To Win a Lady's Heart (The Landon Sisters) by Ingrid Hahn Page B

like.” She was muttering. “Beastly woman.”
    “I heard that.”
    Hetty lifted her face to him. “You only say she deserves our compassion because she’s your godmother.”
    “No, I’d say it regardless, though I mightn’t invite her here were she not.”
    “I hate it when you’re right.”
    “Should I be apologizing for the inconvenience?”
    “What about this business with Grace?”
    “What about it?”
    His sister flung herself down on the chair, head on the arm she rested over the curved back, and studied him. “I don’t understand you. I thought you’d be elated.”
    “Elated?”
    “By the engagement, of course. For all it came about in an odd manner—I know you couldn’t have liked having your hand forced a’tall—but it was a means to an end.”
    Corbeau snorted, on the brink of being amused, held back only for the fact of Hetty voicing observations rather too astute for comfort. “If I’ve ever been elated in my life, I don’t recall.”
    “No, you most certainly have not. Well, maybe by a new horse, but that hardly counts. After I heard about the engagement, though, I thought for certain you’d be—be—”
    “What?”
    “Well, I don’t know.” Hetty straightened and tossed up her hands. “But something other than this.”
    “And just what do you suppose this to be?”
    “I thought this was what you wanted. I thought you liked her. You’re taken with her, at least, I know that. You’re always staring at her.”
    The conjecture told him two things. One, Hetty was as sharply observant as ever and he had to be careful. And two, Grace had never told her friend that he’d once wanted to court her.
    He pretended to fuss with his sleeve. “She’s comely enough, I suppose.” Corbeau almost added that he never considered much either way, that he’d never particularly noticed his eyes drawn to Grace.
    But Hetty would see through such a blatant lie as easily as peering through window glazing.
    Laughing, she came to her feet. “Comely enough, you suppose?” She put a hard emphasis on each word. “High praise indeed from the likes of you.”
    “We’d better go down. We can’t avoid it forever.”
    His sister took his arm and allowed him to lead her from the room. “It’s funny. You’re aware of how much your natural reserve turns to outright reticence around her, don’t you?”
    Except—the cognizance came with a little shock, like the startling snap that comes of touching metal after walking on carpet on a dry day—when he was alone with Grace. Then, before he noticed what came over him, he fell into easy and comfortable conversation.
    With absence of mind, Hetty patted his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll do my best to keep the guests amused. You’ll be saved the trouble, I promise.”
    His natural reticence. Yes, well, Hetty was being kind to term it so gently.
    He should have been struck by how easy it was to talk with Grace. The things he said to her…if it wasn’t her, if it wasn’t Grace, he could never imagine thinking those thoughts, much less that there might be someone in the world to whom he might speak them aloud.
    …
    She wasn’t coming.
    Corbeau was making his fourth pass through the length of the gallery, strolling slowly past pictures of his ancestors.
    The bedchambers were well on the other side of the house; even the servants would have to take some trouble to come this way, especially at this time of night. The space was at once open and public, while assuring privacy. Even the most lurid imagination would be hard-pressed to believe any salacious dealings could happen in such a place.
    Although, considering the direction his imagination was apt to follow, perhaps that was overstating the case.
    The clock had chimed midnight at least five minutes ago. Maybe ten.
    What time had it been this morning when he’d taken her to the stables? Early enough. Just because there was no way he would sleep until they’d spoken did not mean the same was true of