Page 66 of Forbidden French


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“It’s Lainey Davenport.”

His eyes widen in shock. “You’re kidding! Does she know?!”

“Of course. She helped orchestrate it with her grandmother.”

“Lainey?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“Yes, yes. The shy quiet mouse from St. John’s is actually whip-smart and cunning. What a shock.”

“Will she be here tonight?”

“She’s already arrived.”

She got here before me. I walked into the packed ballroom and spotted her right away. For once she wasn’t playing the wallflower act. She was entertaining a group of people, all eyes on her as she spoke.

I’ve kept a careful watch on her. She hasn’t looked at me once, but I’ve had her location pegged this entire time. Now, she’s only a few tables away, talking to a man I don’t recognize.

Her rich dark hair is swept up off her neck, though a few tempting strands spill out of her up-do. She wears nothing around her neck and only small diamond studs in her ears. I’m all too aware of the allure of her décolletage, the subtle shadows beneath her collarbones, the small hint of cleavage, erring on the daring side, especially for her. She has a small emerald ring on her right hand and her left ring finger is bare, as it will remain.

I take her in with fresh eyes, casting aside her beauty as a mere mask for her true nature.

Alexander sees me staring, swears under his breath, and walks away with a shake of his head. It’s only a matter of seconds before Miranda takes his spot. I haven’t seen her in weeks and don’t particularly want company, but she comes bearing a gift. The Jack and Coke she offers me is a welcome sight.

“So that’s her?” she asks, nodding toward Lainey.

I don’t answer.

If she knows to ask, she must have seen the news reports today. She doesn’t need my confirmation.

“It’s a sham, isn’t it? A pretend engagement?”

I sigh heavily, not wanting to go down this road. Though Miranda and I are just friends, she’s accompanied me to a few recent events, the ballet included. She knows damn well I haven’t been carrying on a secret love affair with Lainey like the media has suggested.

Still, she presses for more.

“She’s smaller in real life,” she notes. “Childlike.”

I almost roll my eyes. “Don’t let her size fool you.”

She hums. “Beautiful, though. The photos I’ve seen hardly do her justice. I guess your father could have done worse in that respect. Maybe you should thank him.”

“It was intentional on his part. I’m sure he wants pretty grandchildren. He’s not one to leave something like that up to chance.”

Miranda laughs. “Oh, look at her. She’s really enjoying herself. So lovely. Maybe you should go say hi.”

I tip back most of the contents of my drink, already in need of another.

Miranda watches me and shakes her head. “Oof, you’re really angry with her. Does she know?”

I turn my back on Lainey and peer down at Miranda. “Why are you here? Did you sneak in?”

She’s not an alumnus of St. John’s.

She winks. “Maybe.”

Then Harrison crashes our conversation holding a plate overflowing with shrimp. He tosses a clumsy arm over Miranda’s shoulders. “There’s my hot date.”

She barely restrains herself. “Harrison, you’re about to spill cocktail sauce all over my dress,” she whines, elbowing him in the side.

He laughs and lets her pull away. “Aw, don’t be like that.”

Interesting. I know full well that Miranda isn’t interested in Harrison. Her tastes are a little more refined than that. She’s made it clear for the last few years that she’d accept a date if only I’d ask, but I won’t.

Miranda is pretty and sophisticated and much like every other woman I’ve ever met. There is nothing necessarily bad about her, but nothing quite so memorable either. Or perhaps I’m being harsh because I’m in a foul mood. I look over at Lainey again, helpless to stop myself. I want to know what she’s calculating, how she can possibly stand there with such a wide smile on her face and play it off like she’s not the most evil person in the room.

She takes a small sip of her champagne, her lips barely touching the edge. The man she’s standing with watches her with rapt attention, no doubt imagining her lips wrapping around something else entirely.

“What’s got Emmett’s panties in a wad?” Harrison asks.

I don’t bother answering. I walk away, cutting a path around tables until I’m in Lainey’s line of sight. She sees me over her companion’s shoulder, and I watch her swallow down a gulp as if suddenly nervous.

Oh no, Lainey. No sense in playing meek on me now.

“And I find the Old Master auctions far more interesting than the evening sales, but they’re obviously much less frequent. Have you managed to attend—”

“I’d like a word with my fiancée,” I say, cutting the man off.

His sentence dies as he turns toward me with a look of wide-eyed confusion.

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