Page 63 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

Without waiting for his response, Dalia left him in the foyer, her cat trotting after her.

A bit of hyperbole, Grey thought as he left. What was important was that Farah, the woman he was almost certain he was in lo—

Right back where you started, Grey, he thought with some bitterness. Well fucking done.

Chapter Fifteen

Farah and Grey regarded one another in silence. Two days had passed—two days that Farah could only mark as having been awkward. She and Grey danced civilly around one another, neither of them daring to mention Francis or the night they’d spent together.

It shouldn’t have bothered her. The task that lay ahead was known to her, which meant there was no need for discussion of any kind. Still, though, she could have done without the tension.

Biting back a sigh of boredom, she rooted through her carpet bag until she found a small jar of ointment. Placing it in her lap, she moved to remove her gloves.

Grey stared, his expression impenetrable.

Once the lid was off, she scooped the ointment up, the smell of geraniums beginning to waft through the air. Slowly, in an attempt to waste a minute or two, she began to rub the concoction onto her hands, making sure to favor each of her fingers in turn.

“Farah.”

She looked up to see a nerve ticking in Grey’s jaw. “What is it?”

He seemed to steel himself before responding. “Tell me about your family.”

Farah perked up at this, screwing the jar shut and dropping it back into her carpet bag. “Brace yourself.”

“Consider me braced.”

“So—there’s my mother and father, Zahra and Sami. My mother is lovely and so creative with a needle and thread. My father and uncle import all sorts of metalwork from the East, similar to what your grandmother keeps at Montgomery House.”

“Perhaps we should put them in contact with one another,” Grey said. “She’d never say no to bringing another piece of home to Montgomery House, even if another trinket is the last thing we need.”

“We should!” Farah agreed, grateful for his participation. “And then there’s my brother, Dameer.”

“The one who fell out of the tree.”

“The very same. Dameer runs a little nervous, but you needn’t worry about that. He’s very easy to get along with, and having Kalila around will calm him.”

“The scientist—your cousin.”

That Grey rarely forgot even the most mundane details about her life was touching. He never feigned overeager interest, but it was clear he listened. He listened closely enough to remember even the smallest, silliest of elements, making Farah feel like every word out of her mouth was somehow important.

“That’s her. Kalila is brilliant—truly the cleverest person you will ever meet. She lives in London with her husband Oliver, whom I absolutely adore. He’s such fun—you’ll see.”

“Is that everyone?”

Farah tapped at her chin. “Not quite. Kalila’s parents will be around too, I should think. Jwan and Khalid. When I was a child, my aunt would cut my hair whenever I wished, never worried about keeping it long. And my uncle has the most interesting stories to share about the history of Baghdad. You’ve probably already heard most of them from your grandmother, so bear with him.”

A brief exhale of amusement left Grey at that, pleasing Farah to no end. For two days now, they had spoken of the weather and travel conditions. It made her unreasonably happy to be able to discuss her family, a topic near and dear to her heart.

“It’ll all be new to me, I can assure you,” he said, his amusement fading. “I don’t know a thing about—about any of that.”

Farah frowned. It was difficult to imagine Leila ignoring the practices and traditions she’d grown up with. Farah had assumed that she and Grey had shared a similar upbringing, never once thinking to question otherwise. “What do you mean?”

His response was short. “My grandfather preferred to keep an English home.”

“Is that what you consider yourself, then?” Farah asked. “English?”

Grey was quiet for so long that she thought he hadn’t heard her. “I don’t know. Neither.”