Marquesses at the Masquerade(66)

“Lord Exmore, may I present my faithful servant, Mrs. Edward Bailey. She accompanied me here. We sneaked away from my uncle’s house together.”

“Partners in crime.” He winked at Mrs. Bailey. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Thank you for taking such good care of Miss Van Der Keer.”

Mrs. Bailey made a click deep in her throat, clearly intimidated by Exmore’s title, and stepped away. He wished politeness didn’t demand introductions. He would have loved to continue speaking with the earthy, no-nonsense Mrs. Bailey.

“Did you really sneak away to attend?” he asked Annalise.

“Actually, I was fibbing. I simply said that I planned to attend a naturalist lecture and that Mrs. Bailey would attend me, and everyone scurried away like I had announced that I had contracted the plague.”

He chuckled.

She glanced at a window in an empty lecture room, and her brows furrowed. “Alas, I fear we must brave the rain again.”

“Must you?” he asked. “There is a warm tea shop tucked away around the corner, perfect for waiting out the deluge.”

She paused, considering, and then shook her head. “I shouldn’t…”

“I can’t let you go out in the wet and cold. You will most certainly catch the dreaded plague or, at the least, a deadly chill.”

“My goodness, you make hot tea sound like life or death.”

“Did you ever doubt it?”

“But if my uncle finds out…”

“I’ll be surprised if we aren’t the only people there. And there’s a table practically hidden around a chimney. No one will see you. So, you have no good reason to decline and risk your life.” Exmore had spent several mornings at the tea shop, hiding and gulping down strong tea, trying to chase away all that had happened the previous night.

“But will there be good conversation?” Annalise asked.

“Only the best, of course.”

She glanced again at the pounding rain on the window and then at him. “Well, if we aren’t going adventuring in a jungle, we may as well have tea. Who cares what my vile uncle thinks? Let’s go.”

“There’s the old Miss Van Der Keer. I wondered where she had gone.”

“Oh, she comes out from time to time—as reckless and foolish as ever.”

*



Annalise knew she shouldn’t have followed him to the tea shop, but she positively dreaded returning to Wigmore Street. The day had been perfect, the best she had had in months, and she wasn’t ready for it to end. She wanted to hang on to its shine a little longer.

Exmore was correct. The tea shop was quite cozy, and he led her to a table that indeed was almost hidden behind the chimney and tucked in the corner, where the light was dim. The candle burning on the table gave the impression that it was nighttime.

Mrs. Bailey learned that the shop owner had been born in her home village, and the two fell into a conversation about whom they knew and whom they were related to. The rain thundered on the roof and windows, and steam rose from Exmore’s tea, curling about his mesmerizing eyes and gentle smile. Annalise felt her muscles relax as a deep contentment settled over her.

Exmore poured a few drops of cream in his black tea and swirled it with a spoon. “I have to admit that I was rather upset at you before the lecture.”

“Me? What am I guilty of? Do make it interesting. Larceny of crown jewels, disorderly conduct at Almack’s.”

“No, no, because you ignored me at the theater. But then you prettily apologized, and my grudge disappeared as if I hadn’t been nursing it for days.”

How odd that he should be angry at her for not speaking with him. She hadn’t thought she would be significant in his vast, colorful universe. “I’m sorry. I wanted to speak to you about the fascinating article you sent me. I’ve been thinking about it for days. Alas, my uncle read your letter when it arrived, and well, Mount Vesuvius erupts more peacefully. Might I suggest not sending letters to me, or if you do, don’t write, ‘Looking forward to our grand secret.’”

“Dear Lord, I’m dreadfully sorry.”

She flicked her hand dismissively. “It’s ridiculous. My uncle has lascivious suspicions. He thinks that you couldn’t possibly be friends with me. Only nefarious things can exist between you and a lady such as myself.”

“Such as yourself? What’s wrong with you?”

She studied him. He was a handsome man, but not as handsome as Patrick. Or perhaps he was a different sort of handsome. He was a little more hard-featured and intense than her former suitor. He was dark to Patrick’s gingery, golden looks. In any case, it didn’t seem right that he should be here, talking to her, when he could bask in the adoration of the ton. “You’re a shining English god, living high on Mount Mayfair, and I’m a lowly, untouchable, mortal woman, baked in common mud and loitering about the edges of society.”

“Do you think that? That we can’t truly be friends?”

She glanced at the liquid in her cup. “I really want to be friends,” she whispered. “You are the most interesting person I know, well, now that my father is dead.” She lifted her cup to take a sip, but then put it back down before it reached her lips. “I know I need to marry. I know it’s how I’m supposed to spend my waking hours in London, thinking about what I should wear, where I should be seen, all in the hopes of securing a husband. But…” She gazed at Exmore. “I’m tired. I’m so tired. Do you understand?”