Page 16 of The Pleasure in Persuasion

“Because I...because...”

Because I don’t like you, blast it all.

She wanted to scream the words at him, but she knew she must not. He was a guest, and she must treat him with respect, even if he did not deserve it.

She thought she’d made her disinterest perfectly clear in a perfectly nice way, but he either did not see it or did not care.

He’d obviously assumed he would get his way because he was their guest, and his sense of entitlement had left her no choice but to refuse him flat out.

Would he redouble his efforts now? Would he turn angry and retaliate in a violent way? Would he refuse to pay his bill?

Squaring her shoulders, she met his gaze, preparing to speak, but Mr. Carstairs beat her to it.

“I don’t understand you, Miss Grayling,” he said, his voice several degrees cooler now. “I am an important man with both property and means. You should be honored that a man such as myself would deign even to speak to you, and yet, you reject me.”

Curses. She’d angered him. She had to fix this before it grew worse, but what could she say? What excuse could she give that would both soothe his injured pride and eliminate his pursuit of her? Surely there must be something she could say…

And then it came to her.

“I’m betrothed,” she blurted out, the words bursting from her lips like a cannonade. “That is why I cannot accept your invitation, sir. I am promised to another man.”

It was the coward’s way out, but she didn’t care. If a fictional betrothal was what it took to be rid of him while also keeping in his good graces, the deception would be worth the effort.

“Betrothed?” Mr. Carstairs hesitated, eyeing her with surprise and more than a hint of skepticism. “But you have made no mention of a betrothal before. Is it a recent event?”

Very recent, she thought dryly. But she shook her head. “No, it is a long-standing arrangement. I did not mention it before because I believe it is inappropriate to discuss such private matters with our guests.”

“I see,” he said slowly, though it was clear he was not convinced. “And is your betrothed a local gentleman or...?” He trailed off, leaving the question unfinished, though Lily knew what he was asking.

If she was betrothed as she claimed, why had he never laid eyes on her intended?

“No,” she said, twisting the wash rag in her hands. “No, he is not a local man. He lives in...”

She scrambled for a plausible story, a reason why she would be separated from the man she was to wed, and then the front door swung open, and Frederick Darrington stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the room as he shut the door behind him.

“He lives in London,” Lily said slowly, her gaze fastened on Mr. Darrington’s face, “and—talk of the devil—here he is now.”

Pasting a smile to her lips, she swept past Mr. Carstairs and crossed the room toward her would-be savior, her throat suddenly very dry.

Mr. Darrington’s eyes met hers and he smiled as she approached him, his lips parting as if he meant to speak.

Lily rushed forward and pressed a hand to his forearm, giving it a firm squeeze. His mouth snapped shut, confusion knitting his straight black brows.

“Good afternoon, darling,” she said brightly before rising up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

Then, as subtly as she could, she brought her lips to his ear and whispered, “He believes we are betrothed. Play along. Please.”

Frederick had barely a moment to register Miss Grayling’s words before she was looping her arm through his and tugging him deeper into the dining hall. That was when he noticed the fair-haired gentleman standing stiffly a few paces away, studying him with ill-concealed displeasure.

“Mr. Carstairs, this is my betrothed, Mr. Frederick Darrington.” Miss Grayling gazed up at Frederick and the look in her eyes almost had him believing she was fond of him. “Darling, this is Mr. Charles Carstairs, one of our esteemed guests. I was just telling him about you when you arrived.”

Frederick smiled. Darling? He had no idea how he had become involved in this farce, but he was not upset about it.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Carstairs,” he said, bowing his head to the gentleman.

“Er, yes. Indeed.” Carstairs cleared his throat, his mustache twitching. “Forgive me. I am—I was not aware that Miss Grayling was to be married.”

And, from the looks of it, the news did not please him.