floor.
When he got to her, their eyes met, and Otis froze for a moment.
“Hurry up!” Hector shouted.
Gridley twisted in Jilly’s arms.
“Here,” Jilly said aloud for Hector to hear. She thrust Gridley in Otis’s arms. “Good-bye, Gridley.” She petted him slowly, doing her best to appear reluctant to leave him.
“Say I was called away for family illness,” Jilly said in the merest of whispers. “I’ll be back for the fair. Get the captain’s help, meanwhile. Tell him … tell him I’m sorry.”
Otis’s eyes were still wide and she saw some pity in them. But she also saw a glimmer of hope, which he swiftly extinguished.
Perhaps he understood more than she cared him to.
“I’ll miss you, Lady Jilly.” Otis gave a big sob. “Oh, how I’ll miss you!”
Heavens, he was playing his part too well. But it was what she loved about him, wasn’t it? She threw her arms about him, and Gridley squirmed, pressed as he was between them. When she pulled back, Otis gave a long moan of despair. The cat’s tail whipped back and forth in a frenzied motion. He wanted back to his ledge and peace.
Jilly couldn’t blame him.
She straightened her back, and looked at Otis with a great deal of affection. “I must go now, dear friend. Good luck with Hodgepodge.”
He suddenly seemed to remember he was holding Gridley and let him slip to the floor.
When he stood again, he took Jilly’s hand and raised it to his lips. “Good-bye, Lady Jilly. Best of luck to you.”
His voice was a mere whisper now. The real grief had come back to replace the staged.
She felt it, too.
Oh, how she hoped her new plan would work! She’d still be stuck with Hector—who’d be furious after he found out—but at least Dreare Street would have a chance to be happy.
She went to Hector, and with everything she had in her, forced herself to place her hand on his arm.
“You’ll never see her again, you idiot,” Hector said to Otis, and strode with her to the door. “Good riddance,” he said, looking back. “And may your bookstore go up in flames.”
To prove his point, he flicked his smoking cheroot through the air.
“No!” Otis shouted, and went scrambling after it.
Hector merely laughed.
Jilly thought she couldn’t feel any worse at that point. But when she headed straight for the carriage, she somehow knew Captain Arrow was watching her.
The shame she felt was so great, she could barely hold her head up.
She entered the carriage swiftly and was relieved when the coachman cracked the whip seconds later. They were on their way.
When they rolled out of Dreare Street onto Curzon Street, she clenched her hands in her lap. She’d be back, she told herself, in two days.
She
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A few moments earlier, Stephen stood at a bedchamber window at 34 Dreare Street and looked out at Hodgepodge. It was the same window Jilly had leaned out when he’d first met her, the one where she’d dropped bags of water on the bull’s-eye he’d painted on the street below.
Impulsively, he looked out and down, as if somehow he could recapture that special day, the first day he’d met Miss Jones. The bull’s-eye was still there but fading now. Good thing. He’d have had trouble selling a house with a silly bull’s-eye painted in front of it.
Dropping bags of water had been a foolish thing to do. So was hosting a night of theatrics. So was being a drunken idiot with his friends.
But none of that compared with the stupidity of falling in love with a woman who was married.
Yes, he’d fallen in love—real love—for the first time in his life. He’d been infatuated too many times to count, but love?
Never.
Not until Miss Jones had come along, with her notes of protestation about the noise he was creating and her earnest knocks on his door, pleading for peace.
Hah.
She’d gotten her revenge, hadn’t she?
He’d never have peace again.
Now he looked at Hodgepodge, at the fine carriage and two matched bays standing in front of it. Mr. Broadmoor—and Jilly—were obviously wealthy.
Stephen should have known.
He’d no idea why he felt compelled to watch, but he did.
She walked out of the bookshop.
It was the only way he could refer to her without feeling as if his heart were being ripped out of his chest.
Her face appeared serene if serious, her chin was up (no surprise there), and her back was straight. It was only a moment between the shop door and the carriage, but would she look over at him?
Surely she knew he was watching.
No. She kept her eye on the carriage door, and moments later the vehicle was rolling away.
He turned from the window and ran both hands over his face, then stood silent, looking at nothing.
All he could see was her face when she nodded, admitting it was true—
She was that man’s wife.
“Damn you, Jilly Jones!” Stephen cried into the empty bedchamber, then swiftly punched a hole in the wall.
Relishing the pain, he staggered from the room.
What else could he destroy?
“Captain Arrow!” It was Lady Hartley coming up the stairs. She froze in place, her hand on her skirt. “What has happened to your hand?”
Miss Hartley peered over her shoulder.
He looked down at his hand. It was mainly chalky white, but there was a streak of red on the knuckles.
Blood, of course.
When he looked up again, he’d tucked all traces of emotion away. “A small accident while I was working. Nothing to be concerned about.” He certainly didn’t want
“At the club.” Lady Hartley gave a careless arch to one brow. She sounded bored and resentful. “Miranda is about to go out with that cook of yours to purchase more paint. But I believe I’ll stay here.”
“Am I?” Miss Hartley asked brightly. “I thought you and Papa said I couldn’t—”
“Yes, well, I’ve changed my mind,” Lady Hartley replied.
“Thank you, Mother!” Miss Hartley turned right back around and ran out the front door.
When the door slammed behind the daughter, the mother threw Stephen a meaningful look, which he completely ignored.
