Page 10 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

“I will say good evening, then,” Grey said with a nod.

Miss Rafiq paused, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. When she looked up at him again, there was a glint in her eyes that he did not quite like.

“Good evening, Mr. Montgomery.”

And with that, she was gone. Never to be seen again.

It was a hopeful thought that refused to stick. He knew she’d be back tomorrow.

In fact, he’d bet Francis’s entire bloody fortune on it.

Chapter Three

“You’re late.”

Grey sighed as he eased into a seat at the breakfast table. Leila, his grandmother, glared at him. Her eyes were large and a deep, endless brown that betrayed her Mesopotamian heritage.

They were also accusing.

“I had a hard time getting up,” he told her, slathering a bread roll in strawberry preserves and hoping she wouldn’t pry any further.

“I don’t know how you can stand so much sugar in the morning,” she said, seeming to ignore his excuse.

“What can I say? I have a sweet tooth.”

“I’ve never indulged in sugar myself,” she declared. “Not a single granule in my seventy years of living.”

“Very admirable,” he replied, knowing full well she surreptitiously put a heaping spoonful into her tea every evening.

“I agree.” She took a delicate bite of egg. “Now, tell me, Peregrine. What made getting up so difficult this morning? You know I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Damn.

“Late night.”

“Were you in pain?” she asked, referring to his scar. “You know you’re supposed to stretch for ten minu—”

“Ten minutes a day, I know,” he interrupted, irritation flooding his veins. “Which, mind you, hasn’t done me a lick of good.”

“Give it time.”

“It’s been five years,” he grumbled. When he lifted his eyes to hers, he saw that she was frowning. “It wasn’t the injury. I just couldn’t stop thinking.”

“About?”

Miss Farah Rafiq, if you must know.

Not only had Miss Rafiq stolen his peace, but she’d done away with his ability to sleep as well. If she was stubborn enough to stick the next three years out, he would see her everywhere. Then she would be Mrs. Francis Beaumont, and he would have to live with himself knowing he could have warned her against making the worst mistake of her life.

“Peregrine.” Leila snapped her fingers in his direction. “Where have you gone off to?”

“Nowhere. A woman came by Hawkins & Montgomery yesterday.”

His grandmother perked, dropping her fork onto her plate and scooting forward in her chair. “A woman? I haven’t heard you mention a woman since Miss Aud—”

“A Miss Farah Rafiq,” Grey supplied, unwilling to follow his grandmother on a trip into his past.

“And?” Leila pressed, cupping her chin in her hands. “Beautiful? Unattached?”