Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(42)

A fingertip clad in warm, close-fitting kid leather slid over the lines of her palm. Suddenly, the night didn’t seem so chilled anymore.

“A long life,” he said, tracing a line from the crook of her thumb to the outer edge of her palm. “Good health and happiness.” He lifted her hand and pretended to peer at it. “Ten … No, eleven.”

“Years?”

“Children.”

“Eleven children?” A burst of laughter escaped her. “Goodness. By whom?”

“By your husband, of course. In your future, I see you taking a very dependable, respectable, faithful husband.” Droplets of moisture dotted the glass in his spectacles. She couldn’t make out the expression in his eyes.

“He sounds terribly dull.” She couldn’t help but tease. “Is he perchance a clerk?”

He dropped her hand, and the air between them was suddenly heavy with awkwardness.

“At least buy me a flower?” she said.

He fished a coin from his pocket and tossed it in the gypsy woman’s basket, withdrawing a single mist-glazed rose. “Here,” he said, presenting it to her wrapped in a ribbon of irony. “Because the hundreds of blooms in your drawing room are growing lonely.”

“I like this one best.” She took it in her ungloved hand, and together they continued on.

Lily glimpsed a row of hackney cabs waiting up ahead. Too close. She couldn’t bear to let him go just yet. She stopped abruptly.

Again, he turned to her, plainly confused. “Lily, is there something you want?”

Words failed her. What could she say? She hardly knew what she wanted, much less how to ask for it. Time. She just wanted time. Time spent with him, exploring this delicious, palpable attraction and the meaning of it all.

“Julian, when you were staring into my palm …”

He nodded, swallowing hard.

“Did you perchance see dinner in our future? I’m positively famished.”

“I’m certain Holling will have—”

“No, no. I don’t want to wait that long. I’m hungry now. Surely there are shops hereabouts that cater to theatergoers.”

“There are, I’m certain. None of them are fit for you to visit.”

“Me?” She smiled. “But you forget, I’m a common woman, sir. I dine in these establishments all the time.” To her left, a leaded glass window threw diamonds of yellow light onto the pavement. Lily peered through the open door. A greasy aroma wafted out, mingled with the sharp tang of spirits. “What about this place? Is it a cookshop? Or an alehouse?”

Julian frowned. “A bit of both, and then some other things besides. If it’s a label you’re looking for, ‘Den of Iniquity’ would likely cover it.”

“Excellent. I’m absolutely starved for some iniquity.” She dropped his arm and walked through the open door, knowing he would follow.

Chapter Eleven

Julian followed her, of course. What choice did he have?

Catching up to her in the entryway, he grasped her by the elbow and wheeled her around. She tottered on her heels. For a brief moment, he considered throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her straight out the door. Then he found himself enjoying that image, far too much.

“No,” he said simply. To her or to himself, he didn’t know.

“It doesn’t look so bad,” she said, darting a glance about the place. “Let’s stay.”

Julian surveyed the place. She was right; it didn’t look so bad. The room was crowded with a number of tables, stools, benches and the occasional straight-backed chair. About half of the tables were occupied with couples or chatty groups of men, many of whom clutched playbills in their hands.

“Very well,” he said, resigned. “Just dinner.”

Because truthfully, he didn’t want to take her home. In the theater, with the peerage hovering above them, he’d suffered the constant fear of discovery. But in a place like this, it was so easy to imagine that there was nothing to fear. That she was just his sweetheart, and he was simply … himself. He wanted to revel in the illusion of honesty, if only for a while.

He chose a small table in the furthest, most isolated corner of the room. Once they were seated, a serving girl made her way to them.

“Have you beefsteak?” Julian asked her.

“Yes, sir. Also joints of mutton, and a very fine fish pie.”

“Is the beefsteak truly beef? You know, from an actual cow?”

“Julian!” Lily chided.

He raised a brow. “You never know in these places.” To the girl, he said, “Two of the steak, then. Ale for me, and spruce beer for the lady.”

“Spruce beer,” Lily muttered. “What am I, twelve years of age?” She motioned for the serving girl’s attention. “That’ll be wine for me, thank you.”

They waited in hungry silence. Looking around the room, looking at each other. Their gazes collided, and his face warmed with an unaccountable blush. God, he truly was like a youth again.

“I’ve just decided something,” she said. “What to name the parrot.”

Please, not “Julian.” Please, not “Julian.” He couldn’t bear to think that once he was gone from her life, his legacy wore feathers. Better to be forgotten entirely.