Page 26

NINETEEN

H e took a hansom back to Ursula’s house because Griffith needed the carriage to transport Hurley and his trunks to the docks.

She was where she had promised to be, watching the street from an upstairs window. A candle set on the windowsill burned low. There was just enough light to show him that Ursula was wearing a wrapper. Her hair was in a single braid that hung down over one shoulder.

At the sight of her the remnants of the cold, battle-ready tension inside him were instantly transformed into another kind of readiness—the sort that burned. The fierce need caught him by surprise.

He got down from the cab, intending to go up the front steps. She would open the door for him and he would carry her upstairs to bed.

But Ursula opened the window and leaned out.

“You are all right?” she demanded.

“I’m fine,” he assured her.

“Excellent. In that case, good night, sir.”

She closed the window with a bang and drew the blinds shut.

The message could not have been more clear.

Stifling a groan, Slater got back into the hansom.