Page 42 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

“Indeed,” Farah said, clearly only half-listening. “A matching gown, you say?”

It wasn’t Susanna. What the hell would she need one thousand pounds for, anyway? Judging by the jewels around her neck, she had married far above what Grey would have been able to offer. Grey, or even—

“Yes! You’d look lovely in blue, Miss Rafiq, I’m sure.”

Farah seemed to take a moment to absorb Grey’s expression. Then, with an abrupt shift, she asked, “May I ask how you know Mr. Montgomery, Mrs. Steele?”

His attempts at silent communication must not have worked, because Farah was now in search of a motive. There was nothing to it but to locate the nearest exit.

Susanna, for her part, appeared appropriately stricken by the inquiry. She cleared her throat, her grip on her husband tightening. “Old acquaintances. I’m afraid I must leave you, Miss Rafiq. I think I hear my mother calling.”

And, just like that, she and the stony-faced Mr. Steele were gone.

Grey heaved a sigh. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” Farah lifted her skirts to follow. “That was the first bit of blue velvet we’ve seen all night! And she has a matching gown. One she intended to wear to this very event!”

Why were there so many people here? It was nothing but a damned musicale. Even the darkened hallways were teeming with visitors, leaving Grey no choice but to lead Farah into a private, curtained alcove lit by a lone candle.

His mistake dawned on him without delay. The weak glow of the single flame painted her in shades of orange and red, the warmth of her hair mesmerizing against the cool silver of her dress. This close, he could almost count the freckles across her nose, could smell the clean earthiness of her skin, could see the streaks of gold in her brown eyes. God damn him to the depths of hell, but she was beautiful.

Her tone was impatient. “Well?”

Grey kept his attention on the wall behind her, trying to clear the fog that had descended upon him. “I know what you’re thinking, and it isn’t Susa—Miss Au—Mrs. Steele.”

Farah tilted her head to the side. “How do you know?”

“Because—because she’d have no reason to—it just isn’t her.”

A momentary hush settled as Grey tried not to shift beneath Farah’s searching gaze. “How do you know her, Grey?”

He stole Susanna’s words. “She’s an old acquaintance.”

“I didn’t believe that when she said it, and I don’t believe it now.” Farah crossed her arms against her chest. “Give me some credit.”

She could have heard it from any gossip in town, but now the task fell to him. Fitting, considering he was the unluckiest bastard alive.

The abridged version would do.

“Susanna and I had—an attachment,” he said softly. Hesitantly. “That’s all.”

Farah’s mouth fell open. “What happened?”

Francis happened, he thought.

“There was another man,” Grey forced out. She didn’t need to know. “He and I had a—a scuffle over her, and she rightfully dropped the both of us. We didn’t part on bad terms. Susanna and I, that is.”

“A scuffle?” Farah repeated, latching onto the only phrase he’d wanted her to gloss over. “As in a fight?”

“Something like that.”

If she knew, she would think poorly of him. Then again, she probably already did, what with his grandmother, his inadequately secured office, his—

Grey sighed inwardly. If she thought poorly of him, he was the reason why.

“Would you have married her?” Farah asked. “If not for the other man, I mean.”

“I wanted to,” Grey choked out, unable to meet her gaze.