Page 8

Six

The street was quiet and sleepy when the carriage pulled up to Camille’s residence where Eliza and her family were staying.

Cozy streetlamps flickered in the inky darkness and reflected off the cobblestones, still shiny and wet from the late-afternoon rain.

They were returning from a soiree hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Rothschild.

August, the duchess, had been very helpful with ensuring the Doves’ successful launch into Society.

As an American heiress herself, she knew how vicious the ton could be to outsiders.

Eliza tried her very best to be grateful for the opportunity presented to her, but it was difficult when she knew that marriage to Lord Mainwaring waited for her on the other side of this particular opportunity.

That dread of the future had to be why she was so preoccupied with Simon Cavell.

He’d occupied her every thought since their confrontation yesterday, even though she hadn’t seen him again.

Mr. Cox had accompanied them to the soiree.

He offered her his hand now to assist her out of the carriage. She met his gaze as she stepped out, but he only held it briefly before releasing her to help Fanny and Jenny.

“Where is Mr. Cavell?” she asked with a petulance in her voice that even she found annoying. Simon was around here somewhere. He’d gone into hiding because of her, but she was determined to find him.

“Out, I reckon.” Mr. Cox’s voice was as unperturbed as if she’d asked about the weather.

As she stood waiting for her mother and sister, she searched out the dark corners of the houses and stoops across the road.

Would he be hiding there? The only thing she could pick out was the shadow of a cat as it leaped from the ground to a window ledge.

He could be on the roof, she supposed. But she couldn’t make out anyone up there when she looked.

She sighed inwardly and turned to follow her family inside, but a pinprick of orange light in the darkness across the narrow street caught her eye.

It came from the park in the center of the square.

A cigarette? Did Simon smoke? Perhaps a trace of tobacco had lingered in the air when he’d cornered her in the pantry.

She had relived that moment a thousand times since yesterday.

His hand on her hip and his body only inches from her, so warm and so very solid.

She should have felt threatened—any sane woman would have—but she’d wanted to kiss him.

Was he in that park right now watching her? A thrill of excitement zipped through her. Trying to behave as if she hadn’t seen the light, she hurried inside. She didn’t want to tip him off that she was coming to find him.

Eliza called out a quick good night after handing off her cloak to the waiting footman and then walked as normally as she could upstairs to her bedroom.

A maid had drawn the curtains for her and lit the small bedside lamp.

Eliza hurried across the room and peeked out the curtains.

The window was cracked to let in the cool breeze.

The orange glow was still there, and this time she could make out a dark form next to a tree.

There was no way to know for sure, but something told her it was him.

“Good evening, Miss Eliza.” The lady’s maid she shared with her mother and sister strolled into the room.

Damn. There was no good reason to send her away without raising suspicion.

Releasing the curtain, she allowed the woman to help her out of her gown, but only down to her chemise and then she shooed her out.

She drew her thin dressing gown around her and hurried back to the window.

The orange light had disappeared, and the shadowy form along with it.

Eliza paced her room for the next half hour as she waited for her mother and sister to go to bed.

It wouldn’t do for them to see her sneaking around.

She didn’t want to explain that she had a mild obsession with the man tasked with keeping them safe.

It would be embarrassing. She even tried to talk herself out of it.

Her good angel tactfully put forth all the reasons she should go to bed, while her bad angel obliterated those arguments with the only one that mattered: he can give you the adventure you want.

Put that way, she had no choice.

Once she was certain everyone had retired, she slipped into a cloak and ankle boots and opened her bedroom door. A single sconce flickered in the hallway, casting a yellow light over the brown and dated wallpaper. Nothing else stirred.

As quiet as a mouse, she pulled her door closed behind her and made her way to the stairs.

There were two squeaks in the floorboards, but nothing to rouse curiosity.

Still, her heart was beating in her ears by the time she made it to the turn that led to the stairs.

The light didn’t quite reach here, and anyone could be waiting to find her out.

She’d have a devil of a time explaining the strange ensemble she wore.

A figure separated itself from the darkness.

She would have run right into him had he not reached out a firm hand and grabbed her waist. The other covered her mouth, stifling her surprised screech.

The blue of his eyes had been turned a dark gray by the shadows, but Simon stared down at her, imploring her to keep quiet.

She nodded and he lowered his hand fractionally. He gestured toward her room.

She shook her head no.

He rolled his eyes and lifted her by the waist, taking her there whether she wanted to go or not.

If a servant caught them in her room together, her reputation would be shredded.

On the other hand, there was no room in the house where their having a midnight discussion would be considered proper.

At least her bedroom afforded them privacy.

Once inside, he gently set her down and turned the key in the lock behind them. This probably should have startled her, and it might have with anyone else, but it didn’t. Not with him. But she reevaluated her stance and took a step backward when he turned toward her, because his eyes were flames.

“Where were you going?” His voice was low and so deep that he was almost growling the words.

“To find you.”

He nodded once. “You haven’t told anyone about me.”

“I wanted to give you a chance to make a deal with me first.”

“A chance to make a deal?” The corner of his mouth ticked in annoyance. “Need I remind you that you ran away from me ?”

“Well, you cornered me in the pantry against the wall. What did you expect?”

“You weren’t afraid of me.”

It was true, but she didn’t know how he knew that. She’d left him because she’d been overwhelmed by how he’d made her feel. Alive and free and wanted.

“That hardly matters. We need to finish our discussion and quickly before someone catches you in here.” She needlessly pulled the edges of her cloak tight across her torso to make sure it was properly closed. Having him here was making her absurdly aware of her lack of a corset.

“I’m listening.” His lips formed a hard line and his eyes narrowed on her. He didn’t seem inclined to negotiate with her.

“I gather that you don’t want anyone to know of your other identity.” She still had no idea who the Duke was. “I won’t say anything, but only if you do something for me.”

He gave her a once-over, from her breasts all the way down to her flat boots and up again, and his eyes grew wary. “What do you want?”

She’d have been insulted if she—no, she was insulted.

She wasn’t offering him anything remotely related to her body, but it wouldn’t have killed him to pretend an interest. Straightening her shoulders, she said, “As you surmised, I am getting married at the end of the summer. Lord Mainwaring. I believe you’re acquainted with him. ”

His eyes widened, and she saw the final piece of that night at Montague Club click into place for him. “Mainwaring.” He gave a soundless laugh and there was a brief flash of pity in his eyes before he added, “The blackboard. I remember now.”

She didn’t appreciate his pity. “I want to have an adventure, and I think I deserve one.” The rest of it was difficult to say, because she fully expected him to laugh at her. “I want a night…with you.”

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t move. He stared at her until it became awkward. Just when she was about to decide he hadn’t heard her, he asked, “That’s what you want? A night with a brawler?”

She read about prizefights sometimes in the backs of the seedier newspapers.

She had even picked up a penny dreadful about a gang of brawlers.

They fought for money and were brutal in their violence.

The fights were almost always illegal. He wasn’t an illustrated character who traveled in a gang, but he was part of that world that she knew very little about.

She wanted to see those areas of the city that he saw. That world that he sometimes inhabited.

She was thinking of the best way to explain this when he said, “Kiss me, then.”

That wasn’t at all what she had expected him to say. A warning, a flat-out refusal, or maybe even an order to swear a blood oath—any of those would have been less surprising. All she could manage was an inarticulate “What?”

“Kiss me. Go on.” There wasn’t the slightest bit of passion in his voice. His command was a gauntlet thrown down between them.

By their very nature, the words had her looking at his mouth.

His lips were surprisingly well-formed. Though not full by any means, his bottom lip looked pillowy and soft.

The wound from last week hadn’t been as severe as she had feared because it had already healed.

His lips were a pretty shade of pink with a white scar bisecting the left side of his top one.