Page 9 of Captured by the Earl (The Secret Crusaders #2)

CHAPTER 9

L ondon Society News:

Another day, another three hastily announced betrothals.

It seems to be a growing practice, among unsuspecting ladies – and lords. Yet with a gentleman at the helm, all ends well, or at least scandal-free. Those who wish to have some say in the parson’s noose would do well to protect themselves from such instances.

And what of our mysterious rescuer? There are more than a few ladies who wouldn’t mind being caught in a garden with the unknown lord.

It was the perfect opportunity.

Alone in his townhome, with no one watching, they could share what his possessive nature demanded. Give in to desire, comply with the breathy demand that made her willingness more than apparent. Place her in a position in which she’d have no choice to accept the betrothal that would soon be real.

He could have it all.

Yet he couldn’t take it.

Philip felt the loss even as he pulled back, sharp and poignant and raw, as coldness replaced the warmth of her soft plump lips. He forced his hands away from eager curves, released the softness and cream to the empty air. Forced himself to move back from the scent of jasmine.

Her cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes widened with passion, surprise and… hurt.

He reached out. “Emma…”

“No.” She stepped back so quickly she almost lost her balance, but straightened herself. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking the same as I.” He held out his hands. “We both feel the connection between us. Yet this is not how I want it. A gentleman does not seduce innocents.”

She colored. “This is why the betrothal needs to end. You know what I wish for.”

“Ah, yes, a love match with the esteemed Stanton, the man who is single-handily saving London.” He stepped slowly around her, over a miniature bridge carved with hearts. “Do you truly love him?”

Her lips tightened into a thin line. She hesitated, as if weighing how she felt, or what to admit. “I may not feel that way now, but those feelings will come. He is everything I desire in a match.”

“Really? And is risking his life to save others on that list? What if he turns out not to be the rescuer?”

She didn’t hesitate. “It wouldn’t matter. He is kind and stable and dedicated to the right causes. He always stays in London. And yes, he may very well imperil his life to save others.”

“Many men do those things.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Really? How many people have you saved?”

“Hundreds.”

It was true.

“Jest if you must, but it does not change matters.” She gestured to the surroundings. “Even this does not change anything, not with your wealth. In another month, you’ll find a reason to leave.” She stood taller. “I am looking for a love match. A man who will share his desires, dreams and secrets. Can you do that?”

A memory flashed. A hundred memories in a hundredth of a second. The love he’d once taken a chance on, the love he’d lost. The moment he couldn’t save her.

His fault.

The self-incriminations came, as they always did. He never should have let her in, allowed her to discover the truth. It had cost her life, and his one chance at love. Emma was far too precious to risk.

His discretion would be even more important if Emma was his wife. She was obviously involved in her own causes. She was brave enough to slink through dangerous areas on her own and was pursuing some sort of social action goal. What would she do if she discovered the truth? He could just imagine her following him on a mission.

Just like before.

He would share his desires, but the dreams and secrets must remain his, especially when chasing a criminal.

“It would be a beneficial marriage,” he said carefully.

The hope in her eyes faded. “Therein lies the problem, my lord. I do not wish for a beneficial marriage. I wish for something extraordinary.”

She was extraordinary. Yet when a whisper of truth could put her in jeopardy, could he find another way to give her the extraordinary without revealing just how extraordinary he was? “What we have is extraordinary. We should explore it.”

“We have done enough exploring, thank you.” The hitch in her voice betrayed her composure. “Physical compatibility, while pleasant, does not indicate the extraordinary.” Her blush deepened, yet she faced him with a stalwart stance. “We are not truly betrothed.”

“The ton thinks otherwise. And despite your arguments…” He looked down at her lips. “I’m not so certain we would not suit. You do realize kissing is not a convincing strategy to end a betrothal.”

She had the grace to blush.

It was time to start acting like this betrothal was real. “There is another matter I wish to discuss.”

Her gaze turned suspicious.

“Your visits this morning.”

She frowned. “You accompanied me on my visits. Nothing untoward happened.”

That was debatable, yet he was not referring to their mutual visits. “Not those. The ones you took before we met.”

She colored. “I simply went on a walk.”

Another one of those untruths. She would soon learn she could not hide from him. “I know you visited the poor areas of town. While admirable, you put yourself at grave risk. I won’t stand for it.”

“I… you…” She clamped her mouth shut. “Did Bradenton tell you? Ugh! I shall have to gift Priscilla a vase at once.”

“I’m sorry?” He shook his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know. Bradenton does not allow his wife to partake in dangerous activities, and I will not allow you to do so.”

“Bradenton and Priscilla are married,’ she ground out. “And while I don’t believe it’s fair a wife has to obey her husband, at least he can claim some legitimate right. We are neither married nor betrothed, which means I don’t have to listen to you. If you don’t like it, you can–”

“Go with you.”

She stopped, stared. “What?”

“I’ll go with you,” he repeated. “On all your visits.”

“You don’t understand. The people are…” She paused. “Let’s just say it’s nothing like the ton’s drawing rooms. I’m not sure how you would react.”

If only she knew the world he had seen. “People are people, Emma. Whether one is born in a gilded nursery or a cramped cottage, they are the same. Others in the ton may not understand, but I do.”

Her eyes darted back and forth. When she spoke, her voice was lower, softer. “I believe you do.” A little furrow appeared in between her eyebrows, and she peered closer.

He drew back. It was tempting to reveal too much to this woman.

And all too dangerous.

Time to lighten to mood. “The real question is whether you shared the riveting story of my rash with them as well.”

The corners of her lips curved up. “Why, of course. I even mentioned it to the chimney sweeps.”

“You would never.”

“Indeed. They all know about the rash on your–”

He kissed her.

After a delicious few moments, he pulled back. With her cheeks tinged pink, she put up that little pert nose. “You must stop doing that.”

“Why?”

“Because you are far too good at it.”

“Would you like another?”

“Yes, please.”

As they kissed again and then a final time, there was something about that kiss, something about her.

Something extraordinary .

There were two men on everyone’s lips at the guild meeting the next week:

Lord Peyton and the mysterious rescuer.

The official meeting of the Distinguished Ladies of Purpose did manage some progress on social action. As usual, Priscilla played host in the very large and very luxurious drawing room of the Bradenton townhome. Decorated in shades of cream and mauve, the room was all feminine accents among rich oak furniture. The scent of freshly baked pastries wafted from flaky apples cakes and apricot tarts, while the melodic chatter of birds outside provided background music.

Most of the two dozen women filling the room were garbed in light-colored dresses, embellished with lace and other expensive accents that marked them elite daughters of the ton. They sat perfectly upright as they sipped their tea with utmost propriety. Yet underneath the perfect image, true hearts burned, women who eschewed the conventions of society to better their world. They were each hand-picked to join the secret society the ton knew as a sewing group. In truth, they had done much for the lower classes of England. Now everyone was focused on the upcoming measure for orphans’ rights.

“How is your work coming along?” Priscilla asked the group.

The women shared their progress. Normally, Emma boasted great success, but Peyton’s arrival complicated her task, especially since he insisted on accompanying her to every event during the week. Whenever social action arose, she changed the subject.

If they were alone, she did it with a kiss.

Or two.

Sometimes three.

He found far too many – or if she were honest, too few – opportunities to kiss. A quick moment behind the bushes, a small peck in a corner, a second when they were alone in the drawing room. It was unwise and it was dangerous, for discovery would make it all but impossible to derail a betrothal that was becoming more real by the day.

Yet the kisses were not as dangerous as the conversations that preceded and followed them. She tried to stay indifferent to him. She tried angry. Incensed, annoyed, well, perhaps she was a little of those things, but they couldn’t overcome the sheer pleasure his company brought. He was charming, and he was kind, yet he was so much more.

He was definitely hiding something.

“Emma?”

Emma shot her head up, gasping as the teacup she’d forgotten sloshed hot brew onto her wrist. She rubbed the pink skin. “I’m sorry?”

Priscilla missed nothing. “Were you able to bring any lords to our cause?”

“It’s been a little slow.”

Priscilla peered at her for a moment before turning back to the group. “The masquerade is rapidly approaching, and will be our last opportunity to gather the votes necessary to bring this measure to reality.” Her gaze lowered, sobered. “Time is short, and the children are counting on us. Convince as many as you can.”

The women sat taller and nodded, soldiers heeding their general, intent on the mission to save lives.

“Good.” Priscilla let her gaze run over each and every one of them, a duchess as powerful as any duke. “Do you have any questions?”

“I do.” Constance Welleby sat up tall. “Do you know who the mysterious rescuer is?”

The entire audience froze. Silence ruled, breaths held behind delicate lips. It was not a far reach. After all, the duchess once worked as a secret informant.

“No,” Priscilla said finally, as hearty breaths tangled with sighs of disappointment. “I’m afraid not.”

“Does anyone else know?” Constance looked eagerly around, yet a million questions met no answers. Until the guessing started.

Even as Priscilla adjourned the meeting, the women continued to speculate, naming half the lords in England, most of whom possessed neither the build nor the ability to perform such feats. “It couldn’t be Bradenton, could it?” Constance called to Priscilla.

Priscilla shook her head. “He was across town when the second rescue occurred.”

“What about your brothers?” another suggested.

“Don’t be silly,” Priscilla quickly responded. “My brothers are wonderful gentlemen, but they wouldn’t do anything so dangerous.”

The others nodded and moved on to their next guess, yet Emma paused. Priscilla’s words seemed strained somehow.

Emma turned to her friend, Hannah. “Could it be Michael Colborne, the Duke of Crawford?”

Hannah gave a sour face. “It most certainly was not. He was out riding with a lady during the second rescue.”

“Really?” Emma was surprised. “Why are you upset? I thought his attention annoyed you.”

“The lady was me,” Hannah humphed.

Emma hid her smile. No doubt there was a story behind that.

More names were suggested. Satisfaction arose when Stanton’s name was offered more than a few times. Even Lord Dryfus was mentioned, although less because they truly believed him the rescuer and more because he mentioned the possibility to every lord, lady and hound.

“What about Peyton?” Constance blinked at her.

Emma looked up to see half a dozen women staring with rapt attention. In the next second, they burst into giggles, and she relaxed.

“I’m just joking,” Constance said. “Not that there’s anything wrong with Peyton, of course.” She held out her hand. “We adore him and his delightful conversations. He just isn’t one to hang off a building.”

The women all bobbed their heads and smiled, but something felt strange. They were right, of course. Peyton was most comfortable sitting in his club, conversing and laughing about light subjects. Yet in the garden, something else was apparent…

“Now Stanton is a man I could see scaling a building to save a child.”

Emma exhaled. Of course, Stanton had the perfect build and personality. He was also right there when the second rescue happened.

“Can I talk to you?”

Emma turned to an uncharacteristically subdued Priscilla. With a nod, she followed her to a corner.

The duchess made no effort to hide her concern. “Is all well?”

Emma gave a false smile. “I’m fine.”

Priscilla studied her. The duchess knew her since childhood, and possessed an uncanny ability to read her feelings, if not her thoughts. “You didn’t say much during the meeting. You also reported far less progress than normal.” She held up her hand. “Please don’t take it as a criticism. You’ve done more for social causes than anyone. I just want to make sure you are all right.”

Emma rubbed her forehead. Nothing had been all right since her betrothed’s return. “I don’t know what to do about Peyton. He refuses to end the arrangement.”

Priscilla’s eyes widened. “He wants the marriage?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“And you?” Priscilla looked at her carefully. “Do you want the betrothal?”

Yes. No. I don’t know. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t have a love match with a man who could catch the first boat for America and refuses to share himself.”

“Won’t share himself?” Priscilla echoed. “You said he was exactly as he appeared.”

That was before she truly knew him. “Perhaps you were right when you said he hides something deeper.” She grasped the frame of one of the chairs, but quickly pulled her hand back. What had looked smooth was actually quite sharp. “I will not have it. This betrothal must end.”

“Then it is settled.” Priscilla nodded. “How are you going to convince him?”

Kiss him.

The kiss him again.

And really, she’d very much like to kiss him again.

Priscilla’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I should ask what you are doing to not convince him.”

Emma’s cheeks heated. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Priscilla folded her arms across her chest.

“It was just a kiss.”

“A kiss?”

“Well maybe two. Or twenty-two.”

Priscilla stared. “Twenty-two?”

“Fine, I lost count! But I simply can’t help it. He’s just so tempting. One minute we’re discussing the rash on his ass and the next we’re kissing.”

Priscilla parted her lips. “Did you just say–”

“Never mind.” Emma waved her hand. “The point is, he shouldn’t take the kisses as a reason for continuing the betrothal.”

Priscilla lifted both hands. “Then why don’t you stop kissing him?”

“I was hoping you would know the answer.” Emma cringed, as Priscilla gave her the duchess stare . She should be ashamed, and she was. Unfortunately, she was also very much in the mood for another kiss. “I’m kissing him because he’s handsome and charming and I have the willpower of a housefly. And because I can’t seem to resist. But it has to end.” She lowered her voice. “He suspects the truth.”

Priscilla frowned. “He knows about the guild?”

“No, thank goodness.” If he knew about their secret society, no doubt he’d demand a complete accounting of their actions. After all, he had inserted himself in every other aspect of her life. “However, people keep mentioning the letters I fabricated.”

“Ah, yes, the ones about social action.” For a moment, Priscilla looked thoughtful. “You could just tell him.”

Emma started.

“Not about the group.” Priscilla glanced around. “Exposure would endanger us all. You could tell him about your interest in social action causes, which he has undoubtedly already ascertained.”

The thought of sharing brought relief and unease in equal parts. It could be a solution, or lead to something far more dangerous. “But what if he connects it with the guild? Bradenton figured it out.”

“That was different.” Priscilla dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand. “Bradenton knew someone was conducting investigations. He just didn’t know it was a woman.”

It was a good point. Sharing select information with Peyton might placate him, but it might also cause him to investigate further. Still, she may have no choice. “Speaking of Bradenton, have you told him yet?”

“Told him what?”

Now it was Emma’s turn to provide the look . “That he is to be a father.”

Priscilla placed a hand on her stomach. “I still haven’t found the right way. Perhaps I shall wait until she arrives and then put a fluffy red bow around her.”

Emma chuckled softly. “You don’t think your all-too-perceptive duke will notice a slight difference in you? You’ll start to change, and soon.”

“I’ll find a way to tell him.” Priscilla’s eyes twinkled. “Now back to you. The best way to keep your secret is to reveal some of it.”

“You may be right,” Emma looked out the window into the brilliant afternoon. Majestic birds soared in the sky, serene and peaceful, and yet anything but to their prey. Even animals possessed multiple facets. “Everyone believes him to be calm and carefree, yet he can be commanding, authoritative and overprotective. When I jested about visiting a gaming club, he threatened to carry me out over his shoulder!”

Priscilla gave a half laugh/half-choke. “How horrible.” She patted slightly flushed cheeks. “I can’t imagine how that would feel.”

Emma narrowed her eyes.

Priscilla swiftly continued, “If Peyton won’t listen to reason, you’re going to have to find another way to break the betrothal.”

“Yes, but how? Unless…” A slow smile lit her lips. “I make him to want to break it.”

Excitement sizzled, as ideas formed in rapid succession. “Just because he’s adamant now doesn’t mean I can’t change his mind. What if I become everything he doesn’t want in a match? I’ll be officious, loud and insincere, cling to his every action, visit when I’m not welcome.” She straightened. “Do you know where Peyton is now?”

Priscilla was staring at her as if she’d lost what remained of her senses. “Bradenton and Peyton are likely at their club, along with my brother, Alexander.”

Perfect. “Perhaps I can pay him a little visit.”

Priscilla looked scandalized. “Ladies are not allowed at White’s.”

“I may not be allowed to enter, but I can certainly approach the front door and ask to see my betrothed. Very loudly.” She allowed a slow smile. “He would be most surprised. Men just adore ladies invading their sacred space. If I become too bothersome, he’s bound to set me free.”

The slightest breath of sadness drifted through her. Of course, they weren’t truly betrothed, yet the thought of it ending somehow felt gray. She forged ahead. “I shall leave at once. Will you come?”

Priscilla glanced around the room. Most of the ladies had left, with the others drifting slowly toward the door. The only lady not moving was Lady Catherine, Peyton’s sister. “Why not? I’m still miffed at Bradenton for telling Peyton where you were.”

“Perfect.”

“Excuse me, Lady Priscilla, did you say you were going to visit your brother at White’s?”

Priscilla and Emma turned. Lady Catherine had risen and was approaching them, her normally calm blue eyes blazing in anger.

“We have some business to attend to.” Priscilla frowned at the younger woman’s somber countenance. “Are you all right, my dear? Has something happened?”

The younger woman stopped before them, her back straight, her expression grim. “It’s Lord Fulton.”

“Ahhh, Lord Fulton.” Emma smiled. “I saw you dance at the Carlyle ball. Are we to see an announcement in the near future?”

“I think not,” Catherine said flatly. “He’s leaving.”

“Leaving? What a shame.” Priscilla placed a hand on the debutante’s shoulder. “Still, sometimes one can work such things out, if it’s not too far. Where is he going?”

“The Arctic.”

For a moment, there was silence.

“Did you say the Arctic?”

“Yes.” Catherine’s eyes blazed. “The far part.”

Emma parted her lips. “I was under the impression all of the Arctic was far.”

“It is.” Catherine clenched her fists. “This is my brother’s fault. And Alexander’s. He’s the true reason Fulton is bound for the Arctic.” She took a step, turned and paced. “Alexander knew Fulton was fascinated by the world. He offered to finance an expedition for him, for no less than a year .”

“A year? How peculiar,” Priscilla muttered. “My brother barely knows Fulton.”

“Philip either allowed it to happen or didn’t notice.” Catherine stopped and clenched her fists. “Probably the latter.”

The urge to defend Peyton was too strong to resist. Emma stepped forward. “Your brother cares for you. Surely there is some explanation.”

“It is of no consequence to him.” Catherine shook her head vehemently. “He does his duty, and nothing more.”

Emma frowned. That wasn’t true. While Peyton’s interest in a love match was debatable, his feelings for his sister spread far beyond duty. He may not voice the words, but his love was clear.

“That’s it then.” Priscilla rubbed her hands together. “Time for the Distinguished Ladies of Purpose to take a little trip.”

Emma couldn’t wait.

“You are the mysterious rescuer.”

Philip tightened, the mild surprise and faint trace of alarm instinctual, yet unnecessary. He sipped his brandy, lowering the crystal goblet to the narrow table before leaning back in the sturdy chair. They sat in a private corner of White’s, amidst masculine luxury and the deep scents of spirits and leather. All around them, men chatted loudly, drowning out any and all conversation.

Philip did not deny the assertion. Nor did he ask how Alexander discovered the secret, for any query was likely to go unanswered. The spymaster already knew everything else about his identity. “I hadn’t a choice.”

“No doubt.” No sarcasm existed. The man understood sacrifice and risk more than anyone. “Unfortunately, it has dominated conversation in every drawing, tea and dining room across the ton. Not to mention its role as the subject of numerous bets.”

“Bets?” Philip sat forward. “Are people suspicious of me?”

“Don’t worry, your name is barely mentioned at all, certainly under a hundred other contenders. Several have garnered more attention than others, but none significant enough for any sort of consensus. One eager chap even wrote in Lord Dryfus multiple times, but there is a separate bet alleging Lord Dryfus offered his own name. Surprisingly, Dryfus bet on that as well.”

Philip allowed a ghost of a smile. “No doubt.”

“After your first save – how is Lady Emma by the way – people were curious, but now suspicions are rampant. You must be extremely careful.”

Philip stared for a moment. “You knew it was Emma.”

Alexander inclined his head. “I’m surprised you permitted her to venture into that area, especially at such a dangerous time.”

“I didn’t know,” Philip growled. “And believe me, she will not be doing it again. At least not alone.”

Alexander nodded his approval. His eyes clouded. “Apparently my sister was also involved in such activities, which fortunately Bradenton ended. If I had not been out of town, I would have addressed it sooner.”

“Meeting family responsibilities is a challenge when one is away,” Peyton agreed. “It is why I am remaining in England, with less-encompassing missions.”

Alexander regarded him. “Perhaps I should consider the same,” he murmured.

“Truly?” The spymaster was entrenched in far more than Philip had ever been. Yet he was also an earl, and one day would be a duke. He was quite the grand prize on the marriage mart.

“Does Emma suspect you?”

Returning his thoughts to the matter at hand, Philip shook his head. “She believes Lord Stanton to be the rescuer.”

Alexander looked thoughtful. “Not a poor guess. He possesses the inherent qualities and personality.”

“Does he work for you?”

It was a bold question, and Peyton didn’t expect an answer. Yet Alexander provided one, “I’m afraid not. He is a fine man, however, and would have been an asset. I once discreetly inquired if such work would be interesting to him, and he very reluctantly turned me down. He is guardian to a number of female relations, and chose to focus on that responsibility. I respect such sentiments.” Alexander glanced around again, then lowered his voice. “How goes your mission?”

Out of habit, Philip also examined his surroundings before responding lowly, “I have initiated a number of preliminary inquiries. Lord Trenton is definitely involved in something nefarious. Last week, a well-respected merchant disappeared.”

“A merchant?” Alexander frowned. “He’s getting bolder.”

“Indeed,” Philip agreed. “I invited Trenton, along with a select group, to Westwind for several days. It is not my largest estate, but the closest to London, and can be reached within a half day. I’m hoping the more intimate setting will provide fertile ground to gain information. At least it will get me out of town while speculation about the rescuer is raging.”

“I doubt a few days will be sufficient to quench the ton’s thirst for their mysterious savior, yet it is a good plan to ascertain information. How many people are attending?”

“Several dozen – large enough to avoid suspicion, but small enough to garner information. I will also be bringing Catherine.”

Alexander’s eyes took on a strange light. “Do you think that is wise?”

Philip narrowed his eyes. Once again, the spymaster was showing a special interest in his sister. “It is not my preference, but I hadn’t a good reason to deny her. My aunts are in residence at Westwind, and she usually accompanies me on my visits.”

Alexander nodded, yet did not look pleased. “How fares your sister?”

Philip regarded the earl closer. Was he considering a match with Catherine? Philip would trust the man with his own life, but his sister was worth far more than that. “That’s the second time you asked about Catherine. Is there something I should know?”

For the briefest of instances, Alexander looked uncomfortable. It was shocking, unexpected and gone in an instant.

Before he could respond, a man strode forward.

“Good to see you, Bradenton.” Alexander stood confidently, smoothing down his cravat.

Peyton also stood, but his focus remained on Alexander. The spymaster was an expert at deception, yet he couldn’t hide this. The conversation would resume later.

“Gentlemen.” Bradenton nodded as he sat. “How are matters?”

“All is well,” Philip replied, with no mention of the mission. Bradenton was a great friend, yet he was not involved in their work. Instead he focused on social action, for which he worked tirelessly through Parliament.

A servant arrived with fresh drinks. Bradenton took a glass and waited for the servant to depart before speaking. “I’m sorry for that business with Priscilla. I had no idea Emma accompanied her on the morning visits. My wife tends to take chances when she thinks I am not watching.”

Alexander stiffened. “Priscilla needs to stop that at once.”

“I concur.” Bradenton returned. “Don’t worry, Alexander. I protect your sister with my life.”

Alexander held his brother-in-law’s gaze for a moment. Undoubtedly it was the least he expected.

Philip felt the same about Catherine.

Bradenton raised his glass. “From henceforth I will pass along anything I hear about Emma. I ask that you do the same with Priscilla.”

“Of course,” Philip immediately agreed. Bradenton would be a useful ally in keeping Emma safe. “Although most of what Emma tells me involves alligators or log rides to America.” He held up a hand. “Don’t ask.”

Bradenton smiled for a moment, then sobered. “I do not like our ladies keeping secrets.”

Philip nodded, even though he could scarcely deny the hypocrisy of the conversation. Keeping secrets in his profession was necessary, for his, and more importantly, her safety. He offered Emma his title, respect and every creature comfort.

He simply couldn’t offer the truth.

“Be careful with Emma,” Bradenton warned. “Like Priscilla, she is dedicated to social action, and will neglect her own safety in pursuit of its goals.”

“She did seem very focused on such causes,” Philip acknowledged. “She even used my name to get it. In fact I’m beginning to wonder if the entire reason–”

“Gentlemen, I’m sorry to disturb you.”

Philip glanced up in surprise at the thin balding servant. Usually crisp and unflappably impeccable, he now wrung his long pale hands. He looked back nervously, as if expecting some manner of monster to lunge at him.

“What is it?”

“We have a situation.” The servant gestured back helplessly. Peyton leaned back, looked to the door. It swung open….

He froze. His tablemates froze. Really, everyone in the entire establishment, and probably all of London, froze.

The ladies had arrived.