The Count grinned at me across the table.
He was clearly excited. The kind of excitement that comes from cornering one's prey, I supposed.
But I refused to be cornered by this man. Not when I could simply flip the script and corner him myself. I pictured his poor mother as I emptied my mind of all the previous preparations I'd made and began thinking of new strategies.
"Have you come here before? Personally, I'd recommend trying the fruit tart. And the chocolate cake is especially good if you enjoy rich desserts." The Count prattled on like this was some kind of casual meetup.
"I'm not a huge fan of rich things," I replied. "And, may I ask what your connection to Madam Macaron is?"
The Count leaned back in his chair. Our game had officially begun.
"She and her husband are good friends of mine. She assured me setting this up was no bother to her, if you're concerned."
"Well, I must say I'm glad the Madam was not bothered by you, Count. But I must wonder what you wanted to speak with me about to point you'd go to such lengths rather than penning a simple letter."
"Is it too much to want to enjoy something sweet with a new acquaintance?"
"When your 'new acquaintance' is a married woman who did not consent to meeting with you nor being called your acquaintance, yes, it would seem to be too much, Count."
The Count paused. "Ah, I see. I suppose I should have sought your husband's consent before inviting you here."
My jaw tightened. My husband's consent? Had I not just clearly stated the issue was my consent?! Curse this stupid society and its stupid men!
"Next time, I will be sure to write to your husband beforehand."
I swear he was pushing my buttons on purpose at this point.
But the joke was on him. I am my own husband.
"Yes, please do," I said. "In fact, why don't we postpone this until then?"
I scooted my chair back, fully aware I was squandering the perfect opportunity to get some real dirt on the Count.
But dirt is useless for dead men except to bury their corpses with, and Count Graye was soon to become just that if I had to sit and listen to him say the word 'husband' one more time.
The Count jumped up as I rose to my feet. Then he reached out and took one of my hands. "Please, stay seated, Madam."
Sir, you have no idea how dangerous it is for you if I keep sitting here.
"Perhaps, you could tell me, at least, the reason you wanted to meet with me, and I will decide if I wish to remain seated afterward." I tugged my hand free.
Count Graye cleared his throat, quickly recovering from his momentary lack of composure. "Of course. Please sit back down, and I'll be happy to explain why I asked Madam Macaron to have you come here."
The most disconcerting part of all of this was that I could not possibly fathom what was going on in the Count's mind. He knew exactly what to say to make me angry. But then acted almost.. desperate? to keep me from leaving.
Why? WHY?
My mind whirled as I slowly took my seat again, feeling certain that I was making a mistake. "Alright, go ahead and state your intentions, Count Graye."
He sighed. "Well, I ran into an acquaintance of yours the other day. Lady Abigail Taylor is your friend, correct?"
So I was right when I saw them together in the street the other day. Lady Abigail was talking about me with the Count. I assumed she was merely pointing me out, but what else had she told him for him to act this way?
"I'd say the Lady is more of a business associate really," I tread carefully. That better matched the story I told the women at the tea party, after all. "But what has she got to do with this?"
"Ha," the Count chuckled dryly. "I assumed it was just me, but are all your relationships with others like this? Strictly business?"
Excuse me? My relationships with others all business? Of course, not! I may be a business-minded woman with a particular distaste for noblemen, but I still had genuine friends.
Marissa, for example, was a dear-
Maid. An obligated, paid servant.
But Lady DaBraose was-
Also someone I employed.
Hmmm. At that moment, I couldn't think of anyone specifically I called a friend, but that didn't mean I was a friendless sour hag!
(Well, perhaps, I am a bit of a sour hag, but I maintain that I am not a friendless one!)
"What about your relationship with the Marquess Wulfstan then?" the Count pressed further. "Business, I assume?"
Now that one was easy. I was a beautiful, talented, strong, intelligent woman, and Wolf was my devoted lackey. But, as you know, I have a strict no public contact policy with the man, so I couldn't very well admit to that.
"Hmm? No relationship," I insisted. "I'm more interested in your relationship with him. I heard some very intriguing stories recently about the two of you."
I leaned forward, resting my chin on my laced hands. Now was the moment of my reward. Surely, the Count had heard the rumors already. Would he blush in embarrassment? Or become irritated? I could hardly contain my excitement.
—Oh, wait. That wasn't what I was here for, though. The slippery little Count had again evaded telling me what he actually wanted from me. I had to get things back on track
"I knew him when we were children, but I wouldn't call him a friend." The Count took a sip of tea, maintaining (to my great disappointment) a perfectly calm expression. "I simply visited his estate a few times."
"No, you didn't-" (I was there, after all. I would know.) "-oh, I mean, is that so? I do still fail to see what this has to do with our meeting, however." I faked a little chuckle as I steered the conversation back to where it started.
The count smiled at me. Not so much a sly grin this time as genuine amusement. "You simply won't be swayed will you? Alright then. The reason is-"
CRASH!