“I have decided Lady Fleur and I may share the shop,” Hart said.
Mr. Rundell and Fleur spoke at the same time.
“As you wish, Your…”
“No, we can’t.”
This time, Mr. Rundell looked at both of them like they were mad. This improved Fleur’s mood towards the proprietor considerably. Given that men were always assigning the titles “problem,” “mad,” or “emotional” to women only. It began to look as if the slovenly-dressed, angry-looking old man hated everyone.
And what a contrast he made next to the taller, well-formed, well put together duke—in some part, anyway.
Henry looked at her.
Both men did.
It was hard to say which of the surly pair was more put out with her.
“Fleur?”
No, it wasn’t difficult. Definitely Henry. His tone was as taut as a plucked bowstring. He wore his finest frown. Thoughhe’dcertainly believe it was his fiercest one.
“Yes, Henry?”
“I thought you had business to see to.” His words came out in the same sharp manner Fleur’s mother used when Quillon was…well, being Quillon.
“I do.”
He stared forever at Fleur. “And?”
She stared forever back at him. “Andit is a matter that requires discretion and privacy.”
When he shook his head in confusion as only a man could manage, Fleur sighed.
She made a point with her gaze.
“Hell, Fleur. Am I supposed to understand what you’re saying without your saying anything?”
Apparently, she was as bad at conveying unspoken meaning as he was at understanding silent gestures.
“You cannot be here, Henry.”
“I…” Henry stopped himself abruptly. “Ah. I understand.”
Relief filled her. “Oh, thank you. I really didn’t want to have to say it aloud and be rude,” she confessed.
“Any ruder, you mean, young lady?” Rundell groused.
“Lady Fleur,” Henry said, cutting in before things escalated, “Mr. Rundell and his staff are the soul of discretion. Anything said or done here will not leave the walls of his establishment.”
With those words, Henry proved he hadn’t understood after all.
Oh, dear. She would have to tell him.
“This unsufferable chit!” A reprieve came in the form of Mr. Rundell. “Calling me a bloody gossip, is she?”
“No, that was not my worry at—”
“I’m the bloodysoulof discretion!”