Page 62 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

I don’t want to know.

A stupid, childish thought. She was becoming a coward. It simply wouldn’t do. She straightened her spine and crossed to the door. She was halfway there when someone knocked. The sound echoed through the room, strong and firm.

Not a servant, then.

She shouldn’t be surprised. Unlike her, Justin was no coward. If there was bad news to be relayed, he would not scruple to do it himself.

“Come in,” she called out.

Justin entered. She watched, heart thumping, as he slowly closed the door behind him. “You left rather quickly,” he said. “I trust there wasn’t anything—”

And then he stopped and looked at her. Simply looked at her. The sort of scorching look that took in every detail of her appearance, from the top of her head to the hem of her flounced skirts.

Her pulse beat heavy at her throat.

“You’ve changed your dress,” he said.

A vague sense of self-consciousness assailed her. Did he think she was trying to entice him? To use her feminine wiles to influence his decision about their marriage?

“I hadn’t much choice.” She smoothed both hands over her skirts. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

He dropped a brief glance at the muddied legs of his trousers. “Hardly. I haven’t yet had a chance to change myself. I’ve been talking to Boothroyd.”

“Have you?”

He gave her another long, measuring look. “I’d like to talk to you as well.”

“By all means.”

“Why don’t you order tea while I wash up? We can have it here. In our room.”

Our room.

She swallowed. “Very well.”

Her eyes followed him as he walked to his dressing room. Most of his clothes were there. She’d examined them in his absence. Frock coats, waistcoats, trousers, riding breeches, and a collection of pristine white shirts. It was all impeccably organized. Especially considering he didn’t keep a valet.

“What about Mr. Boothroyd?” she asked.

“What about him?”

“Will he be joining us?”

Justin stopped at the door to the dressing room. His brow furrowed. “No. Why should he?”

“I assumed…” Her voice trailed away. He was coming back to her, crossing the room in a few long strides. He reached inside of his coat.

“I have something for you,” he said. “I’d almost forgotten.” He withdrew a small envelope, stamped with a red wax seal. “You can read it while I change for tea.”

She took it from his hand. “What is it?”

“You’ll see,” he said. “And Helena?”

“Yes?”

His lip quirked. “Don’t assume.”

She flushed. But he didn’t linger to see it. He was gone through the dressing room door in a trice, leaving her alone with the mysterious letter.