Filled with self-disgust, he sat at his desk and began a list of things he wanted changed. Before long he had filled several sheets.

“My lord?”

He lifted his head to see the lackey in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Her ladyship inquired after you. She wishes to know if you have decided against tea?”

Gerard glanced at the clock in surprise, and then pushed away from the desk and stood. “The dining room, or the parlor?”

“Her ladyship’s boudoir, my lord.”

Every muscle tensed again. How had he forgotten that, too? He had enjoyed sitting in that bastion of femininity and watching her prepare for her evenings out. As he climbed the stairs, he thought back on what time they’d spent together and admitted it had been filled with very little meaningful discourse. But he knew he had liked her, and that she had been a confidant to him.

He needed a friend now, since he no longer had any. He determined that he would rekindle the friendship he had once enjoyed with his wife, and with that expectation in mind, he lifted his hand and knocked on her door.

Isabel took a deep breath at the sound of the soft knock, and then called out permission to enter. Gray came in, pausing on the threshold, a telling moment of hesitation she had not seen from him before. Lord Grayson never waited. He leapt into action the moment he thought of something, which is how he often landed into mischief.

He stared at her, long and hard. Enough to make her regret the decision to receive him in her dressing gown. She had debated internally for almost half an hour, and in the end had decided to act as much as possible like she had before. Surely, the sooner they settled into their usual routine, the more comfortable they both would be.

“I believe the water is most likely cold by now,” she murmured, turning away from the gilded vanity to sit on the nearby chaise. “But then I was always the one who drank tea.”