Had it not been so very evident from the very first, from the moment she’d stepped out of the mud-splattered carriage?
How had he not seen that every movement had been that of a gently bred duke’s sister?
The pride with which she carried herself, even when she wore a companion’s modest attire. It was in everymovement, every glance. The confidence with which she spoke with people.
The efficiency with which she handled everyone at the inn.
He stared at her profile and wondered how on earth he had been so blind as to miss how it resembled Julius’s. The proud, high forehead, the gently tilting nose.
The curve of her lips, the stubbornness of her chin—all typical Stafford-Hill features.
How on earth could he not have seen any of that?
He repressed another groan.
How could he recognise and unmask a French spy from a distance but fail to identify the woman he was to marry?
And what about her?
What devil had got into her that she would string him along in such a manner, make such a fool of him, and purposely deceive him? It was understandable why she might have told that fib to the innkeeper; her lie must have sprung up in a moment of rashness. But from the moment he’d introduced himself, what had induced her to hide her identity from him and maintain the charade?
He rubbed his neck.
He was at fault, of course.
The mistake, initially, had been on his side.
He had focused entirely on her companion, mistaking her for his bride, and he had hardly spared her a glance. In fact, he’d treated her rather rudely and brushed her aside as a mettlesome servant.
To treat a duke’s sister like that…and his betrothed, to boot.
He cringed inwardly.
Surely, it must have been humiliating to say the least, and cut her pride to the quick.
His behaviour had been unforgivable.
But she…
She had been roasting him from the very start.
Mocking him, playing him for the fool he no doubt was.
She had had a merry time hoodwinking him, taking on another disguise, acting and assuming an entirely different identity.
He glared at her.
How much of what he had seen of her so far had really been her? He went over every single interaction with her in his mind.
He’d dismissed her as a prim little sugar poppet when he’d first seen her. She certainly had behaved that way.
Yet she undoubtedly had heard his dismissal of her, and quite possibly, that must have riled her.
He paused as an entirely new notion occurred to him.
Had she decided to play the daft poppet simply to rile him?
This demonstrated not only an exceptional eye for detail, as she had assessed and judged his character on the spur of the moment, but also acting talent; that of setting aside her true identity and assuming that of the companion.
