Page 56 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

She pressed a kiss to his jaw and said, “You always smell like paper and ink.”

And it was that—the minuscule fact that she’d noticed something he hadn’t been aware of—something quiet and intimate—that put the final nail in Grey Montgomery’s coffin.

Damn him to hell. He was in love.

Chapter Thirteen

The moment Farah Rafiq had developed an awareness of the world around her, she had believed in love. How could she not? She had grown up surrounded by it, had heard stories of its endless triumphs over fear and sorrow. More than anyone, she’d been destined to believe in love of the deepest, truest kind.

At some point, it had become clear that her unwavering belief in love did not mean it would come easily, or at all. Despite this tragic revelation, she’d held on to hope. First, hope that she could coax it into being through sheer effort. And when her efforts had proven fruitless, she’d agreed to marry Francis Beaumont. A different hope had taken hold then—hope that she would learn to love and be loved after a quick trip to the parish for a wedding of convenience.

She deserved to be loved—that much she knew. But she was starting to realize that her approach to something she knew to be magical had, over the years, become borderline scientific. And in truth, the more goal-driven she’d become, the more she’d allowed to fall to the wayside.

You deserve someone who will worship you.

Without noticing, she’d quietly sacrificed all her tiniest dreams in favor of her biggest one. But perhaps Grey was right. Perhaps she deserved the big dream of being loved and the smaller dream of being worshiped and thought of and desired. One did not always lead to the other, of course. A part of her had always known that and had been willing to forgo anything and everything in hopes of hearing and being able to return the words I love you.

Even with all these revelations in hand, Farah still found herself confused. She’d entered into an understanding with Francis, and she’d meant to see it through. And what she’d told Grey still rang true—she wasn’t brave. Not about this.

But what she wasn’t confused about was that she’d wanted Grey to kiss her. Asked him to, even. And now, as he carried her into his room, all confusion was drowned out by anticipation and curiosity. She did, admittedly, have hours of contemplation ahead of her. About herself, about Francis, and, she was starting to understand, about Grey. But that was a problem for the Farah of tomorrow. The Farah of tonight had other matters to attend to.

Grey placed her on her feet with all the gentleness in the world. He was always so careful in his handling of her, and the thought alone made her throat tighten. She felt his thumb graze her cheekbone, and she lifted her head to see concern etched upon his face.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly. Tenderly, in the way that reflected his heart best.

She blinked back a sudden spike of tears. “I am.”

“If you don’t want to—” He swallowed. “Or, rather, if you don’t want it to be with me, then—”

“Of course I want it to be with you,” she said, reaching for his hand. “If you really want to know, I was thinking about how lovely and gentle you are. That’s all.”

Color bloomed on his face as if she’d embarrassed the life out of him. “Right, well—there’s also the question of Fran—”

Farah shook her head. “Please, Grey. No more. Not tonight.”

His eyes locked with hers for a breathless moment, a slight frown marring his features. Behind those beautiful chips of cloudy gray sky, Farah could see him evaluating her request from all angles. Then, to her relief, he gave a short, resolute nod of total understanding.

Because he understood her. Just as he had from the very beginning.

Realizing she still held his hand in hers, Farah tugged him forward, pressing her lips to his bearded jaw, silently willing him to stop thinking so much. The action must have lit a fire beneath him because, without warning, his hands were everywhere, tangled in the heavy silk of her costume as he hiked the fabric up around her legs, pulling her body flush against his. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before, this urgent need, this feeling of being both alert and completely liquid. She thanked her lucky stars that she’d already convinced him to partially undress, his shirtsleeves still draped over a chair in his study. Her hands roamed over his arms, delighting in the muscles that flexed beneath her fingers as he focused his attention on freeing her from her dress.

“You just had to be in costume,” he grumbled, seeming to be in search of something, anything—a ribbon, a pin—to pull at.

Farah giggled as he stepped back to examine her outfit with a serious air. “If you’d been more clever, you’d have talked me into removing it myself back in the study.”

He raised a wry eyebrow. “You credit your own cleverness for my lack of clothing?”

She smiled. “I do.”

“I am, unfortunately, far too impatient to be clever,” he replied, voice rough in his throat. “Take it off.”

A thrill shot through her at the command, and she began to pull at the hidden ties that had kept her ensemble secure all evening. Grey watched, a nerve ticking in his jaw—this time, not the product of his annoyance with her, but rather of his restlessness. When the last knot was undone, the silk fell to the floor with an audible plop, pooling around her feet.

“Thank the lord,” he muttered, pulling her toward him again. “These I can undo.”

True to his word, he made quick work of her underthings, casting her corset and camisole aside without a care as to where they landed. A chill came over Farah as her bare skin was exposed, the tiny hairs on her body standing to attention.

“Come,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the fireplace. Farah found herself once again swallowing around a small lump in her throat as he gestured for her to sit on the navy-blue armchair before the hearth. He knelt at her feet, removing her slippers before loosening the ribbons that held her stockings in place. Slow enough to torture, he slid the thin silk down her calf, the sensation bringing forth a needy sigh. Just as she was about to complain about how much clothing he still wore, she felt his hand brush at the opening in her drawers, redirecting her attention to the molten heat between her thighs. Grey let out a shuddering exhale before lifting a hand to her hips.