Page 49 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

His cousin smoothed his silvery blond hair back, offering Grey a stupid smile. “Grey! Fancy seeing you here.”

The mermaid glanced between them, her intrigue clear.

“How long have you been in London?” Grey forced himself to keep his tone even. “I was under the impression that you were in Bath.”

“I was,” Francis said, that smarmy, placating smile still on his face. “But word of this masked ball found me and I—”

“Couldn’t resist,” Grey said flatly. He advanced forward, taking note of the instinctive, alarmed step back Francis took in response. “You do know Miss Rafiq is here, don’t you?”

“Is she?”

“You sent her to London,” Grey reminded him. “To see me.”

Realization dawned on Francis’s angular face. “Oh, yes! Yes, I did do that.”

“And you do remember that you’re engaged to her?”

“Oh, dear,” the mermaid murmured, equal parts scandalized and absorbed.

Seeming to think he was making a point, Francis said, “We’re not engaged yet.”

“No, but she’s been desperately looking for a way to speed the process along,” Grey ground out. “And here you are, wrapped up in your own affairs as usual.”

Francis had the audacity to appear befuddled. “And why shouldn’t I be?”

“Because she’s waiting for you.”

“Yes, and I’ll eventually make that wait worth her while.” Francis studied Grey in a detached manner before brightening. “Oh, God, don’t tell me I was right.”

“Right?”

“I thought you might fall under her spell,” Francis said with an amused chuckle, “but I wasn’t entirely certain.”

The mermaid gasped, apparently enjoying this turn of events. Grey ignored her.

“I am—I’m not under anybody’s spell,” he said, voice dangerous and low, furious at himself for stammering. “I have no part in this, Francis.”

“And yet here you are, defending her honor.” Francis folded his arms across his chest. “Miss Rafiq has no illusions about me, Grey. You needn’t work yourself into a lather on her behalf.”

“What?”

He gestured to himself. “She knows I’m nothing more than what you see.”

Does she?

Grey’s response slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Did you tell her about Susanna then?”

The glee on Francis’s face vanished. “Well, no. But I don’t—”

“Of course you didn’t. Because no woman would waste her time on you otherwise.”

A chuckle bubbled out of his cousin. “Miss Rafiq would, I think. She’s quite eager to make her way to the alt—”

“Do not give me reason to hit you, Francis,” Grey warned. All the old resentment, the old rage from his childhood and adolescence, began to rear its ugly head. Demanding retribution. Wanting to seek it out on Farah’s behalf, if not his own.

“Go on,” Francis taunted. “Are you so hellbent on proving Grandfather righ—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Grey threw a punch. Francis scrambled back in the nick of time, Grey’s knuckles connecting with the sharp edges of his cousin’s mask. He winced as the sting of injury radiated along his knuckles.