Always a Maiden (The Belles of Beak Street #5)(28)

Apparently, their allotted time was spent as if their kisses were held to some time limit like afternoon callers. He’d bundled her into the horrendous bonnet, thrown his overcoat around her shoulders, and rushed her through the conservatory to a garden door. He’d told her to go get in the carriage and he’d gone back inside, only to emerge with two oranges in his hand. He sprinted across the lawn to where the carriage waited in the drive.

She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to go back.

Evan swung into the carriage beside her and shut the door. “Hang on. I told him to go fast.”

A jolt of energy hit her. “Are you that eager to be rid of me?”

“I lost track of time. We should have started back an hour ago. We’ll be lucky if you are back before it is full light.”

She swung to look out the other window and realized she hadn’t needed the lantern to see her way to the carriage. Dawn was already breaking.

The carriage jumped forward and she grabbed Evan to steady herself. He’d already held the strap meant for keeping one steady through a wild ride. They careened toward town and her heart slammed into her throat. What if she were caught?

She reached to lift off the bonnet.

“Leave it on,” Evan said gruffly. “We can’t risk anyone recognizing you. Besides I might forget myself and kiss you more.”

That wouldn’t happen. “It is kind of you to say so.”

“Not at all,” he answered. “I very much like kissing you.”

She wanted to believe that, but he hadn’t lost his head or had he? He hadn’t held her tight or touched her improperly—well if holding her hips did not count as improper. But as she reflected back, he had seemed oddly disciplined. She stared at him through the mesh of her veil trying to decipher his mood. She could see him quite well in the dim predawn.

“The servants will be awake,” she whispered.

“But not your parents.”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Would the servants have any reason to tattle on you? What will they gain? Praise or censure?”

“I don’t know.” Her head hurt as she tried to sort that out. Her maid would likely be dismissed for not locking her in properly, even though her mother checked her door at night. The girl had been on the verge of handing her something from her pocket the third day of her confinement. Perhaps food. But her mother had come in her room and the maid had turned white as a sheet and fled soon after.

Evan dug in his coat pocket and pulled out a small purse. He dug out three coins and pressed them into her hand. “If you encounter any of them, give them a gratuity. That will likely buy silence. Most servants are willing to turn a blind eye to things that would upset their employers if you’re kind to them. Most don’t want to be the bearer of bad news.”

The carriage slowed as they entered the streets of Mayfair. Her anxiety continued to gallop. She swallowed.

Outside the window, the street sweepers were already working. Front stoops were being washed. Rugs were being beaten. She had almost no hope of making it inside without the servants observing her.

“When shall I be waiting for you next?” he asked as if she wasn’t in danger of being caught.

“I don’t know. My mother hasn’t shared much of our social calendar with me.” She swallowed again. “That is assuming I survive this morning’s return to the house.”

“You’ll have to get me word, then.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Or I could accompany you inside and let the consequences be damned.”





Chapter 8





Susanah almost ran as she hurried down the street toward her house. Evan stood at the corner watching her. There was still a lavender cast to the morning mist as though the sun was still hovering at the horizon. At least no one was sweeping in front of her father’s house. Although as she went by the area steps, a couple of maids chatted while filling their coal buckets from the underground storage bin. They would be laying fires in the family’s rooms soon.

What had Evan meant when he’d offered to escort her inside?

She cast a quick glance over her shoulder at him. Then forced herself to look back before he could do anything to acknowledge her. In a few more steps the swirls of mist would obscure him. What if one of her neighbors was an early riser and was walking down the street? The nape of her neck tickled as if she were being scrutinized and found wanting.

She would be caught. Her stomach cramped, and she nearly dropped one of the two oranges she held. He’d pressed them into her arm as he handed her down. With the coins in one hand and the oranges cradled in the other, she couldn’t reach to take off the stupid bonnet. Or perhaps she should wait until she was inside.

Just a few more steps. Only she didn’t have a free hand for the key.

After setting down the oranges, she quickly untied the bonnet and ripped it from her head. She dropped the fruit and coins inside and held it by the ribbons. The key sounded like a cannon blast as she put it in the keyhole. As soon as the tumblers clicked, she pulled it out. She squeezed her eyes shut half expecting the door to be yanked open. She couldn’t see beyond the solid panels to know if anyone was just beyond it.

There was no hope for it. She would have to risk opening the door and hope that it was too early for a footman to be stationed in the entry hall. Her heart hammering, she cracked the door and peeked around the edge.