Page 8 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

He didn’t like it.

“Indeed.” She nodded and fixed him with twinkling dark eyes that were pretty enough to annoy. “But I’m afraid I must insist.”

Grey sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Fine. Have at it.”

“It’s about Mr. Francis Beaumont.”

Grey felt a nerve in his jaw begin to tick. Today was cursed, he was sure of it. There was no other explanation.

“If it’s money he owes you, I’m afraid you’re out of luck,” he ground out. “Francis’s inheritance is under my protection until he reaches thirty years of—”

“Age, yes, I know,” she interjected, removing her straw hat from her head. Her hair was a mess of fluffy curls that glinted in the light that came through the window. “He must reach thirty years of age, and he must marry. What do you mean, money he owes me?”

“Never mind that,” Grey said, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Carry on.”

She examined him for an uncomfortable moment before continuing. “Francis and I have an understanding, you see, and—”

“An understanding? What sort of understanding?”

There was no way in hell—which was where he was—Francis had managed to secure the hand of this beautiful woman. And if he had, then she was making the biggest mistake of her life.

“We met two years ago while I was on holiday,” she explained. “We decided we would wait until he was old enough to inherit before marrying.”

For some unfathomable reason, her words ignited something in Grey’s chest. It felt like anger, though he couldn’t imagine why he’d feel angry on behalf of a literal stranger. Perhaps it was because Francis was involved. God knew his cousin triggered the worst kind of fury in him.

“I know you’re the family solicitor, but you’re also part of the family,” she said, as if this was supposed to mean something to him. “And I—we—were wondering if you would consider ignoring the whole Francis-must-reach-thirty-years-of-age-before-his-fortune-is-released-to-him clause.”

Grey laughed, which seemed to startle her. “Ignore it?”

“Well, yes,” she said, sounding unsure for the first time since she’d barged into his office. “Perhaps it would help to know that it’s the only thing standing between your cousin and great happiness.”

And here they were. Grey had no doubt that what he was about to say would both shock Miss Rafiq and cause her to look down on him for all time. The former, he could handle. The latter, well—he could also handle. Because she didn’t matter, and neither did her opinion of him.

“You see, Miss Rafiq, that’s the thing,” he said, placing his forearms on the desk and leaning toward her. “I couldn’t care less about my cousin or his bloody happiness.”

She blinked several times in succession as if trying to process his words. “You don’t care for his happiness?”

“I don’t,” he confirmed, sitting back once more. “I’m afraid you’re doomed to wait another three years before he inherits. You do know he won’t be receiving a lump sum, don’t you?”

Surprise stole over her features. “He won’t?”

“No.” Grey smiled. “He will receive one thousand pounds a month. Even then, I will be the one tasked with settling his accounts.”

A brief, somewhat tense silence fell as she contemplated this, and Grey used the time to his advantage by taking stock of her appearance. She was too good for Francis, that much was certain. Miss Rafiq boasted a face right out of the paintings his grandmother hung on the walls of their home, complete with peach-tinged cheeks and a high brow. Her hair was a warm shade of gold, tied back with a simple ribbon. A modest navy-blue frock seemed to conceal curve after curve, and he counted thirteen pearl buttons down the middle of her bodice before she cleared her throat to ask, “Do you keep the lump sum in your office?”

Grey raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know if I should answer that.”

“I only ask because it was terribly easy for me to enter.”

“People usually leave when their knocks are not answered,” he informed her. “Unless they’re insufferably nosy.”

“Or determined,” she corrected. “I assume everything is kept safely at a bank?”

He stood. “You assume correctly.”

“I’m glad,” she said with a pleasant smile. “I’m not sure how much I trust your security, given there is none.”

“A shrewd observation,” he told her. “Francis’s inheritance is indeed kept at a bank, minus the first month’s sum, which is kept here so I may settle any outstanding accounts immediately upon his thirtieth birthday.”