Page 62 of The Wallflower Takes All

The public formality told him she remembered precisely how the previous evening had ended.

So did he. “Miss Montfort.”

Her gaze dipped to the packet on the entryway table. “You have brought the contract.”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “Not that I have a prospect for signing it. But shall we discuss it in the drawing room?”

At that moment, a woman’s voice cried out from the drawing room, a note so piercing it sent Freddie barking in alarm.

Miss Montfort winced. “That is the soprano. I should explain.”

“I am developing a habit of wishing you would not need to,” Gabriel replied.

Her lips twitched. “That is very nearly kind, Mr. Ashby.”

Gabriel knew he should have given her the documents and left. He had become far too preoccupied with her mouth. Instead, he found himself grabbing the papers and following her into the drawing room.

The room looked as if a small riot had occurred. Two tradesmen stood near the mantel, one clutching his hat, the other maintaining civility by the thinnest possible thread. Lady Stone reclined on a sofa, awake but no more useful for it. The woman Gabriel surmised was the soprano stood near the pianoforte with one hand pressed to her throat, looking personally betrayed by her vocal cords. A gentleman Gabriel could not identify occupied a chair by the window and appeared to be asleep.

Upon the central sofa lay Mr. Loxley. The poet had one hand arranged over his heart, the other trailing toward the carpet, and his dark hair spread upon a cushion in a manner that suggested a corpse determined to be admired.

“Mr. Ashby, Poppy,” Lady Viva called from near the hearth. “Darlings, you may want to go to the study.”

“For what purpose?” Gabriel asked.

“Mr. Loxley’s death appears imminent,” Lady Viva informed him.

Mr. Loxley opened one eye. “Possibly.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at Mr. Loxley. “Still?”

The poet blinked.

Miss Montfort made a sound that was very nearly a laugh.

Gabriel turned.

She had pressed her lips together, but humor lit her eyes. This laughter was different from the bright, defensive sort she used to survive difficult rooms. It was real and irrepressible, and for one moment, despite the odd assembly surrounding them, she looked almost restored by the ridiculousness of it all.

Gabriel wanted to make her laugh again. The impulse unsettled him. He turned back to Mr. Loxley. “You appear remarkably durable.”

Mr. Loxley sighed. “Tragedy has always nourished me.”

“Cake nourishes him better,” Lady Viva said. “Sweetie, tell Cook to send up the rest of the seed cake. If Mr. Loxley is to expire, he should do it fortified.”

“I may not expire,” Mr. Loxley said, cracking open one eyelid.

“But you also may,” Miss Montfort said, laughter still trembling around the words.

“A man may recline without mortal consequence,” Mr. Loxley announced.

“In most households, perhaps,” Gabriel said dryly.

Miss Montfort looked at him, and this time she laughed. It was not much. A few soft, helpless notes. But it went through him with more force than it should have done.

Gabriel frowned. He was not here to make Miss Montfort laugh. He was here to deliver a marriage contract that would help her marry another man.