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

She had promised Sebastian she’d stay in sight and pretend to be a proper lady.

More or less succeeding at the latter, she had chosen to completely ignore the former when she slipped outdoors.

Creeping through the shadows instead of spinning around the dance floor was the exact opposite of what she had promised.

It didn’t particularly matter that she was a spinster.

Or that she was four and twenty. Or that she would likely never marry.

The sister of an earl could cause a scandal that reverberated through her family at any age if she didn’t follow the rules that govern society.

In most situations, this would not be enough to deter her, but her brother had been correct about one very important thing.

She would hate herself if she spoiled Jane’s debut.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, pretending to be proper was a great deal more exhausting than she had anticipated.

The three years that had passed since her own debut had allowed her to forget what it was like to be surrounded by haughty aristocrats.

The cloying scent of expensive perfume. The blinding sparkle of ornate jewels. The tittering laughter of the women.

It was enough to make her skin crawl.

Society events had always brought out the worst in her, and the urge to misbehave had flared to life as soon as the first matron stepped through the doors.

She had wanted to ruffle the older woman’s feathers.

Give the gossips something to talk about.

Cause a scandal.

The men would be willing to succumb to her charms. They always were.

She assumed that men were open to debauchery because they could weather a scandal more easily than a woman could, but she had never discounted the possibility that they simply had less self-control than women.

Either way, she had forced herself to ignore more than one interested gentleman that evening.

As she’d circulated the crowded rooms, she attempted to disregard the stares. Some were blatant. Others were furtive. All were curious.

They were likely thinking the same things.

Unmarried, beautiful, unusual, and scandalous.

A young aristocratic lady was meant to follow a certain code. She was supposed to be demure, unassuming, pretty, and most of all, respectable .

Belinda was none of those things. Never had been. Never would be.

She’d known for years that she was different.

Not wired in the same way as the rest of her family.

Or the rest of society.

The truth was, no matter how many men she kissed, she was unable to feel the captivating effects of passion, and no matter how many times she told herself she didn’t care, the urge to understand—to experience what normal women felt—always simmered below the surface.

In the past, it had made her reckless, but she couldn’t afford recklessness that evening.

Her resolve to seem respectable had held strong until she’d seen Lord Edwin heading directly toward her.

He was the exact sort of gentleman she needed to avoid most. Unmarried and unscrupulous, the irresponsible dandy was the younger brother of Lord Anthony, a man with whom she had more than a passing acquaintance.

Near the end of Belinda’s ill-fated season, Edwin had been determined to sample her favors, and if she’d had the opportunity then she probably would have allowed him a certain amount of access to her wares.

After all, he’d been married when she debuted, and that made him safer than the men trolling for a wife.

Unfortunately, his wife had perished recently, and the gossip rags speculated that he was broke and on the prowl for a new wife with a substantial dowry, which made him firmly off limits for clandestine encounters.

A stolen kiss that was surely destined to disappoint was not worth the risk of being encouraged to marry a feckless lord.

She might be reckless on occasion, but she wasn’t stupid, and because she had been able to feel her self-control slipping, she’d fled straight out of the ballroom and into the moonlight. Disappearing was an understandable transgression, and she was nearly certain her brother would forgive her.

When she was far enough away from the ballroom that she could no longer hear a sound, she halted in the shadows, took a sip from the flask she’d confiscated from Sebastian’s study earlier that evening, and leaned against the trunk of a tree.

The fiery brandy heated her insides while the frigid air nipped at her partially exposed bosom and bare arms. She didn’t mind the cold as long as it meant she was out of the crowd and away from her own foolish urges.

Eyes slipping closed, she tried to calm her mind.

As usual, it was nearly impossible. Stress tended to send her into a spiral, and her thoughts were churning to the point that she could barely process them.

She felt unsettled and crabby.

Not ideal for socializing. Or interacting in general.

She wasn’t fit to return to the ballroom. It seemed imperative that she remain in the shadows and away from the rest of society. For her sanity. And that of her siblings.

The crunch of gravel alerted her that someone was coming, and with reluctance, she stepped into the moonlight.

She had known she wouldn’t be alone for long, and it wouldn’t do her any good to hide from whichever brother had followed her.

Even if she didn’t particularly want to see Sebastian or Edward, she didn’t imagine they would desist searching until they located her.

They were persistent like that.

Since she lacked company, Belinda assumed they’d be annoyed rather than angry that she had disappeared.

She would accept their chiding with as much grace as she could muster and then inform them that she wasn’t returning to the ball.

Hopefully, they’d be so grateful she hadn’t caused a scandal that they’d let her go without argument.

Her whole body stiffened when a stranger ambled into view. Because his gaze was trained on the ground, he was nearly upon her before he registered her presence. He came to an abrupt halt with only centimeters between them.

His slightly above-average height, well-tended beard, and light-brown hair made him rather indistinct. If they had been introduced that evening, he hadn’t made enough of an impression for her to remember.

“Oh.” His lips parted. “Pardon me.” He inclined his head and rapidly retreated, almost tripping in his haste.

“I wasn’t watching where I was going. It’s so cold tonight that I assumed no one else would venture outdoors.

” His gaze locked onto her exposed arms. “You must be freezing. Allow me to escort you back to the ball.”

“No.” She stood taller. “I do not require an escort, and I’m not returning to the ball.”

“Oh.” His brows drew together. “Are you—” He floundered, waving his hand in the air when no additional words emerged.

She wasn’t sure what he was trying to imply, but she finished his sentence for him anyway. “—enjoying a bit of quiet.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you were…I was led to believe that”—his cheeks flushed—“assignations were commonly arranged in the garden during balls. I was warned to avoid escaping outdoors with a lady on my arm unless I wanted to risk being compromised.”

Belinda choked back laughter and arched her brow at his obvious discomfort. “It’s rather cold for an assignation outdoors, and men don’t become compromised.” His flush darkened, and she couldn’t help adding, “If you seek a private moment, an empty room in the house would be far more comfortable.”

“Uh…of course…that seems like sound advice.”

Was he serious? “Is that why you came outdoors?”

“No . ” He shook his head rapidly while keeping his attention firmly fixed on her face. “Absolutely not. It was…uh…stuffy inside. Too many people. I guess I’m not used to it yet.”

She’d never heard anyone acknowledge they were overwhelmed by a ball. It was more acceptable for men to feign tedium than admit to feeling unease.

“It’s your first season?” she asked.

His nose wrinkled. “Is it so obvious?”

“Not at all.”

He was not a fresh-faced boy straight out of university, so it seemed as if he ought to have a bit of experience, but who was she to judge? Maybe he’d avoided balls as long as he could and was now being forced to attend. Or maybe he was like her and had attended against his better judgment.

“You said you weren’t used to all the people, so I assumed.”

“Oh…well, you were right. I…um…It is my first ball.” He shuffled a step closer. “It isn’t quite what I expected.” His eyes widened a fraction. “I mean…it’s nice…but the noise, and the attention. It’s all a bit daunting.”

Attention. He was a man. What did he know of ? —

Before she even finished the thought, shame speared through her. She always believed other people’s lives were infinitely less complicated than hers, even though she had no way of knowing whether it was true.

What did she know of his problems?

Maybe he was impoverished. Or on the brink of ruin. Maybe he was a wastrel. Or a prude. His pristinely tailored evening wear made it impossible to discern anything except that he was a gentleman. She considered asking for his identity, but it was none of her business, so she simply nodded slowly.

“Are you…uh…fond of balls?” he ventured when she stayed silent.

She chuckled. “I’m lurking in the dark far enough from the ballroom that I can’t even hear the music. Not exactly the behavior of a woman who is enamored with society and its trappings.”

He studied her as if he wasn’t sure what to make of her. “You don’t like to dance?”

“It’s tolerable.” She’d enjoy it much more if it didn’t come with expectations.

“I enjoy dancing,” he responded even though she didn’t ask. “Gives me something to focus on, and it’s infinitely easier than conversing.”

In full agreement with the last part, she smiled a little. “Conversing is the worst.”

“The worst,” he echoed with a slight smile of his own.