Nora’s pulse pounded. She wanted to believe in him so much that having it all be a game would be devastating.
But if he was sincere… he was even more dangerous.
When they stepped out the front door, her eyes were dazzled first by the sun and then by Mr. Grenville’s carriage.
“What a dashing coach-and-four,” Lady Roundtree exclaimed. “I like it even better than your landau.”
Nora could not believe she was about to be helped inside such a grand vehicle. Mr. Grenville had not yet inherited his barony, but from the look of it he might as well be a fairy prince.
When Lady Roundtree and Nora were both arranged in the forward-facing seat, Mr. Grenville climbed inside to join them.
In order to allow the most room for the baroness’s splinted leg, he did not seat himself across from her, but rather opposite Nora. Their knees did not touch, but the tips of his boots flanked the tips of hers.
Nora was suddenly conscious of every inch of her body. She shivered. Two pairs of boots nestled against each other should not feel so shockingly intimate.
She would have to get used to the sensation.
For as long as she remained Lady Roundtree’s companion, the baroness would require extra space to protect her broken leg. And because the baroness traveled in the same circles as Mr. Grenville, they had already been bumping into each other at every turn. Now that he was paying personal calls, unexpected moments of forced proximity could become all the more common.
Nora’s heart raced. The idea both thrilled and terrified her.
Slowly she became aware of Mr. Grenville drumming his fingers on the edge of the squab as if tapping out the keys to a chord. No, not drumming his fingers—pianoforte-ingthem.
A smile curved her lips. She wanted to point out the chords, to tell him she had witnessed his family’s musicale and found all three of them devastatingly talented.
But from the sound of Lady Roundtree’s friends, the aftermath had been far from positive. The last thing Nora wanted was to call attention to the matter and make him feel uncomfortable.
“Have you been to a gallery before?” Mr. Grenville asked quietly.
“No,” she admitted. “But I’m very much looking forward to it.”
He frowned. “I thought you said you liked art.”
She nodded. “I do.”
“Where have you seen any?” He leaned forward with interest.
“I’m from the country, not the moon.” Nora gave him a crooked smile. “Other people have paintings, and the church back home is full of pictures and stained glass. Since I’ve come to London, scarcely a day goes by without some exposure to the arts. The places we visit are well-decorated, and Lady Roundtree’s home boasts a hall of portraits.”
“Four-and-twenty portraits, to be exact,” the baroness put in proudly. “And a few tasteful sculptures strategically placed in locations throughout the town house.”
Mr. Grenville leaned back, a satisfied smile curving his lips. “You’re going to love the gallery.”
“Of course I will,” said Lady Roundtree.
Mr. Grenville wasn’t looking at her.
Nora’s cheeks heated involuntarily. She prayed she would not spend the next hour with her face flushed scarlet.
When they arrived at the gallery, a row of carriages just as fancy as the one they were in stretched down the street.
Panic inched along Nora’s spine. She would not be viewing works of art with Lady Roundtree and Mr. Grenville. She would be swept along in a current surrounded by much better, much bigger, much prettier fish.
Mr. Grenville and the footmen helped the baroness into her wheeled chair.
Nora stepped from the carriage and tried to project an air of serenity.
Before she knew it, she would be back home where everyone not only knew her name but came to her for advice, and invited her whole family to their functions. Invisibility in London was hardly a curse; a few months from now, she wouldn’t see any of these high-in-the-instep aristocrats ever again.
