Michael cursed his abominable luck.

After being kicked out of the “mouse’s” house three days prior, he crossed paths with her everywhere he went.

Yesterday, she and her mother had entered Gunter’s confectioner just as he was walking out, and now she was crossing St. James street not fifty feet ahead with one of her sisters.

The one that didn’t hate him. As far as he knew.

He stepped beneath the awning of Hoby’s Boot and Shoe to watch from the safety of shadows.

To his eye, the elder Miss Grenville didn’t seem mousy at all. Not when she’d quoted scripture to him at the park. Not when she’d threatened to toss him out on his ear. And certainly not as she laughed behind a slender gloved hand, her green eyes sparkling above wind-blushed cheeks. There was nothing forgettable about her.

She was alternately playful and serious, in accordance with whatever conversation she was having with her sister, her animated expressions captivating even from a distance.

Good Lord, he had seriously misjudged her. Or else society had. He frowned as he tried to recall whether he had heard rumors of her mousiness prior to his ill-fated clash with Phineas Mapleton… or if he’d reached his conclusions simply because there had never been any gossip about Miss Grenville at all.

Michael prowled closer, more intrigued than he would like.

The eldest could hold her own with any man. The youngest was precocious on purpose. And the middle sister… well. Every family had its eccentricities. His lips curved. They were quite a family.

He didn’t need the Grenvilles in his life by any means. Would scarcely notice their absence from his social queue. Except—he had noticed. Was still noticing. Miss Grenville looked more open, more approachable, than she had at any other moment. Perhaps he should take this opportunity to apologize.

Hesitation kept him rooted in the shadows. He shook his head.

No, he needn’t apologize. Not to the eldest Grenville, or at least not right now. His first apology, if he was going to mend his character and develop a positive reputation, was due to her termagant sister. Who was blessedly not present.

Michael winced. That was not an apology he wished to do publicly. He was too close to winning his wager. To creating a new name for himself.

In fact, he was still doing his best at not making public scenes at all. Thus far, it was working. A fortnight had passed without his name in the scandal columns. Fourteen blessed days without a caricature of some private moment passed all over town.

This was definitely not the moment for a public chat with the Grenvilles. Even without the middle sister. Besides, the other two were having too splendid an afternoon for him to ruin it by reminding them of a time they were unhappy.

Another day, then.

Even as he made the resolution not to interrupt, a third bonnet joined the others. The delightfully outspoken middle sister. Perhaps the Grenville sisters’ perfect afternoon was about to be spoiled.

As he watched, however, the eyes of the eldest and youngest sisters brightened at her approach. The middle sister was far from sour-faced today. She made amusing expressions and gesticulated wildly as she regaled her sisters with a tale apparently so hilarious that it made the youngest chit hiccup with laughter.

Guilt pricked Michael’s conscience. He regretted speaking so harshly to the middle sister. No one deserved to be insulted in one’s own home. Nor did the chit seem at all prone to a churlish disposition. He frowned. The only person Michael had ever heard refer to her in a negative manner was Phineas Mapleton—who was hardly an unbiased source of factual information.

What if it truly had been Michael who had spoiled the mood? One person’s rudeness did not give him permission to respond in kind. He knew he’d spoken out of turn because of an incredibly rotten day. But perhaps she had, too. Perhaps their sharp-tongued encounter had simply been the last straw in a long day for both of them.

He straightened his cravat. The young lady deserved an honest apology. And perhaps catching her in a pleasant humor was exactly the right time for both of them.

Before the women could slip out of sight, he stepped out from under the awning and hurried through the bustling street to catch up to them.

The closer he got, the more struck he was by the sisters’ similarities and their differences.

From a distance, one might be forgiven for confusing one young lady for the other. They were all dark-haired, curvy creatures of a similar height, with high cheekbones and upturned noses and cupid’s bow mouths.

Up close, however, it was impossible to confuse the sisters.

The middle sister was sharp-eyed and dangerously perceptive. Her animated expressions tended toward the ironic, and her quick, subtle movements gave the sense that she was always alert to her surroundings. He couldn’t help but wonder the reason for her heightened vigilance.

The youngest sister’s eyes held nothing but mischief. Her confidence was almost a swagger, as if she took nothing seriously, least of all herself. But wide-eyed sarcasm and easy laughter made her far too easy to underestimate. He suspected there was more intelligence beneath her bonnet than she liked to let on.

But the green-eyed eldest, on the other hand, was the most mysterious of the three. Somehow, she’d managed to acquire either no particular reputation whatsoever—or that of a perfect little mouse. Yet she sang for strangers and had sprung to defend her sister with the ferocity of a tigress.

Not only that, but what on earth had she been doing unchaperoned in the remotest corner of Hyde Park? Had it been any other woman, he might have suspected an assignation underway, but there had been no other souls around. Not to mention her unorthodox adieu had included a quotation from the Bible. At the time, he had thought her religious beliefs were what kept her in the shadows, but now…

Intrigued, Michael allowed his gaze to linger. He hadn’t the least idea what went on inside her head. To his surprise, he wished he did. She wasn’t nearly as easy to label as “the mischievous sister” and “the blunt-spoken sister” seemed to be. Perhaps none of them were, and it was folly to even try. He should simply apologize and move on.

Just as he was about to call out to them, a carriage rattled by, cutting off his view for a frustrating moment.

When the wheels had cleared, the sisters were just turning onto Piccadilly. The bonnets of the eldest and the youngest were angled toward each other, rather than the road. But the middle sister’s gaze snapped to Michael as if she’d sniffed him on the wind.

The chill in her dark eyes froze him right where he stood.

He debated how best to proceed. Perhaps… now was not the time to apologize after all. He smiled and waved his fingers in a tentative greeting.

She curled her lip in obvious distaste, turned her back without bothering to acknowledge the greeting, and stalked off behind her sisters.

That answered at least one question, he decided wryly. He should definitely find a less public place for his apology.

He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone had observed him losing a silent duel with a mere slip of a girl. The caricaturists would roast him for weeks. His shoulders relaxed.

No one was watching, save for the Transfiguration figures in the painted glass windows of St. James church.

Once again, his mind returned to the eldest Grenville sister.

What Bible passage had she quoted to him? Genesis, chapter fifteen, verse… nine, was it? He did not pretend to be unaware of his reputation as a rakehell, but she would have no reason to all but accuse him of practicing adultery. He hesitated.

Perhaps there was more context to that passage than he had gathered from all the “pain he hath wrought” and “shall burn in hells” she had so gleefully quoted.

He ducked into the church and made his way up through the twin rows of walled pews to the altar beneath the arched wooden ceiling. Before anyone could note Lord Wainwright’s unprecedented interest in scripture, he flipped the Bible’s pages to Genesis until he found chapter fifteen, verse nine.

What? He paused, blinked, then read it again in disbelief.

Heifer.

She-goat.

Young pigeon.

Strangled laughter burst from his throat as he quickly closed the Bible and stepped away from the altar. He had been had, and good. By none other than an alleged green-eyed mouse. Who was obviously nothing at all of the kind. He shook his head in appreciation.

Only one thing was certain.

There was far more to Miss Grenville—and her entire musical family—than met the eye.