“I suppose I am.”
“I should decline, but if you have a book to read…” She inclined her head toward the one in his hand. “You’re welcome to join me. Is there another chair?” She looked about.
“I’ll fetch one.” He returned a few moments later, hefting a chair by the back with one hand. Setting it near hers so that he mostly blocked her from the rest of the room, he sat down.
Not only was he tall, but he was muscular in a thoroughly masculine way that differed from most men she’d met. Not that she’d met terribly many as of yet. Her Season was just getting under way.
Through her veil, she made out the aquiline planes of his face, the piercing blue of his eyes, and the lush sweep of his lips. The lower one was bisected by a scar that cut down into his chin. It was pale, indicating the injury had occurred some time ago.
“That must have hurt,” she said without thinking. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He touched his mouth and chin, his gloved finger sweeping down over the scar. “This? Yes. But it happened a lifetime ago.”
A lifetime was a very long measure. But she suspected he was quite a bit older than her twenty-two years. He was at least thirty, if not older. Aside from his appearance, he carried a weight and…almost weariness about him that suggested lived experience. Anne possessed none of those things.
He opened his book. Apparently, they were just going to read. And why wouldn’t they? That was what she’d come to do, and she’d invited him to join her. Except now that he was here, she was consumed with curiosity and something more visceral. It was as if she couldn’t look away from him.
“Are you going to read?” he asked, his deep voice settling into her with a delicious comfort that was akin to burrowing into a warm, soft bed.
“Yes.” She tipped her gaze back to her book and tried to find her place. Eventually, she got there; however as she listened to him turn one page and then two, she realized she wasn’t reading but just staring at the words.
And stealing covert glances in his direction.
This went on for some time. Anne began to turn pages, but she still wasn’t reading them. She wanted to talk to him, but every time she started to, she pressed her lips together.
“You aren’t reading, are you?” He didn’t look up from his book.
“How could you tell?”
“You just turned three pages in such rapid succession that I must question the speed at which you can read. Especially since prior to that, you were hardly turning pages at all.”
Anne smiled beneath her veil. He’d been paying as much attention to her as she was to him. “I’d rather talk to you. Do you come here to read often? Most people come to purchase a book—or books—and leave.”
“That is what I typically do, yes,” he said rather drily. “You come here to read, however?”
“Every week. Or at least, every week since I arrived in London a month ago.”
“You’re here for the Season?”
“I am. Are you?”
“I live here. All the time.”
“Do you like it? I find London exciting and wonderful—not that I’ve been allowed to see much of it.” She knew she sounded wistful and perhaps disgruntled.
“What would you like to see?”
It seemed a genuine question. Nevertheless, she asked, “You truly want to know?”
“I do.”
Anne considered what to reveal and ultimately decided to be honest. If he judged her poorly, so be it. “Covent Garden. I love to watch people, and it sounds like a fascinating place to do so.”
He tipped his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You are here for the Season and your costume is of high quality, so you must be a Society miss. You’re wearing a veil, the reason for which is apparently due to some hideousness. However, if you are here for the Season, I can’t imagine there’s anything hideous about you.”
There was no stopping the blush that rushed to Anne’s face, but he couldn’t see it anyway.
“Yet you are hiding beneath a veil by yourself—apparently every week—at Hatchard’s. Where is your chaperone?”
“I don’t need one.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “You see, I’ve a bodyguard instead.”
His lips spread slowly into a wide grin. “You’ve a bit of sauce,” he whispered. “I like that.”
Anne’s breath caught as she stared into his eyes. He looked back at her, but with the veil between them, it wasn’t the same. “What about you? You are also finely dressed. Have I netted an earl as my bodyguard?”
His gaze was unwavering as his smile faded. “You have not.” There was an edge to his answer that sent a shiver down her spine. “I think perhaps we should remain anonymous—since you are expending such effort to hide your identity.”
“People frown on Society misses who don’t have chaperones and only bodyguards.”
“They do. Your effort is commendable. You will be back here next week, then?”
“I shall.”
“Wear your simplest gown. We’ll go to Covent Garden.”
“I only have two hours.” Anne didn’t want to explain further. She liked the idea of anonymity almost as much as she liked the idea of him taking her to Covent Garden. A forbidden excitement embraced her.
“It will be a swift tour, then,” he said. “But I promise it will be enjoyable.”
Of that, Anne had no doubt.
One week later…
After meeting at Hatchard’s, Lord Bodyguard—which was the name Anne had given the gentleman—escorted her into his cabriolet and drove them to Covent Garden. Rather, near to Covent Garden, since they left the vehicle in the charge of Lord Bodyguard’s tiger while they made their way to the square.
“I think I was right to call you Lord Bodyguard,” Anne said as she took his arm.
He turned his head, his brows elevating in surprise. “Lord Bodyguard?”
She arched a shoulder. “You seem wealthy.”
“Not all nobles are wealthy,” he said with a slight laugh. “And not all wealthy men are noble.”
“You’re also imposing.”
