Page 68

She chose the most understated of her evening gowns, a plain white muslin ornamented with Mechlin lace and instructed her maid to pin a white mantilla to her curls that she could pull down over her face. If she found this strange, the girl didn’t comment, and dressed and cloaked, Ava descended the stairs to take the hackney to Grillon’s in Albemarle Street just off Bond Street.

Once there, she discovered Rey had secured a private parlor. Shown to this room by a sniffy waiter who clearly thought this veiled young lady, meeting a gentleman of Lannister’s reputation in a private parlor, was no better than she ought to be.

Closing the door on the disapproving waiter, she turned and put back her veil and surveyed her friend. To say he looked haggard was an understatement. He had lost weight since she last saw him. There were dark circles beneath his eyes and no trace of his usual, slightly ironic humor in his eyes. Instead, they were dull and despairing.

“Oh, Rey!” She flew across the room to him and enveloped him in a hug.

“You came,” he said thickly against her curls, giving her a squeeze back.

“Of course! Did you think I would fail you?”

“I thought your husband would object,” he admitted, letting her go and stepping back.

“Well, he doesn’t know yet. I left him a note.”

“Somewhat dangerous, my dear?”

She shrugged. “He’s at Ascot. I’ll likely be home before he is, and I will confess all then and face his wrath.” She dimpled. “I’m confident I can soothe him.” She sat down on the settee and patted it. “Tell me what the matter is, for I can tell it is bad.”

He swallowed visibly and sat beside her. “The worst,” he admitted, and proceeded to unburden his heart.