Page 2 of A Match of Misfortune

Adelaide’s lips parted, perfectly taking his bait.

Having no desire to hear another of Nash’s cock-and-bull tales, Cecily stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I …” She glanced around the room and noticed an abandoned book on the end table. She retrieved it and presented it as evidence for her quickly contrived excuse, then took a seat more removed from them. “I shall be reading.”

Nash drew in a slow breath, watching her. She was well aware of how he prided himself on his storytelling, and she’d clearly pricked a nerve by her withdrawal. Not one to be outmaneuvered, his attention returned to Adelaide. “Why don’t we leave your sister to her reading and go sit in the drawing room?”

Ah. So his response was to be feigned consideration? An attempt to make her appear the petty one? Irritation prickled over Cecily’s skin at the apparent success of his strategy. “That is most generous of you,” she said, forcing a tight smile to her lips.

He stood and glanced down at Adelaide. “Shall we?”

She did not so much as glance at Cecily before nodding. It figured. The spell Nash cast over people was utterly mind-boggling. And as he took hold of the back of her invalid chair, the look of pure satisfaction on his face confirmed he very much knew it.

He gave a slight bow in Cecily’s direction, which was obviously for show. Or simply to irk her. “Do enjoy your reading.”

This time, Cecily could not control the intensity of her glare. Not that he cared. He pushed Adelaide’s chair forward, Sarah standing to join them. His caution at ensuring the small wheel in the back did not catch on anything made his removal take longer than Cecily would have preferred. It was becoming difficult to resist the nagging urge to call after him.

Was he intentionally drawing out the process? It certainly seemed that way. “I do hope it was the fox that fared well in your story,” she said, the words slipping from her before she could stop them.

Nash stopped mid-step, pausing Adelaide with him. Then, ever so slowly, he peered over his shoulder, his tiresome smile already in place like he had expected her reaction. “Why does that not surprise me to hear?”

If there was one thing this past week had taught Cecily, it was to not engage him. But she could not help herself. There was something about Nash Markham that rallied her to whatever cause he placed before her—even if it inevitably ended in her defeat. She gave an innocent shrug. “Perhaps you are less dim-witted than I perceived you to be?”

“Cecily!” Adelaide stared at her with eyes wide. “That was not very kind.”

Cecily’s stomach twisted, and she refrained from glancing at Sarah, avoiding the correction that would likely be perceptible in her dour expression. She was certainly not being a proper example for her sister, but who could blame her? In truth, she supposed everyone would, since Nash somehow robbed people of their good sense.

Nash glanced at Adelaide, his brow lowering in what she knew was false sympathy. “It appears your sister wishes to have a word with me.”

That was the very last thing she wished, but she resisted the impulse to say as much so as not to disappoint her sister, or Sarah, a second time.

“But what of the story?” Adelaide asked, a frown forming on her lips.

Nash lowered down in front of her invalid chair. “It won’t be but a moment and I’ll be along. Shall I escort you to the drawing room?”

“Sarah can take me.”

Sarah stepped up behind the chair.

“Very well. Why don’t you ring for Mrs. Ingram and have her bring up a couple of biscuits for us?” He straightened. “Or better yet, I believe there were some leftover tarts from the wedding breakfast yesterday.”

Adelaide gave an eager, gap-toothed smile before Sarah pushed her forward and out of the door.

“To be clear,” Cecily said after she was certain her sister was out of earshot, “I do not wish to have a word with you.”

“I am sure you do not.” And yet, Nash retrieved a nearby chair and positioned it directly in front of Cecily before taking a seat. “Though if you believe me too dim-witted to decipher your feelings regarding me, you are sorely mistaken. From the moment you arrived in London, I have been keenly aware that you are not the least bit fond of me.”

Cecily shifted in her seat but did not speak, unwilling to refute his claim for the sake of propriety.

Nash leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his gaze searching hers as though she were some sort of specimen to be studied. “What I haven’t been able to decipher is the reason for such an intense dislike.”

“I do feel for you.” Cecily sent him an overdone pout. “It must be utterly perplexing when someone does not instantly fawn over you.”

He chuckled and pointed a finger at her. “That was one of my suspicions.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What was?”

“That you’re the envious sort.”

“Envious of you?” She shook her head. “That is ridiculous.”