Page 67 of A Match Made On Duchess Square

“Likely.”

Gwendolyn knew in this moment she had lost all chance with him.

He’d made it clear that he would never accept being second in her heart. By her actions, he now believed this was all he was to her…second best.

The irony of it was that she had not been thinking of Andrew at all until the moment he walked into that café. Then, all she had wanted to do was crack the heaviest pot she could find over his head, because it was unpardonable that he would treat her so callously when all along he’d been hale and healthy.

And now, she had lost James because of her stupid hesitation.

It had all happened so fast, all she could think to do was stall for time.

Why did love have to be so complicated?

James continued to hold her hand as they walked along the beach, but she did not believe this signified anything. Perhaps he thought her clumsy and only held on to her for her own good.

But she was not going to question his reasons, because she wanted his touch. In truth, she thought she might crave it.

Would she feel the same tingles if Andrew held her hand?

James did not look at her or talk to her for the remainder of their walk. Perhaps it was for the best that whatever this was between them ended now. After all, did it not violate some matchmaker oath to fall in love with one’s client?

It certainly was not a good idea to love two men at the same time. This struck her as rather messy.

She knew the time was upon her to make a decision.

James or Andrew?

Now would be a good time for her heart to speak up.

Chapter Thirteen

James was going through the newly arrived mail the following morning when Fiona burst into his study with all the fury of a Horseman of the Apocalypse. “Why did you not tell me that you saw Andrew Clement yesterday?”

“Good morning, Your Grace,” he said wryly, for his neighbor, despite having married Robert Durham, the current Duke of Durham, one of the most powerful titles in England, had acquired none of the aloofness or decorum one would expect of a duchess.

He supposed this was why everyone adored her, even if she was annoyingly meddlesome and had diabolically plotted to match him with Gwendolyn from the start.

She placed her hands on his desk and frowned at him. “Do not ‘good morning’ me, Milbury. We all had supper together last night, and neither you nor Gwendolyn ever said a word about it.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Then how did you find out?”

She cleared her throat. “I have my sources.”

“I’ll bet you do,” he said with a resigned sigh, then frowned back at her. “I did not speak of him because I never saw him.”

“You didn’t?” She appeared surprised. “How could you not? That café is small, and you could not have missed him seated there.”

“Precisely.”

“What do you mean?”

James sighed again because he was in no humor to relive that disappointing moment. “I did not see him because he wasn’t there.”

She gasped. “Are you suggesting Gwendolyn made him up?”

“He wasn’t there, Fiona. That is all I am saying. What am I supposed to think?”

She frowned at him again. “She isn’t Cordelia.”