Page 68 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“Do not,” Ronan said.

“I have not spoken.”

“You are about to.”

“I was only considering whether I should begin with the way you looked at her when she entered or the speed with which you explained why I would be dining here,” Gregory replied as he lowered himself into the chair once more. “Both were remarkable, although the silence after she mentioned the lemon cakes may deserve special attention.”

“There was no meaningful silence.”

“It was long enough for Augusta to offer an explanation that no one had requested, and it was followed by both of you avoiding one another’s eyes as though the word ‘cakes’ had acquired an indecent meaning overnight.”

Ronan picked up his pen.

“You are inventing amusement where none exists.”

“I am observing what occurred directly in front of me,” Gregory said. “You have spent the morning insisting that there is nothing for me to notice, yet your wife entered the room, you forgot that you were tired, and then you began explaining yourself with such urgency that I nearly looked behind me to see whether another husband had appeared.”

“I explained the situation so she would understand why you were here.”

“She understood that I was here when she saw me,” Gregory replied. “She became surprised only when I said I would remain for dinner, and you reacted as though she might conclude that you had deliberately disrupted some private plan.”

“We dine together most evenings.”

“Yes,” Gregory said slowly. “I gathered that.”

Ronan’s eyes narrowed.

“There is nothing unusual about dining with one’s wife.”

“Nothing at all, although Augusta clearly expected the two of you to be alone, and you clearly cared that she knew the alteration had not been your choice,” Gregory replied. “That is not scandalous, Ronan, yet it is interesting, particularly when added to the fact that both of you became awkward the moment your eyes met.”

“We were not awkward.”

“You were so awkward that I briefly wondered whether I had entered the wrong room and interrupted a conversation that had begun before Augusta knocked.”

“She came to ask about Sarah.”

“I heard her.”

“Then stop inventing another purpose.”

Gregory leaned back and folded his arms.

“I am not inventing anything, although I admit I am curious about what happened during the evening of stories and lemon cakes, since Augusta appeared unable to mention it without blushing, while you suddenly became fascinated by the papers on your desk.”

Gregory stared at him.

“I have known you through grief, injury, duty, and more bad tempers than I can count, yet I have never seen you offer such a weak defence with so much determination,” he said. “You could simply admit that something has changed between you and your wife.”

“Nothing has changed.”

“Then perhaps the two of you have always looked at one another as though a private thought passed between you and neither knows what to do with it.”

Ronan’s pen stopped above the page.

Gregory noticed.

“You see?” he continued. “I have not even met Augusta properly until today, and I already know enough to understand why you have delayed the introduction. You were not protecting her from me, and you were not protecting me from her. You were protecting whatever quiet arrangement has formed in this house from being observed by someone who knows you too well.”