A Talent for Trouble by Jen Turano

very fashionable piece, Agatha. I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but before I turned delusional and thought my life was meant to be spent as a minister’s wife, I used to be highly particular about fashion. I need to make changes in my life, and one of those changes—not one of the largest changes, I know—is that I’m going to dress to please myself.
    â€œThat dress pleases me. It’s bold, but not in a forward way, and the color makes me feel feminine. If it causes a few tongues to wag, so be it.”
    â€œPlease tell me you’re not planning to continue on as Clara in order to get the tongues wagging.” A frisson of awareness swept over her, the masculine voice causing her to stiffen.
    She did not have to turn to know who was standing behind her, because there was only one person she knew in New York who possessed such a distinctive, and slightly intriguing, British accent.
    What in the world was Grayson doing at B. Altman’s?
    He was supposed to be extremely put out with her, but for some unknown reason, his tone seemed more amused than annoyed.
    She drew in a steadying breath and turned. The sight of Grayson lounging oh so casually against the doorframe, looking every inch the aristocrat, caused the unusual reaction of her breath catching in her throat.
    Her reaction to the man was ridiculous. Granted, he was extremely attractive, especially when he grinned—the grin bringing into sharp attention the two dimples her mother made mention of rather often. Her gaze drifted to his jacket, and she found no fault with the impeccable cut of gray, or with the waistcoat underneath, or even with the subtle dark tie that was tied to perfection around his neck. Her gaze lowered, taking in the pinstriped trousers and stopping at his shoes, unable to help but notice their glossy shine.
    He’d obviously secured the services of a well-trained valet since he’d come to America, which explained his immaculate appearance, but it didn’t explain why he was grinning. She lifted her head and, sure enough, he was still at it.
    What was wrong with him?
    They’d parted on less than amicable terms. She knew full well—even if no one else appeared to realize it—that he wasn’t the type of person to blithely set aside a grudge, especially considering he seemed to believe she’d almost caused him a horrible death due to her driving abilities.
    She finally realized he was waiting for a response, given that he was staring back at her with a trace of expectation in his eyes. “I’ve decided Clara is only to be brought out in extenuating circumstances, and since there’s nothing extenuating about shopping, she’s not around today.”
    â€œWell, we can thank the good Lord for that.”
    Funny, but it almost seemed as if there was now a touch of surliness edging his tone. Oddly enough, that thought had her feeling slightly better. A surly Grayson she could handle. “What are you doing here?”
    Grayson pushed away from the doorframe and stopped right in front of her. His nearness caused her pulse to once again go galloping off through her veins.
    It was a peculiar feeling, and one she didn’t happen to care for in the least.
    â€œA Mrs. Brown found me wandering aimlessly amongst the dresses and took pity on me, telling me I would find you in here.” Grayson took a step back and looked her up and down.
    A sliver of disappointment slid over her when he didn’t bother to remark about her new gown or hat but simply nodded, just once, and continued on with what he’d been saying.
    â€œShe assured me it was acceptable for me to enter what can only be described as a feminine domain because, in addition to telling me both of you were respectably gowned, she felt there might be a need for a distraction, and apparently I fit that bill.” He grinned yet again. “So, why do the two of you need a distraction, and more