Page 69 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“That is absurd.”

“Possibly,” Gregory said. “Still, you should prepare yourself for dinner, since I intend to enjoy every moment of watching you both pretend that the atmosphere I witnessed does not exist.”

Ronan set down the pen with controlled force.

“You will behave respectfully.”

“Towards Augusta, certainly.”

“And towards me.”

Gregory smiled.

“That would deprive the evening of its only entertainment.”

Ronan looked towards the door through which Augusta had disappeared, then back at his friend.

For the first time that morning, his exhaustion had been replaced entirely by dread.

Dinner had begun pleasantly enough, and Gregory was at his most agreeable.

Ronan had seen his friend employ that particular manner countless times over the years. Gregory could make conversation with almost anyone when he chose to. Within half an hour of meeting someone, he often behaved as though they had known one another for years.

Augusta, apparently, was not immune to whatever charm he possessed.

“And I assure you, Your Grace, I did attempt to be patient with him,” Gregory was saying, “For several years, in fact. There was a time when I genuinely thought Ravenhill might eventually develop some appreciation for society, provided he was exposed to it carefully. I invited him to dinners, all manners of events, and I even convinced him to attend a musical with me. I believed I was making progress until I looked beside me halfway through the evening and discovered that he had fallen asleep.”

Augusta stared at Gregory for a moment before looking toward her husband. “You fell asleep during a musical?”

“It was a terribly boring affair,” he scoffed. “The woman had been singing the same aria for what felt like several hours.”

“Oh, it was only a few minutes.”

Augusta laughed, and Ronan looked up despite himself. She had been laughing more often since Gregory joined them.

Gregory leaned back in his chair, pleased with himself. “You see what I have endured, Your Grace? And still I remained his friend. That is loyalty of an unusually noble sort. I hope, when you come to know me better, you will remember how much I have sacrificed for your husband.”

Augusta’s smile lingered as she reached for her wineglass. “I shall remember it, although I confess I am not entirely convinced that you have suffered as much as you claim. You seem to enjoy provoking him far too much.”

“Enjoy it?” Gregory repeated, his hand settling dramatically over his chest. “My dear Duchess Ravenhill, I consider it a public service. If I did not provoke Ronan occasionally, he would go entire weeks without experiencing half the ordinary range of human emotion. Someone must remind him that irritation is not the only feeling available to him, and who better to do it than myself?”

Ronan slowly set down his fork. “I’d be careful; you’re speaking about me to my face, and I would like to think that you should show me some level of respect here.”

Gregory turned his attention toward him. “I have been exceedingly restrained. There are at least three stories I have deliberately chosen not to tell her.”

“Tell me one,” Augusta said at once, and Ronan couldn’t point out why the curiosity bothered him as much as it did.

“No,” Ronan replied.

Augusta looked toward him, her brows rising. “I did not ask you.”

“You need not, as the answer remains no.”

Gregory smiled. “You see? This is exactly what I mean. The duke would rather issue instructions than actually participate in the conversation at hand.”

“I participate perfectly well when the conversation is worth having.”

“And whether it is worth having is determined entirely by you?”