“Enough about Elliott. We certainly won’t solve that problem tonight. And I want to hear all about Lord Avery. Every last detail.”
Bella’s belly twisted at the thought of lying to her sister. But it would be better for everyone, Prissa included, if she believed the same story everyone else did. It wouldn’t be fair, after all, to ask her sister to keep such a secret. “He’s incredibly kind,” she began. Because he was perhaps the kindest gentleman she’d ever met.
“And honorable, like you hoped for?” Prissa asked. “Does he love art? Does he treat you well?”
Bella laughed a bit nervously. “He enjoys art, like I do,” she lied. “And he’s more honorable than I have a right to expect.” That at least was the truth.
Prissa sighed with contentment. “He is very handsome. And he seemed so enamored with you over dinner.”
Yes, well, Greg was a very good actor, wasn’t he?
“How did you meet him? How did you bring him up to scratch so soon? Tell me everything.”
“Well, I actually met him at the Astwicks’. So thank you for forcing me to attend the other night.”
“You weren’t there very long.”
“Elliott made a scene that night as well.” Just the memory of it made Bella sick to her stomach.
“But it clearly didn’t matter if Lord Avery offered for you anyway.”
“We had such a nice conversation about painting techniques before Elliott did so,” she lied. “And—” Goodness, what was it Lady Clayworth had said? Oh, yes. “—It was love at first sight,” she continued. “Even after Elliott was awful, Lord Avery thought about me and sought me out this morning, professing his undying love.”
“True love triumphs over everything.” Prissa sighed wistfully. “And all before Johann arrives in London. Honestly, Bella, you are the luckiest girl alive. Do you know that?”
Bella felt far from lucky. Oh, she was fortunate Greg was willing to aid her temporarily, but in a few weeks, they’d go their separate ways and her good fortune would come to an end.
* * *
What the devilwas Greg doing, standing outside a bawdy house in the middle of Covent Garden? He’d very clearly lost his mind. Whatever Gillingham was up to, was truly none of his concern. But he couldn’t shake Bella’s anguished expression from earlier that evening from his mind. And this was where the Chatham footman had suggested Greg search for his wayward would-be brother-in-law.
Out of nowhere, a dagger whizzed through the air and when an angry yelp echoed into the air, he realized some fellow in the shadows had almost been upon him. Good God!
And then a man in mask, all in black, raced past him after the cutpurse, leaving Greg to gape after the pair of them. For the love of God.
His heart pounded as he realized belatedly that he had, very foolishly, ignored Lockington’s warning about Covent Garden. There really was a man in a mask, throwing daggers at people. It was quite possible London truly was worse than he remembered.
“Visiting a brothel on the very day you get betrothed?” came an oh-too familiar voice from behind him.
Tristan.
“I hardly think that bodes well for your future.”
Greg glanced over his shoulder at his brother and frowned. “Following me?”
“Thought it might be the best way to get some answers.” Tristan shrugged as he closed the distance between them.
“Did you see that?” Greg stared off in the direction the dagger thrower and the thief had disappeared. ‘That fellow wielding a dagger?”
“The Covent Guard, they’re calling him.”
“He’s mad,” Greg breathed out, still a little shaken by the whole thing.
“Probably,” Tristan agreed. “It’s not Pappewick, Greg. You should take a care when frequenting low-rent brothels in the dead of night.”
Oh, for God’s sake. The dank hovel was hardly the sort of place Greg would frequent. “I’m looking for someone.”
Tristan snorted. “I’m certain there are several someones in there, but unless you’re looking to contract the pox…”