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“My assistant?” she choked out, glancing at Romy and then back at Beatrice. “Non. Surely you are jesting with me, Lady Beatrice. You are acquainted with Lady Andromeda, are you not?”
Beatrice turned the color of a beet, mottling the perfection of her otherwise porcelain skin. The arrogant tilt of her chin slid down. “Of course.” A stiff, false smile graced the rosebud of her mouth. “We are well acquainted. It was a jest, nothing more. Wasn’t it, Lady Andromeda?”
Romy enjoyed every moment of Beatrice’s discomfort.Gossipingtwit.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” The rasp of Granby’s voice hovered in the air, like winter frost. There was no hint of apology that he’d assumed her a shopgirl and ordered her to be sacked.
Arrogant, rude...vulture.
Romy’s gaze roamed up his form, clothed entirely in black with not even so much as a pattern on his waistcoat. Only the pale cream of his cravat helped break up the dismal monotony.
“We have not.” Romy didn’t bother to extend her hand.
He doesn’t remember me.Somehow that bothered her much more than his condescending behavior.
The right side of Granby’s mouth lifted slightly, amused. Which was impossible because Romy was sure he didn’t know how to smile.
“Your dress.” Beatrice’s gloved hands fluttered about her golden blonde head, clearly unsure of how to continue. “I’ve never seen you wear—that color before.”
“I had a bit of an accident, and my dress was ruined. Madame was kind enough to lend me something to wear home. I find it perfectly comfortable, if not fashionable.”
Beatrice’s eyes bugged slightly.
Granby’s gaze never left Romy, eyes shining like a bolt of ebony silk as he took in the hideous garment.
Romy very deliberately turned her back to him.
“Madame Dupree, if it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like to see the progress on my gown,” Beatrice said. “You should see it, Lady Andromeda. One of a kind, made especially for me.”
“Some other time, perhaps. I need to return home.”
Romy pressed a palm to her mid-section, trying to staunch the roll of her insides at the knowledge that her masterpiece, with all those precious tiny suns she’d created, was going to Beatrice.
Beatrice gave Granby a pretty pout, followed by a determined flutter of lashes. “I will only be a moment longer, Your Grace.”
His massive shoulders rolled in annoyance, the errant wave of hair falling over his eye once again. “I encourage you to shorten your visit as much as possible.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Madame Dupree, if you will.” Beatrice bobbed politely in Romy’s direction. “I’ll call upon you, Lady Andromeda. We have much catching up to do.”
“I look forward to it.” Romy would not be receiving that day or any day Beatrice decided to call.
Madame Dupree dipped politely to Granby and Romy before escorting Beatrice to the back of the shop.
Once they’d disappeared, Romy turned to face him. “Your Grace.” She bobbed politely before walking quickly to the door, eager to escape his presence. Granby had the most unwelcome effect upon her senses.
“Allow me to escort you to your carriage, Lady Andromeda.” The deep gravelly words tickled her skin, lifting the hair on her arms.
“There is no need.” Romy didn’t halt as she strode by him, catching a whiff of pine mixed with a hint of soap and leather. Woodsy. Just as before. How could she recall how Granby smelled while he didn’t even remember her?
“I insist.”
His long legs easily kept pace with hers as Romy made her way to the sidewalk outside. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she studied the austere line of his jaw dusted with dark hair, wondering if the rocky hardness of his features allowed him to smile.
“Is there something you find interesting about my cravat, my lady?” His lips pressed into a line.
“Not in the least,” she replied, horrified he’d caught her looking. “I was only observing that though your cravat is finely twisted, I don’t care for the color.”
“The color?” Humor edged his reply though his lips didn’t so much as twitch.
