A Night Like This (Smythe-Smith Quartet #2)(48)

He thought of several replies, but he had a feeling none would be as witty from his lips as they were in his head, so instead he nodded in acknowledgment and held out his arm, which she took with a smile.
Once they stepped outside, however, Anne turned to him with narrowed eyes and asked, quite bluntly, “Are you following me?”
He coughed. “Well, I wouldn’t say following, exactly.”
“Not exactly?” Her lips were doing a very good job of not smiling, but her eyes were not.
“Well,” he said, adopting his most innocent expression, “I was in the hat shop before you came in. Some might even say that you were following me.”
“Some might,” she agreed. “But not me. Or you.”
“No,” he said, biting back a grin. “Definitely not.”
They began walking uphill toward the stationer’s shop, and even though she had not pressed the matter any further, he was enjoying the conversation far too much to let it go, so he said, “If you must know, I had been made aware of your possible presence in the village.”
“Clearly, I must know,” she murmured.
“And as I was also required to complete a few errands—”
“You?” she interrupted. “Required?”
He decided to ignore that. “And as it looked as if it might rain, I thought it my duty as a gentleman to make my trip into the village today, lest you get caught in inclement weather without proper conveyance home.”
She was quiet for just long enough to level a dubious stare in his direction, then said (not asked, said), “Really.”
“No,” he admitted with a grin, “I was mostly just looking for you. But I do need to visit with all the shopkeepers eventually, and I—” He stopped, looked up. “It’s raining.”
Anne held out her hand, and sure enough, a fat drop landed near her fingertips. “Well, I suppose that shouldn’t be a surprise. The clouds have been gathering all day.”
“Shall we see about your sealing wax and be off, then? I came in my curricle and am more than happy to see you home.”
“Your curricle?” she asked, eyebrows up.
“You’ll still get wet,” he allowed, “but you’ll look very stylish while doing so.” At her answering grin, he added, “And you’ll get back to Whipple Hill faster.”
By the time they took care of her sealing wax, choosing a deep, dark blue the exact color of the bonnet she’d left behind, the rain was coming down lightly but steadily. Daniel offered to wait with her in the village until it let up, but she told him she was expected back by teatime, and besides, who was to say that it would let up? The clouds were covering the sky like a thick blanket; it could very well rain until next Tuesday. “And it’s not raining that hard,” she said, frowning out the stationer’s window.
True enough, but when they reached Percy’s Fine Hats and Bonnets, he stopped and asked her, “Do you recall if they sold umbrellas?”
“I think they did.”
He held up a finger, signaling for her to wait, and was back out with an umbrella in no more time than it took for him to direct them to send the bill to Whipple Hill and Mr. Percy to say, “Indeed.”
“My lady,” Daniel said, with enough gallantry to make her smile. He pushed the umbrella open and held it above her as they made their way down to the posting inn.
“You should hold it over yourself as well,” she said, carefully stepping over puddles. The hem of her dress was getting wet, even as she tried to lift it off the ground with her hands.
“I am,” he lied. But he didn’t mind getting wet. His hat would resist the rain far better than her bonnet, in any case.
The posting inn wasn’t much farther, but when they arrived, the rain was coming down with a bit more vigor, so Daniel suggested once again that they wait for the rain to let up. “The food is rather good here,” he told her. “No kippers this time of day, but I’m sure we can find something to your liking.”
She chuckled, and to his great surprise, she said, “I am a bit hungry.”
He glanced at the sky. “I don’t think you’ll be home by teatime.”
“It’s all right. I can’t imagine anyone would expect me to walk home in this.”
“I shall be completely honest,” he told her. “They were deep in discussions about the upcoming wedding. I sincerely doubt anyone has even noticed you’re gone.”
She smiled as they headed inside to the dining room. “That is how it should be. Your sister should have the wedding of her dreams.”
And what of your dreams?
The question traveled to the tip of his tongue, but he held it back. It would make her uncomfortable and ruin the lovely, easy camaraderie that had settled upon them.
And he doubted she would answer.
He was growing to treasure each tiny drop of her past that slipped by her lips. The colors of her parents’ eyes, the fact that she had a sister, and both loved to fish . . . These were the little things she revealed, and whether she did so by accident or on purpose, he couldn’t be sure.
But he wanted more. When he looked in her eyes, he wanted to understand everything, every moment that had brought her to this moment. He didn’t want to call it obsession—that seemed far too dark for what he felt.
A mad infatuation, that’s what it was. A strange and giddy flight of fancy. Surely he wasn’t the first man to have been so quickly enchanted by a beautiful woman.
But as they settled into their seats in the inn’s busy dining room, he looked at her across the table and it wasn’t her beauty he saw. It was her heart. And her soul. And he had a sinking feeling that his life was never going to be the same.