“A menu that included gooseberries?”
“They were in the dessert,” she lied flatly.
He tilted his head, smiling faintly, like a cat toying with its dinner. “Of course.”
They stood in a stillness made sharper by the scent of lavender in the warm air. Somewhere in the distance, a bird trilled. Evelyn’s spine straightened as she lifted her chin.
“If you wish to insult me, Your Grace, there are far less roundabout ways to do it.”
“I’ve no desire to insult you,” he said, stepping just a little nearer. “But if you mean to trick me, Miss Ellory, might I suggest you pick a better disguise than pretending to be dim-witted and tragically devoted to ribbon spools?”
Her fingers curled at her sides.
“I never claimed to be dim-witted,” she snapped before she could stop herself.
He merely raised an eyebrow.
Drat.
“I meant to say…” She huffed, grasping at dignity. “I only wish to keep things simple.”
“Well, I do apologize, Miss Ellory,” he said with his voice full of mock-regret, “but there is absolutely nothing simple about you.”
Her face burned. She turned away from him abruptly and began to walk again, barely minding her pace. She hated the way her heart had leapt at those last words. No doubt he meant to unnerve her. No doubt he was enjoying himself far too much.
And worst of all? She had enjoyed correcting him.
He had seen straight through her charade, and now, she’d have to think of something even better. Something truly uninspired. Something utterly boring. Dreadful, even.
She squared her shoulders in an effort to regain control of whatever she could.
“Next time,” she said aloud, “I shall speak only of mildew and potatoes.”
She didn’t look at him, but she could hear the amusement in his reply.
“I await the conversation eagerly.”
Chapter Eight
Robert had scarcely handed his gloves to the butler and dismissed his hat when he noticed something peculiar.
The door to his study was open. And from within, he could clearly hear the unmistakable clink of glass.
His brows furrowed. He moved swiftly down the hall, ready to admonish a careless footman or intruding guest, only to halt at the threshold. The man stood with his back to him, sun-browned and broad-shouldered, nursing a tumbler of brandy as though it belonged to him.
Robert’s disbelief faded into a crooked smile.
“Mason.”
The man turned with a grin that split his tanned face, but his eyes were bright with mischief and warmth. “You always did walk like a soldier, even when sneaking into your own study.”
Before Robert could reply, Mason crossed the room and embraced him in a brotherly, one-armed hug.
“I thought my ears were deceiving me when I heard the news,” Mason said, stepping back to survey him. “You. Engaged. I nearly had to ask the ship to turn around and return me to sanity.”
Robert let out a dry laugh. “And yet here you are, returned in full health and still just as obnoxious.”
Mason clapped him on the shoulder. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you alive and well. And with a fiancée, no less. Tell me, who is this miracle of a woman who has you trading solitude for soirées?”
