Page 17 of The Pleasure in Persuasion

“That’s our Miss Grayling,” Frederick said, gazing down adoringly at his faux fiancée. “She is a woman of many secrets.”

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she cleared her throat, genuinely, adorably flustered. “Yes, well, I—we—” She cleared her throat again. “You must excuse us, Mr. Carstairs. As I said, I have a great deal of work to do today.”

Carstairs nodded, looking anything but happy as he gave a clipped bow. “Of course, Miss Grayling. Good day to you both.”

He hastened for the door, his expensive leather boots thumping noisily on the floorboards, and then he was gone, and Frederick was alone with only Miss Grayling and a very interesting silence.

He turned from the door to face the woman beside him, noting her still-pink cheeks and the bright turquoise eyes which seemed to be looking everywhere but at him.

Finally, she met his gaze, though she offered no comment, as if embarrassment had rendered her tongue temporarily lame.

Frederick arched his eyebrows, asking without words just what the devil was going on.

Miss Grayling pursed her lips, the same soft lips that had brushed his cheek only moments ago, managing somehow to look sheepish and prickly at the same time.

“Thank you,” she finally said. “And I’m sorry. I did not like to use you in that way, but Mr. Carstairs was skeptical when I told him I was betrothed, and then there you were at the door and before I knew it...” She trailed off, letting her shrug finish for her.

“You claimed me,” Fredrick said with a smile.

She blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“Before you knew it, you had claimed me.”

“I claimed you were my betrothed,” she corrected, her gaze narrowing on his smile. “I was trying to get rid of Mr. Carstairs.”

The words snuffed out his amusement, and he frowned, anger roiling in his belly. “Has he been harassing you?” The thought had his hands curling into fists.

“He’s never behaved in an ungentlemanly way,” she said, “but he is persistently interested in me.”

“And you’re not interested in him.”

It was an unnecessary remark, but he made it anyway, and Miss Grayling nodded, twisting the rag she held in her hands before slipping it into her dress pocket.

“I tried to make him understand that without saying it, but he couldn’t seem to grasp my meaning.”

Or he didn’t want to. And that made Frederick even angrier.

“So, after I declined another invitation to walk with him today and he began to grow angry,” she continued, “I lied and told him the reason I could not go was because I was promised to another man.”

“Why not simply tell him you’re not interested?”

The look she shot him implied his question was terribly naive. “Because he is a paying guest.”

Frederick could read between the lines, and he saw the uncomfortable truth of her situation.

Carstairs was a guest at her inn, and as with all guests, she must tread carefully or risk incurring an undesired, potentially harmful consequence.

The unfairness of it twisted his gut. Life could be bloody unjust sometimes, especially for women, and women like her, pretty and single, were forced to endure the attentions of men simply because they were guests at her inn. As if that gave them the right to take liberties, to treat her unkindly and with no respect for her feelings or wishes.

“I see,” he said, the words roughened. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged again, as if to say it was a woman’s lot in life, which was absolute bollocks so far as he was concerned. But before he could say so, Miss Grayling spoke again.

“I am sorry for placing you in this position. It was not well done of me, no matter the reason, and I think it would be best if you would stay away from the inn, at least until Mr. Carstairs’ departure.”

Frederick found himself nodding, even as another idea entered his brain and slipped from his lips. “Or I could do the opposite,” he said. “I could visit the inn every day until he leaves.”

She frowned. “For what purpose?”