Page 21 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

“Never,” she said, turning toward him with an earnest spark in her eyes. “I always make the best of things.”

What luxury, he thought, to live a life where making the best of things was always an option.

“Is this you making the best of your time before you marry Francis, then?”

She began to fiddle with the beading on her reticule. “It is.”

Here, Grey was presented with two options. Either he could keep hounding her until she admitted that she did not, in fact, love his cousin, or he could take pity on her and change the subject.

An easy decision to make, really.

“How did you two meet, exactly?”

Miss Rafiq blinked at him in a way that suggested she’d been caught off guard. “It surprises me that you’d ask such a thing.”

“Does it?”

She folded her hands in her lap. “I thought you hated Francis.”

“I do,” Grey said. “Still, you can’t fault my curiosity, can you?”

Miss Rafiq hummed in contemplation. “I suppose not. We met while I was on holiday in Brighton.”

“A seaside love story,” he deadpanned.

Miss Rafiq perked at this, apparently missing the dryness in his voice. “Yes! Precisely. And soon to be a wherever-Francis-and-I-end-up love story, once you agree to release his inheritance.”

“I will be doing no such thing. What do you mean, wherever you end up? You haven’t discussed it?”

She shrugged. “It will either be in London or Bath, I should think.”

London.

The very thought of Francis descending upon Montgomery House brought a wave of nausea over Grey. He’d sooner prove his grandfather right by snapping every single one of his cousin’s bones than let him take over the only real home he’d ever known.

“Are you all right, Mr. Montgomery?” Miss Rafiq asked. “You’ve gone a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” he bit out. It served him right, thinking he could lure her into confessing the truth of her relationship with Francis.

Or, rather, into confessing what he believed to be the truth about their relationship. Either way, he had opened himself to details he decidedly did not care to hear about.

“Are you married?”

The question startled Grey back to reality. “Married?”

She twisted the cord of her reticule around her gloved hand. “Or engaged, maybe?”

“No,” he said flatly. “Neither, actually.”

“That’s a shame.” She let the cord drop. “I’m sure you’d make any woman a fine husband.”

Grey swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. “Is that so?”

She ran a hand over the emerald-green upholstery of his carriage. “It is so. Surely you must want to find someone to settle down with?”

“It hasn’t been on my mind recently, no.”

Liar.