Page 73 of How to Fall for a Scoundrel
“Why not? You’ve heard the adage ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’”
“Are you saying I’mdull?”
His teeth flashed in a grin. “Not at all. You’re fascinating. But you’re also in danger of working too hard. You need to learn to enjoy the moment.”
“By wandering about aimlessly?”
“Wandering aimlessly is an art. What’s wrong with a little spontaneity?”
“Well, nothing, I suppose, but I prefer to—”
He looked down at her, a teasing glint in his eye. “You prefer to plan. I know. You read the whole guide book before going to a museum, and then you set out to see four or five very specific items on your list.”
Ellie drew back a little, stung by his accuracy. “What’s wrong with that? Don’t tell me you had such success as a thief withoutplanningthings.”
“Of course not. But you also need to leave room for the unexpected. For improvisation.”
“Is that what this is? Improvisation?” she said drily.
“Indeed. One must be open to being surprised, or to discovering something new. Because who knows? That unexpected thing might just end up being your favorite piece in the whole museum.”
“Hmm,” Ellie said. Still, she turned her face up and enjoyed the faint warmth of the sun on her skin.
“The Italians have a saying for it,” Harry continued easily. “Dolce far niente. It means ‘sweet idleness.’ But doing nothing is actually very difficult. We often feel like we should fill every minute of the day with something productive, but sometimes just lying on your back and finding shapes in the clouds, or watching the bubbles float past in a river, is as much diversion as one could possibly need.”
“You sound like you’ve mastered it.”
“I have indeed.”
They strolled past a variety of shops, peering into the windows of each. Ellie admired the coats on display in the furriers, the pianofortes in Mr. Mott’s establishment, and the satirical engravings in the print shop of George Peirce.
Two rather inebriated gentlemen stumbled down the steps of Hunt’s Cigar Lounge and Billiard Room, but their open admiration of Ellie stopped abruptly when they saw Harry’s sword cane, and the subtly threatening way he toyed with the lion’s head handle.
Harry spent far too long considering the wares in the window of Edward Cahan, tailor, and Baddeley the bootmaker, but when Carson finally appeared with the carriage Ellie was glad that they’d taken the time to get some fresh air.
Being near Harry was both a pleasure and a bittersweet torment. He seemed to enjoy her company, to want to be her friend as well as her lover, but she couldn’t help worry that his attention was only temporary.
She was afraid to trust this newfound closeness. Perhaps he only saw her as an amusing fling, a necessary stepping stone in his path to reclaiming his rightful place in the world.
For her part, she couldn’t regret giving herself to him, but it would be better for her heart if she didn’t make love with him again until she was absolutely certain of his identity.
If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d promised to leave London if she proved he wasn’t Henry Brooke, she’d almost prefer him to be a liar. The chances of him choosing to continue their liaison if he was an earl were remote. Thetonwas full of prettier, more socially accomplished girls who’d make him the perfect partner. The fact that he desired her physically would hardly be enough of a draw. She had to be realistic.
Tess and Daisy were both at the office when they got back. Tess pulled down their well-worn copy of Boyle’sTown Visiting Directory, and it was a simple enough matter to find that there was a physician by the nameof Emberton with an office on New Bridge Street, near Blackfriars Bridge.
“Is it too late to call on him now?” Tess queried, looking at the clock on the mantelpiece.
Ellie shook her head. “We might as well try.” She glanced over at Harry, who was showing Daisy a gruesome-looking move with one of her knives.
“Do you want to come?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said.
“I’ll come too,” Daisy added with a smile.
The elegant gray dome of St Paul’s Cathedral loomed over the rooftops as the three of them stepped down onto New Bridge Street. A steady stream of carts and carriages rattled across the Thames, and Daisy pointed to a sign shaped like a pair of spectacles swinging above one of the doors. The gilt letters below readEMBERTON & SONS, OPTOMETRIST.
The smartly dressed young man who greeted them was pleasant enough, but when he introduced himself as Dr. Emberton, Ellie’s spirits dropped. He appeared no older than twenty-five; he couldn’t possibly be the man who’d examined Harry’s eyes. He would have been a boy himself.