Page 12 of The Lady Was Lying (Greydon #3)

The last thing he wanted to do was explain what had happened between them especially when he still didn’t completely understand.

Even though nothing untoward had actually occurred, she might be able to turn her family against him if she revealed they’d been alone together, and he was loath to lose what he’d just found.

“Your Grace,” Greydon said. “Allow me to present the eldest of my sisters, Lady Belinda.”

Emmeline shifted to James’ side and placed her hand on his forearm as if he required support for a simple introduction. It was more than a little strange the way the countess and earl seemed to brace themselves as they waited for him to respond. What were they worried was going to happen?

He smiled and bowed his head instead of reaching for Belinda’s hand. Afraid of his reaction, he didn’t even want to feel the heat of her palm against his fingers. Touching his lips to any part of her would have been foolhardy last night, and it would be even more disastrous now.

“A pleasure,” he murmured.

Her right eye narrowed slightly as she offered a half-hearted curtsy.

“The pleasure is mine,” she responded in such a way that left absolutely no doubt in his mind that she was angry with him.

The quiet night he’d imagined disappeared like smoke drifting into the sky.

“You have other sisters?” he asked Greydon in an attempt to stifle the awkwardness.

“Louisa is the youngest. She is not yet out and is staying with our brother Edward and his wife Violet for the season.”

“I always wanted siblings,” he responded, not realizing what he’d said until Emmeline chuckled.

“You have siblings,” she reminded him.

He smiled wryly. “Newly discovered. I was alone as a lad.”

Jane, who had been silently watching the exchange with a peculiar look on her face, weaved her arm through Belinda’s.

“I cannot imagine being alone. It’s so nice to have sisters and brothers.

There are so many things I wouldn’t know how to do without them.

” She tipped her head to the side and asked, “Who taught you to ride?”

“My father. He had me on a pony as soon as my mother deemed me old enough.” He’d been too young to remember, but he’d heard stories, and he’d ridden all over Bramblewood at his father’s side as he grew older.

“Our brother Edward taught us,” Jane told him. “He has a splendid seat and is quite patient when required. He even let Belinda ride astride.”

“He didn’t let me,” Belinda replied tartly.

It took no effort to imagine her tearing across a field, skirts crumpled around her waist, hair whipping in the wind, thighs clenching and releasing as she moved with the powerful gallop of her horse. It would be hypnotic, probably. Hard to look away from.

Involuntarily, his gaze dipped to her lips. They were plump and pink, and he’d almost kissed them the night before. He swallowed and wrenched his gaze upward only to find her staring at him. Embarrassed, he tried to offer an apologetic smile. Her stare only narrowed.

“He didn’t discourage you either,” Jane responded, patting her sisters’ arm.

“Edward never cared much for propriety,” Belinda replied.

“He simply wants us to be happy,” Jane added.

“I suppose. We have ridden much less since he married.”

James opened his mouth to offer his escort, but Sebastian spoke first. “London is not the place to ride astride.”

“I’m aware.” Belinda hmphed. “Edward taught Emmeline to ride too.”

Her tone made it seem like she was trying to needle someone, but Emmeline only smiled. “It was entirely against my will at first. He tossed me onto his stallion without any warning. I was terrified for a solid ten minutes before I started to relax.”

“You became competent quickly,” Jane assured her.

“Sometimes you have to be forced to face your fears,” Emmeline replied. “It’s the only way to vanquish them.”

James sneaked another glance at Belinda.

Her eyes remained narrowed and focused on him.

If he stopped glancing at her, perhaps she would stop staring at him?

He wanted to treat her with the same politeness he bestowed upon Jane, but the tension she inspired made it virtually impossible as the conversation turned to the weather.

Even when he wasn’t looking at her, he was aware of her in a way he had never been with anyone else. Was it because he’d almost kissed her?

His palms were sweaty and his shoulders stiff by the time he escorted Emmeline to dinner.

The table was small, though lavishly set.

When they reached the head, he settled Emmeline into her chair and then took the seat on her left.

Greydon escorted his sisters opposite James and then seated himself across from his wife.

The arrangement was intimate enough that they could converse freely.

James was grateful that Emmeline and Jane directed the conversation.

If he focused on the food—the beef was deliciously tender and the vegetables were perfectly cooked—and not Belinda, he could properly converse.

They discussed the differences between London and the country and convinced him that he would be relieved to leave the crowded city when the season was over.

As the meal progressed, he caught himself thinking of Belinda’s lips and the fire in her eyes after he had refused to kiss her. He didn’t regret stepping away, but he couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like if he hadn’t.

She abruptly excused herself after the last course, and once she was gone, he realized he hadn’t spoken directly to her the entire meal.

It was probably for the best, as he had no idea what he’d say.

With her apparent anger toward him and his fascination with her, it would likely be best if he steered clear of her in the future.

* * *

Wedged into the corner of the carriage, Belinda tucked her hands into the folds of her pelisse and stretched her legs out in front of her as she waited for the Duke of Avondale to bid farewell to her family.

She hadn’t been certain how late he’d remain after they finished eating, so she’d excused herself directly after dinner and then sneaked outside and into his carriage.

She didn’t love being idle, but she was significantly more prepared for the cold than she’d been the night before, so she was relatively comfortable as she peeked out the window yet again.

Her eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, so she stayed perfectly still as someone descended the staircase and headed toward the carriage.

Although she didn’t move a single muscle when the door opened, he must have sensed her presence because he stiffened as he climbed in, and his eyes locked with hers across the shadows as the door swung shut.

“Why are you in my carriage?” he asked, his voice soft but haughty.

Her reasons were more complex than she wanted to admit, so she kept her answer vague. “I needed to speak with you.”

“You already spoke with me. We had dinner across the table from each other.”

“We barely spoke. You attempted to ignore me,” she argued.

She expected a reaction—annoyance, or perhaps anger—but his expression remained neutral when he replied, “You were glaring at me the entire night.”

“I was not.” She probably had been.

He sighed as if she were exasperating. “You have my attention now.”

But not his admiration. It was more vexing than she was willing to admit.

Why didn’t he want her?

She had never wasted her time or her energy worrying about a man before, so why was she doing it now? It had to be because he had rejected her . She refused to consider any other reason.

“Why isn’t the carriage moving?” she asked.

He frowned. “Because you’re still in it.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d been where she shouldn’t be, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Refusing to budge until after they had talked, she settled deeper into the soft cushions and raised her left brow.

“Someone will wonder why you haven’t left.

What will you say if one of my brother’s footmen comes to check if something is amiss and finds me here? ”

He tapped on the roof and the carriage immediately rolled forward. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” She offered an insincere smile that he didn’t return.

“Why are you here?” he asked again.

Her smile faded. “You and I have unfinished business.”

“From last night?”

She nodded but didn’t speak.

He looked down, his expression hidden in the shadows. “I apologize if I was curt with you, but you surprised me.”

She laughed even though she wasn’t amused.

The steely control he exhibited infuriated her almost as much as his disinterest. Embracing the urge to elicit a reaction, she informed him, “A stranger in a bookshop kissed me today. No hesitation. He took control of my lips like they belonged to him. When I paused to take a breath, he asked if I wanted to join him at his lodgings.”

“And did you?” he asked, his words even, his expression still hidden.

“Of course not.” Did he think so little of her?

“I don’t know what you expect me to say. Well done?”

Was that sarcasm? “It got me thinking.”

“That you should be more careful?” he asked.

“Ha.” She didn’t laugh this time. “That men are shockingly predictable.”

She let the words hang between them, hoping he’d fill the silence, and for the first time that evening, he gave her what she wanted. “Why? Because they always kiss you?”

“Not always,” she reminded him.

He leaned closer, and his face was abruptly flooded by moonlight, allowing her to see his frown clearly. “I’m sorry I upset you. I’ve already explained my reasons for not kissing you. It has nothing to do with you .”

“It has everything to do with me, and I find myself unsatisfied by your reasons.” Tilting her hips and rolling her shoulders back, she displayed her bosom at a slightly more advantageous angle, but just like the night before, he didn’t glance down at the view she offered. Why wasn’t he tempted?

“What if I promised it wouldn’t mean anything?” she asked, glaring at him.

“You can’t promise that.”

He was wrong. “I absolutely can.”