The Lady in Disguise

Chapter Thirty-Two (part 2)

Before Emilia could protest, she found herself looking into those dratted bright blue eyes she'd been so studiously avoiding. "Of course it's you," she groaned.

"Pardon me?" Those blue eyes inquired. The light from the window beside them was dim, the glass cloudy. It was obvious this portrait hall, much like the ballroom, had not been cleaned in some time.

She looked at the cobwebs along the curved window, the dusty curtains that might have been burgundy once, as they were on the inside, but were now dyed a dull pink from the sun. She unwillingly dragged her eyes to his again. Even the dim light in here made them all the bluer. "What do you mean by... abducting me like this?"

"Abducting?" Mr. Byrne's eyes crinkled, as if amused. "I'm only waylaying you for a moment."

She should walk away. She really should. But she didn't. "Fine. Why are you... waylaying me?"

He stared at her for what felt like far too long. "You refused Tony."

Emilia could only nod. She had. Very carefully and without telling a lie, she had made it clear that Prudence Crewe had no desire to marry Sir Anthony Pembroke.

"So your hand is not spoken for," he said.

She sighed, "Mr. Byrne, if you are going to propose again, I should dissuade you from—"

"Is it Browning?" he asked, still with that amusement in his voice.

"Browning?"

"I noted you flirting with him," he teased. "You should know that he is a second son with no prospects except—"

"Mr. Browning is not without prospects," she said, ffended for Mr. Browning's sake, whether he was teasing or not. "He is a very intelligent young man, and far too young to marry. And I was not flirting with him. I was simply speaking to a kind and clever lad." She'd rather like to speak to him about herbs some more, for her own cosmetic concoctions. She'd never known much about medicinal herbs before, but his thoughts on arsenic being an unhealthy ingredient for powders was very interesting. "Mr. Browning seems to come alive when there's a chance to display his knowledge, even if he doesn't talk much outside of that."

"Aye. He's a very disdainful young man," Byrne said.

Emilia laughed. "Disdainful? He's quite obviously shy. He blushes whenever someone speaks well of him. It must not happen very often."

Byrne shook his head. "Snobbery can look like shyness, I suppose, but I know his family and, trust me—"

"I'd like to think I know what shyness looks like," Emilia protested.

He chuckled. "You must get some sort of thrill out of gainsaying me. You do it so often."

"You must get some thrill out of being rude. You are quite as rude about poor Mr. Browning as Mary Hartley was. Not so loudly, I grant you, but—"

"Enough about Mr. Browning. If you claim you weren't flirting, I'll believe you."

"Because I wasn't," Emilia said firmly.

"But you certainly weren't flirting with me," he grinned and leaned in, "and I'd like to correct that."

Emilia suddenly realized, again, where they were. In a curtained alcove. Hidden from sight. "And I'd like to go," she said, though she made no move to leave.

"Very well, then. But if you're going to continue avoiding me, I'd at least like to know why."

"I would have no reason to avoid you if you could avoid proposing to me," she muttered.