“I don’t imagine myself in love—” He cut himself off, hoping she didn’t notice the stress on the word imagine. Good God, what was happening to him? He used to have a sense of humor. Even about himself. Especially about himself.
“You don’t?” She sounded pleasantly surprised. “Well, that’s refreshing.”
“Why,” he asked with narrowed eyes, “is that refreshing?
She returned with: “Why are you asking so many questions?”
“I’m not,” he protested, even though he was.
She sighed, then utterly surprised him by saying, “I am sorry.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She glanced at the egg salad sandwich on her plate, then back up at him, the order of which he did not find complimentary. He usually rated above egg salad. “I thought you would wish to speak of Hermione,” she said. “I apologize if I was mistaken.”
Which put Gregory in a fine quandary. He could admit that he’d fallen headlong in love with Miss Watson, which was rather embarrassing, even to a hopeless romantic such as himself. Or he could deny it all, which she clearly wouldn’t believe. Or he could compromise, and admit to a mild infatuation, which he might normally regard as the best solution, except that it could only be insulting to Lady Lucinda.
He’d met the two girls at the same time, after all. And he wasn’t headlong in love with her.
But then, as if she could read his thoughts (which frankly scared him), she waved a hand and said, “Pray do not worry yourself over my feelings. I’m quite used to this. As I said, it happens all the time.”
Open heart, insert blunt dagger. Twist.
“Not to mention,” she continued blithely, “that I am practically engaged myself.” And then she took a bite of the egg salad.
Gregory found himself wondering what sort of man had found himself attached to this odd creature. He didn’t pity the fellow, exactly, just . . . wondered.
And then Lady Lucinda let out a little “Oh!”
His eyes followed hers, to the spot where Miss Watson had once stood.
“I wonder where she went,” Lady Lucinda said.
Gregory immediately turned toward the door, hoping to catch one last glimpse of her before she disappeared, but she was already gone. It was damned frustrating, that. What was the point of a mad, bad, immediate attraction if one couldn’t do anything about it?
And forget all about it being one-sided. Good Lord.
He wasn’t sure what one called sighing through gritted teeth, but that’s exactly what he did.
“Ah, Lady Lucinda, there you are.”
Gregory looked up to see his sister-in-law approaching.
And remembered that he’d forgotten all about her. Kate wouldn’t take offense; she was a phenomenally good sport. But still, Gregory did usually try to have better manners with women to whom he was not blood related.
Lady Lucinda gave a pretty little curtsy. “Lady Bridgerton.”
Kate smiled warmly in return. “Miss Watson has asked me to inform you that she was not feeling well and has retired for the evening.”
“She has? Did she say—Oh, never mind.” Lady Lucinda gave a little wave with her hand—the sort meant to convey nonchalance, but Gregory saw the barest hint of frustration pinching at the corners of her mouth.
“A head cold, I believe,” Kate added.
Lady Lucinda gave a brief nod. “Yes,” she said, looking a bit less sympathetic than Gregory would have imagined, given the circumstances, “it would be.”
“And you,” Kate continued, turning to Gregory, “have not even seen fit to greet me. How are you?”
He took her hands, kissed them as one in apology. “Tardy.”