Page 11 of The Heiress Masquerade (Dollar Princess #2)
“Two shillings? That’s highway robbery,” Aimee declared to the telegram clerk who she was sure was trying to overcharge her for wanting to send a two-sentence telegram to New York. “In America, it’s half that.”
“Well, we aren’t in America, are we,” the man behind the counter said, his voice a nasal whine. “Now, did you want to send it or not?”
“Yes, fine,” Aimee grumbled, pulling out two shillings from her reticule and passing the coins across the wooden counter to the man’s outstretched fingers. Even though two shillings was nothing to her in the grand scheme of things, it felt like she was being cheated given she could get the same service in New York for half the price. And Aimee hated being ripped off.
“What did you want to say? And remember two shillings gets you up to thirty words,” the clerk said, picking up his pencil and placing it against his note paper. “Anything more and it’s extra.”
Paying such an amount for only thirty words was ridiculous, especially when she could have used one of the specially installed telephones at the office, but then someone could overhear her request and it could get back to her father, or worse, Harrison, which wasn’t what she wanted at all. “Please write, ‘Transfer five hundred dollars from my personal account into my Bank of England account, stop. All is well, I simply require more spending money to shop with, stop. Regards, Aimee Thornton-Jones, stop.’”
“That’s thirty-three words. It’ll be an extra shilling to send that.”
“It’s thirty words exactly, actually.”
“We count the word ‘stop,’ too, and you got three of those.”
“That’s thievery.”
The man shrugged. “It’s just how it is.”
Aimee blew out a breath. “Fine then, get rid of the words ‘all is well.’ That should be exactly thirty words including the three stops.”
“Aye, it is.” The man peered at her. “Is five hundred gonna be enough, though, considering you’re complaining about a few shillings? Why not make it an even thousand? Or two, perhaps? Goodness, I don’t know, maybe even ten thousand? That might see you through to the end of the week.” The man cackled, clearly thinking her to be delusional to be asking for such a sum in the first place.
“Please send the telegram as is.” She’d calculated that was what she needed to rent a suite at the Mayfair Grand for the duration of her stay, and having her accountant transfer the funds from her separate account her grandmother had set up for her meant her parents would be none the wiser about her request so soon after arriving. Which, if they did know about, would warrant their scrutiny.
“It’s your money to waste, ain’t it, Miss Thornton-Jones.”
“Oh no, that’s not me , that’s my cousin,” Aimee was quick to correct. “I’m just sending the telegram on her behalf.”
He shrugged. “Whatever. Now wait here, I won’t be long.”
She watched him walk over to the telegram machine in the far corner behind the counter, and then start to punch her words into the machine.
“Ah good, you found the office,” Molly’s voice said from behind her.
Aimee turned around to see both her and Deidre. “I did, thank you for the directions,” she replied, noting the smile on Molly’s face and the scowl on Deidre’s. “What are you two doing here?”
“Mrs. Holbrook needed a message sent to her cousin, and as she still had some work to finish, I offered to do it for her.” Molly glanced over to Deidre. “Deidre decided to accompany me.” Molly didn’t seem happy with that fact.
Deidre cared little for Molly’s apathy. “In truth, when Molly said you were sending a telegram, I thought I’d come see what you were up to. So, what are you doing here? Do you have someone back in America pining away for you? I daresay you must, to spend such a lot of money on a telegram.”
Aimee blinked at the sudden barrage of questions. “Um, no. I just have some business to attend to on behalf of my cousin.”
Deidre pouted. “Oh please! I don’t believe that for a second.”
“Deidre, leave her alone,” Molly said, her eyes sending an apology to Aimee.
“I’m trying to be friendly,” Deidre replied, her gaze glancing up and down Aimee’s outfit, almost like she was sizing her up. “Though, of course, if you don’t want to be friends, that’s fine, keep your secrets. You’re not the only one here who has them.”
“Oh, I’ve already heard about your secret flirtation with an accountant at the office,” Aimee couldn’t resist saying.
Deidre’s face went red. “You told her?” She turned to Molly with an accusing finger.
Molly shrugged. “It wasn’t a secret, was it, given you’ve been telling everyone about it for the last few weeks.” Molly glanced back over to Aimee. “If you want to wait for us after you’re done, we can all walk back to Mrs. Holbrook’s together?”
“That’s kind of you, but I have a few errands to run before I return to Mrs. Holbrook’s.” A bath being at the top of that list.
“How do you have errands?” Deidre’s sharp voice questioned. “You’ve only just arrived.”
“All done,” the clerk’s voice from behind the counter interrupted them. “Anything else?”
“No, thank you—um.” She glanced to his name tag. “William. That’s all I’ll be needing.” She turned back to Molly and Deidre. “Anyhow, I best be off. I’ll see you both back at Mrs. Holbrook’s later on,” Aimee said, wasting no time to wave and leave the shop.
She hurried through the door and turned right, wanting to get lost in the crowd in case Deidre wanted to follow her, which she wouldn’t put past her. She glanced back over her shoulder to check when she nearly collided with a brick wall of a man’s chest.
Her whole body tensed as the man’s hands grasped her upper arms to steady her and stop her from falling backward. The man’s touch, his scent… “Are you following me?” She stared up into Harrison’s face, and instantly she saw the pulse at the base of his neck jump.
“No, of course not,” his deep voice rumbled, and she swore she could feel the reverberation of it, being so close to him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was across the road and saw you leaving the telegram office and thought I’d see if you needed any assistance.”
“So, you were spying on me.” She brushed off his hands and glared at him with the full force of her displeasure. “I knew it.”
“I wasn’t spying on you, Yvette.”
It was the third time he’d called her by her supposed first name and it felt uncomfortable and wrong, him using Evie’s name. Not that he could call her by her actual name, given he had no idea she was masquerading as her cousin… But, still, for one mad moment she wanted to hear her name roll off his lips, not her cousin’s.
“We’re on a first-name basis now, are we, Harrison ?”
“We’ll be seeing each other a lot over the next several weeks, so when we’re alone, why not? You and Ben are already on a first-name basis.”
“Call me Evie then and not Yvette.” At least if he called her that she’d have a better chance of thinking it was her he was speaking to, given Evie sounded far more like Aimee than Yvette did.
“Very well, Evie. So, what are you doing sending a telegram?” he asked, falling in step beside her as she recommenced walking down the street. “You know you can use the telephones in the office. Even to call New York. Unless, of course, you didn’t want anyone to hear whatever the message it was you sent.”
Damn the man for his astuteness. “What are you suggesting?”
He stared steadily at her. “Selling company secrets and information to competitors can be a lucrative endeavor. Especially for someone who’s gotten used to luxuries but doesn’t have money of her own.”
“Are you suggesting I’m a company spy when I’ve only been here for two days? How industrious of me.”
He frowned. “You were interested in the company ledgers a short time ago, and let me tell you, no other secretary has ever shown the slightest interest in them before.”
“That’s because I love numbers, and I have a talent for them. I’m certainly no spy. This company means everything to me.” The hide of him to suggest she would sell out any of their secrets.
“Then why send a telegram?”
“Because the man I was sending a message to doesn’t have a phone.” It was one more regrettable lie, given her accountant most certainly had a phone in his office, but she wasn’t willing to explain to Harrison why she didn’t want to be overheard, which had nothing to do with spying and everything to do with protecting her identity.
“A man?”
“Yes, a man. What of it?” She turned down a side street, caring little if he followed or not, but feeling oddly elated when he did.
“Are you spoken for back in New York?” His voice was devoid of all emotion.
“Why would you all assume that just because I was sending a telegram?”
“ All of us?”
“Molly and Deidre were in the telegram office, too, and that was what Deidre assumed I was doing,” she said by way of explanation. “Which is not the case at all.”
“It’s a logical assumption to make,” he replied. “So, who is this man, and does your uncle know about him?”
“That is none of your business, but if you must know, yes, my uncle knows all about him.” She was glad for once to be telling him the truth as her father was the one who’d referred her to his accountant in the first place. “Now, is there anything else you wish to interrogate me about?”
He was silent for a moment. “Did you have lunch like I suggested?”
“You’re not my keeper, and most certainly not my husband to be telling me what to do.” She could only imagine how horrid it would be to be married to such a bossy, controlling man. Though, perhaps his kisses wouldn’t be so horrid… Oh good lord! What was wrong with her to think such thoughts about Harrison Stone?
“I was only asking because I haven’t, and there’s an excellent pie store around the corner if you’re hungry and wanted to accompany me.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t eaten yet and she was hungry, darn it. She could always go to the Mayfair Grand after. “Perhaps I will accompany you.” She just had to not think about kissing and Harrison Stone together again in the same sentence. Which should be simple, even if his lips did look absurdly kissable.
“I thought you might, given your stomach’s still rumbling, and loudly, too.” A grin stretched across his face.
“A gentleman wouldn’t point that out.”
“But I’m an American and most certainly will point that out,” he countered. “Come on, this way.” He took her hand and crossed the road with her by his side, and though Aimee knew she should yank her hand away, her body was refusing to listen to her head. His fingers were so strong, and firm, wrapped around her own, that a part of her instantly missed the contact when he let go as soon as they got to the other side.
She felt like shaking her head at her foolishness. “So, you consider yourself American, even though both your parents were English?” she asked, wanting to distract herself from him, but also feeling curious, far more than she should.
“You seem to know a fair bit about me.”
“Like I said, my uncle speaks of you, a lot . Too much in fact.” And that was downplaying it.
He laughed at that, a rich, deep tone, that had Aimee smiling, too.
“You know, Thomas talks a lot about you and his daughter, too.”
“He does?” She’d always imagined her father to be too focused on his business deals to talk about her or Evie to anyone, except perhaps complaining about one of her latest escapades.
“All the time,” he replied, leading them down a street on his right. “Though he does discuss his daughter a little more, given she causes him the headaches.”
“Headaches?” Aimee nearly screeched. “I don’t—” She caught herself just in time once again. “I don’t think my cousin causes him that many problems. Certainly, she and um, my uncle butt heads a lot, but that’s only because he doesn’t listen to her or take her seriously.”
“He says the same about her.”
“Of course he does. He and her mother think they know what’s best for her future, which is marrying some boring old English lord, rather than listen to what would actually make her happy.”
He shrugged. “Not all lords are boring or old.”
“Oh please, they’re all stuffy, pompous creatures who think a woman should hover silently in the background, seeing to her husband’s comfort and never speaking up for herself. English traits you’ve obviously inherited.”
“And ones you’ve obviously discarded,” he murmured, before pointing to a sign up ahead. “Here we go, London’s best pies.”
As they approached the store, the smell of buttery pastry wafted from the door and Aimee closed her eyes for a moment in bliss. “They do smell good.” Suddenly, she was ravenous, aware she hadn’t eaten a thing since the hastily grabbed apple before she rushed out the door of Mrs. Holbrook’s that morning.
“The best I’ve tried in the years I’ve been here.”
He opened the door for her, and she stepped inside to be confronted by row upon row of delicious pastry concoctions, along with a plethora of people all packed into the space to get a late lunch, too.
“The chicken mushroom pie is one of my favorites,” he said, leaning down to murmur close to her ear. Again, a tingling sensation his nearness seemed to evoke rippled through her. “Along with the steak and pepper pie, which is also delicious.”
Aimee glanced up at him, and their eyes locked, and she didn’t want pie. Unexplainably, she wanted him with a burning desire she’d never felt before. She licked her dry lips and noticed his eyes following the movement while his chest expanded as he heaved in a deep breath.
Even though they were surrounded by people, it felt as if it were just the two of them, alone together, aware of each other on a level Aimee had never experienced. Heat filled her cheeks, and she knew she had to get out of there before she did the unthinkable and kissed him, right then and there, in front of everyone.
“The chicken pie will be fine,” she hurriedly said. “I’ll wait outside.” Pushing past him, she ran over to the door and yanked it open, before stepping outside on the footpath and finally feeling like she could breathe again.
She inhaled several deep breaths, and slowly her skittering heartbeat started to steady. These feelings he was making her feel were as foreign to her as they were unwanted. Well, perhaps not exactly unwanted…
“Excuse me, miss?”
Aimee turned around to be confronted by a policeman. “Yes, officer?”
“I need to question you about a stolen dog.”
Oh dear…could her day get any worse?