He called out as he approached so as not to startle her. “Lady Grayson.”

Pel turned to face him with a winsome smile. “My lord. You look very dashing.”

So it was that way, was it? Pretend as if nothing had happened.

He smiled with all the charm he possessed, and lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “A husband must, to escort a wife as fair as you, my lovely Isabel.”

Her hand shook a little in his, and her voice when she spoke had a slight catch. “You flatter me.”

He wished to do a great deal more to her, but that would have to wait. He tucked her hand around his arm, and led her to the door.

“Even I cannot do you justice,” she said, as he retrieved her flowered straw hat from the clerk and set it on her head, pinning it in place with the ease of familiarity. The door chimes rang, and he stepped closer, his back to the street, to allow the new customer to pass. The air sweltered between him and Pel, flushing her skin and tensing his frame.

“You need a lover,” she breathed, those sherry eyes wide and held by his gaze.

“I have no need of one. I have a wife who desires me.”

“Good afternoon, my lord,” the clerk called out, rounding the counter.

Gerard moved to her side, and offered his arm again. Now facing the doorway, he saw the distinguished-looking gentleman who wore an expression of such horror it did not take but a moment to register who it must be. And what he must have heard.

“Good afternoon, Lord Hargreaves.” His fingers closed over Pel’s on his arm, staking an irrefutable claim. Never having been a possessive man, he frowned and tried to examine why he should feel this way now.

“Good afternoon, Lord and Lady Grayson,” the earl said tightly.

Isabel straightened. “Lord Hargreaves, a pleasure.”

But it was not, not for any of them. The tension was palpable. “Excuse us,” Gerard said when Hargreaves continued to block the doorway. “We were on our way out.”