* * *
Greg stoodby the far window in Chatham’s blue parlor, his hands clasped behind his back. What the devil was he even doing here? And how the devil had he let his sister talk him into this nonsense? Of course, he knew the answer to those questions. Cordie had blackmailed him—she’d used his own guilt against him to get her way. And now here he was, his hands clammy, his gut uneasy, his breath a little short as trepidation swamped him while he waited for the beautiful Lady Arabella to make her appearance.
Her visage had popped into his mind from time to time over the last few days, that grateful smile she’d flashed Greg when he’d kept Gillingham from falling to the floor. It was a brief smile, followed by an expression of horror when her inebriated brother had retched across Greg’s boots; but that first smile, that simple expression of gratitude kept creeping into his thoughts whenever he least expected it. He had thought about her. He had wondered about her, wondered what had inspired her hasty departure from Hyde Park the previous day, wondered if the pretty girl with the grateful smile was really as angelic as she seemed. And now he might very well pretend to be her fiancé, which was completely ludicrous.
Why would a lady as lovely as Arabella Winslett need a pretend fiancé anyway? She was certainly attractive enough to have her pick of suitors. Perhaps Gillingham regularly tossed up his accounts upon men interested in his sister. That would certainly make a fellow reconsider his affections. Or was it something else? Something a fellow couldn’t see with his eyes. He’d never seen a woman as lovely as Marina, but her beauty had only gone as deep as her skin, something he hadn’t, in his youthful ignorance, realized until well after her death.
Not that any of that mattered in relation to Lady Arabella. He wasn’t truly going to marry the girl. He was just going to pretend to plan to do so. Perhaps. He still wasn’t certain about that. The entire thing seemed like a very bad idea, and he couldn’t help but think that his very orderly life was about to be upended no matter what he decided.
“You could sit down, you know?” Cordie glanced up at him from her spot on the brocade settee. Her green eyes seemed to assess him most unnervingly. What an irritating trait she and Tristan shared, this ability to see straight into his soul.
“I’d rather stand,” he grumbled, wishing he was nearly anywhere else in the world but where he was at that moment. Even still, he crossed the room ‘til he was just a few feet away from his sister.
“You look as though you’ve been condemned to swing from the gallows.”
He shot his sister a glance that said her estimation was particularly on spot.
She sighed as she picked at a piece of imaginary lint from her skirts. “I just don’t want you to scare the girl, Greg. She seems to be of the timid variety. Not being so stiff might put her better at ease.”
And who was going to put him at ease? Before he could say as much, the parlor door opened and Lady Arabella rushed inside. Instantly, her eyes locked with Greg’s and her mouth dropped open in surprise.
Greg could only stare at her in return, a bit surprised himself. A green smudge of something was smeared across her right cheek. What the devil?
“Oh!” Lady Arabella said, touching a hand to her heart as though she recognized Greg. Perhaps she did. They hadn’t encountered each other under the best of circumstances.
He wondered briefly if she’d thought of him since that encounter? He felt a bit of satisfaction at that idea, though he shouldn’t feel anything at all. Wouldn’t any girl remember a fellow after her brother retched across the man’s boots?
“So nice to see you again,” Cordie said softly, then touched a hand to her own cheek. “Arabella, you have something on your face. Here.” She glanced back at Greg. “Do hand her your handkerchief, Gregory.”
Greg closed the distance between himself and the lady, as though drawn to her by some force he couldn’t see. Up close, her silvery eyes twinkled ever so softly and his breath caught slightly in his throat. Even that green smudge on her cheek, didn’t diminish her overall loveliness. In fact, it made her the tiniest bit more endearing. Strange, that.
“My face?” the girl asked, brushing a hand across her cheek and then staring at a green smudge that now stained her fingers. “Oh, goodness!” Her face flashed crimson. “I’m so sorry. I must look affright. Do excuse me.” She turned as if she meant to dash from the room.
But before she could escape, Greg stepped in front of her and said, “Here you are,” as he lifted his handkerchief out to her.
When Lady Arabella blinked up at him, a tightness squeezed Greg’s heart. Before he could think the better of it, he brushed his handkerchief across her cheek, removing the green smudge that, up close, appeared to be paint of some sort.
Damn it all, her silvery eyes pierced his soul. She looked so frightened, so haunted, so embarrassed. He couldn’t help but wish to put her at ease.
From the settee, Cordie cleared her throat. “Arabella, I believe you’re already acquainted with my brother, Baron Avery.”
“Umm.” She shook her head slightly, her raven curls brushing against her shoulders, her grey eyes still locked with Greg’s. “Well, we haven’t been formally introduced.”
“Gregory Avery,” he said softly, hardly recognizing his own voice. “At your service, my lady.”
A shy smile settled on her lips. “Bella…er…that is, Arabella Winslett.”
Bella? Beautiful in Italian, wasn’t it? The name suited her, perfectly. “Very nice to meet you, Lady Arabella.”
And it truly was. God, she was radiant in a very innocent sort of way.
She blushed, and Greg bit back a smile. Blushing Bella. Some part of him decided in that instant that he would dearly love to make her blush as often as he was able. It wouldn’t be so awful playing her fiancé, would it? She did need someone’s help, at least if his sister was to be believed. With him she’d be safe, safer than she’d be with any other fellow that his sister might engage for the role.
Cordie caught his eye, a questioning glance in hers, and Greg heaved a sigh as he nodded in agreement. All right, he’d do it. Though he suspected Cordie had no intention of letting him leave Chatham House without his agreement.
His sister beamed in response. “Arabella,” she began, “do come join me so we can talk through our plan of action. Time is of the essence, after all.”
Bella, as it was hard to think of her as anything else, dragged her gaze from Greg’s and then crossed the room to settle beside his sister.