as it is, and your ears are appropriately symmetrical.” Belinda sighed and gave her sister what she wanted. “You are fully ready to woo a duke if that is what you wish.”

Jane stopped fiddling with her dress and spun around in a circle. “You truly think so?”

“Of course. The duke will be enchanted by your grace and your beauty.”

“That’s a bit much.” Jane halted mid-spin to point at Belinda. “Wait…was that sarcasm? Why are you biting your lip? What aren’t you saying?”

Belinda shrugged innocently, but Jane was not deterred. “Tell me.”

“I can assure you my thoughts are not relevant to your interest in the duke.”

“Liar. Tell me what you were thinking,” Jane demanded again.

“Fine.” Belinda sighed. It was impossible to have private thoughts around Jane.

She wasn’t even sure why she bothered trying.

“James Benjamin Harris Avondale isn’t supposed to be duke.

When the truth becomes public knowledge, the scandal will be earth-shattering.

His title will be tainted, and his wife will be pitied.

Is that truly what you want for yourself? ”

“Why do you know his full name?”

“I did a bit of research.” It hadn’t been hard to learn more about the duke. The scandal sheets were very interested in him, and they seemed keen on matching him with eligible ladies.

“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 na?ve. 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?

“I’m not sure when I would have asked my mother to explain if you hadn’t forced my hand.” It was embarrassing to admit, but it was true, and now that it had happened, a burden had been lifted.

“My father was always so proper and upstanding. A love child is completely out of character.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m curious about him. But also not.”

“Understandable. I’m sure it was a shock. Thankfully, my awkward behavior last evening appears to have gone unnoticed by society. I would feel terrible if I had inadvertently caused talk.”

“Even if you had, it would be difficult for anyone to learn the truth.” He hoped.

“I suppose so. It is quite an unexpected secret. You don’t have to worry about anyone finding out,” she assured him. “You are part of the family now, and families protect each other.”

A wave of emotion hit him like a runaway carriage. At no time in his life had he felt so much joy at once. It was overwhelming to the point that he wanted to cover his face with his hands and sob like a baby.

“Thank you,” he managed in an almost steady voice.

“It’s my pleasure. Our father—” She stopped, a line appearing between her brows. “Even though he is our father, I believe I should refer to him as my father?”

He nodded. “My father was the Duke of Avondale. I will continue to refer to him as such both for the sake of privacy and because he was a wonderful father.” As enormously grateful as he was for her acceptance, and as eager as he was to have siblings, he couldn’t disavow his past.

“Of course,” she said softly. “I’m not sure if it matters to you, and I’m not sure what my brother told you, but my father was troubled when he became the viscount.

Danford Hall was the last place he wanted to be, and I can’t help wondering if he knew about you or if he was simply caught up in memories of the past.”

“My mother says he didn’t know she was with child when she left.”

“And you believe her?”

“Mm-hm,” he murmured, distracted by movement in the doorway. He turned his head reflexively. His lips parted and his heart stopped as the woman from the garden sailed into the room like she owned the place.

After she’d fled the garden, he’d convinced himself that his memory was faulty because there was no possible way she could be as stunning as the moonlight had made her appear.

How wrong he’d been.

With a single curl resting on her shoulder, her lips rosy, her cheeks flushed, and her luminous green eyes blazing, she was a vision by candlelight. A siren. A temptress. Completely unprepared to see her again, he felt the impact of her beauty like a bludgeon.

Swallowing thickly, he forced himself to hold her gaze when it met his. Her eyes sparkled in challenge. Why was she looking at him with such fierceness?

Panic and something he didn’t care to identify clawed up his neck.

Even though he still didn’t know for certain who she was, it was impossible to miss her resemblance to both Greydon and Jane now that they were all in the same room.

If he’d been thinking properly, he would have noticed it the night before.

“My lady,” he said politely, inclining his head in her direction and breaking their silent standoff. After he spoke, Greydon moved quickly, halting next to the mystery woman and whispering in her ear.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” she asked. The sultry tone he remembered had been replaced by frostiness. It did nothing to detract from her appeal, but it did confuse him.

Was she still angry that he hadn’t kissed her? Would she tell everyone they had been alone in the garden?