Page 70 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

“Generally.”

Augusta laughed again, lowering her gaze toward her plate. Ronan’s attention shifted from her to Gregory.

His friend caught the look.

“What?” Ronan asked.

Gregory lifted his brows. “I beg your pardon?”

“Gregory,” the warning in Ronan’s voice only seemed to amuse him further.

Augusta looked from one man to the other. “I have the distinct impression that there is a conversation taking place here from which I am being excluded.”

Gregory’s smile widened, but instead of contradicting him immediately, he took a measured sip of wine. “There is no conversation. Ravenhill is simply attempting to determine why I am enjoying myself, which is difficult for him because he tends to regard enjoyment with deep suspicion.”

“Oh, you’re both reading too much into things.” Ronan held his gaze. “All I am trying to decide is whether you are deliberately being more irritating than usual, which is quite the “

Gregory considered that with exaggerated seriousness. “I do not believe so. Although I admit that meeting your wife has inspired me. She laughs at my observations, which is considerably more rewarding than speaking to you. You generally respond to my finest efforts by staring at me until I begin wondering whether I have accidentally insulted one of your ancestors.”

Augusta laughed again and Ronan’s jaw tightened. Gregory’s eyes flicked toward him.

This time the amusement in them was unmistakable.

There was nothing unusual about Gregory making a woman laugh. He liked women and women liked him as he was charming without effort, and flirtatious in a manner that was rarely offensive because he seemed to flirt with the entire world rather than any one particular woman.

That knowledge ought to have made Ronan indifferent. Instead, every time Augusta laughed, his irritation seemed to deepen.

Augusta turned to Gregory. “How did the two of you become friends in the first place? I admit I find it difficult to imagine. You seem very different.”

“We are,” Gregory replied, settling more comfortably against the back of his chair. “That is probably why the friendship survived. If there were two Ravenhills in the world, society would collapse under the weight of all that disapproval. If there were two of me, on the other hand, we should probably bankrupt ourselves within the year.”

“You would bankrupt yourselves within a month,” Ronan said.

Gregory nodded. “You see? This is why I keep him. He attends to practical matters while I contribute charm.”

“I have never attended to any practical matter on your behalf.”

“That is terribly ungrateful. Who advised me not to purchase that estate in Derbyshire? And who prevented me from investing in that shipping venture?”

“I told you it was obviously fraudulent.”

“Precisely. Practical matters.”

Augusta smiled. “Then perhaps you complement each other better than either of you is willing to admit.”

Gregory turned toward her with evident approval. “An excellent observation. I have been telling him the same thing for years, although naturally I phrase it in a manner more flattering to myself.”

“You tell me that I would be intolerable without you,” Ronan said.

“And I stand by it.”

Augusta set down her glass. “Now I truly do think I am missing something. You are both speaking as though there is some secret between you.”

“There is no secret,” Ronan told her.

Gregory inclined his head. “None at all. Your husband is simply in a peculiar mood tonight.”

Augusta looked at Ronan for a few seconds, and he became irritatingly conscious of her attention.