Page 20 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

“Why do you say that?”

Next time he was alone, he would have to probe deeper into his habit of digging his own grave.

The words that came out of his mouth felt stiff and unnatural. “You—you’re a pleasant woman of good standing.”

She gave him an unconvincing half-smile. “If you say so.”

What in the hell was that about? It was almost as though she didn’t agree with him.

“In any case,” she said, appearing directly across from his desk, “this invitation can’t be yours. Here, turn it over.”

Taking the invitation from her once more, Grey saw that a note had been scribbled in pencil, a reminder to pick up a gown from a dressmaker in Mayfair. “Definitely not mine.”

“That said, I have an idea.”

Grey returned his attention to the jar. “I shudder to think of what you’ve come up with now.”

“I know someone who does get asked to every event in town,” she said. “And I’m certain she will recognize the pattern on this invitation.”

“And?”

“Once we find out what this invitation is for, we can visit the address on the back and ask the dressmaker who commissioned a gown for said event.”

He was unable to keep incredulity from creeping into his voice. “As simple as that?”

“Why not?”

“You’re implying that our thief is a woman who attends balls and musicales.”

“Women can be thieves,” Miss Rafiq replied. “Do be more open-minded, Mr. Montgomery. Besides, it doesn’t have to be the recipient of the dress. It could be someone in her household. Either way, it’s a start.”

Grey sighed. He should have removed her from his office the minute she’d stuck her head in. “Fine. Do I have to come with you?”

She considered this for a moment. “Of course you do. We said we’d solve this together.”

“You said that,” he reminded her, reaching for his coat.

She mirrored him, retrieving her bonnet from a chair. “Yes, but you agreed.”

Damn Francis, Grey thought as he and Miss Rafiq bickered all the way to the entrance. Damn him to the depths of hell.

Chapter Five

Not five minutes into their journey to Willow House, whatever the hell that was, Miss Rafiq poked her head out of the window to inquire about the standstill the carriage had come to. Having received an answer, she settled back into her seat. “There’s been a collision up ahead. We may be stuck here for a while yet.”

This was a mistake. Being in close quarters with her was intolerable. All he could see was the way her bodice caressed her curves, all he could hear was her incessant chattering, and all he could smell was clean, freshly sheared grass. That accounted for three of his senses. The other two were, blessedly, unoccupied, and would remain as such. He certainly wouldn’t be touching her any time soon.

Or tasting her.

He needed to get out of this bloody carriage.

He tried to force ease into his response. “It seems that fate is against this scheme of yours.”

“I disagree,” she said, peering out of the window. “The road will clear.”

Good Lord, did nothing get under this woman’s skin? She seemed determined to barrel through any and all obstacles, difficulty be damned.

“Do you ever give up, Miss Rafiq?” he asked, despite already knowing the answer.