“This is also an inn,” he said as he settled her into a chair before taking the one next to her. He looked toward the door, while she was angled toward the wall, which kept her face averted from the main part of the common room. “Writers from out of town stay here when they come to London.”
“You know Paternoster Row very well.”
“I admit I love it. The last day of the month is Magazine Day. That’s when periodicals go on sale, and it draws quite a crowd. For someone who likes to watch people, you’d enjoy it.”
“Then I will make a point of returning at the end of the month. Too bad it’s not a Thursday afternoon.”
“I could still bring you. Or meet you here. Actually, if you come, you should dress like a man. Then you’d blend right in. There are far more men on this street than women, so you tend to stand out.”
The idea excited Anne. But where would she get a set of men’s clothing? “Could I pass for a gentleman?”
He eyed her carefully, his gaze moving down over her. He tipped his head to see around the corner of the table. “It would take some effort, but given your petite size, you could probably pass for a boy. If you bound your, ah, chest.” His gaze jerked to hers, his eyes widening slightly. He abruptly stood. “I’ll fetch coffee.”
Anne watched him as he went to the counter. He was always superbly dressed, from his tall ebony hat to his crisp white cravat to the molded fit of his dark brown pantaloons tucked into his black Wellington boots. His blue wool coat was expertly tailored, hugging the muscles of his shoulders and arms. Seeing him never failed to make her heart skip or her breath catch. Even now, just watching him, she felt a rush of excitement, of anticipation.
He returned with two cups of coffee and set them on the table. Retaking his chair, he offered her a slight smile. “I must apologize for my comment before.”
Anne tried to think of what he’d said—her brain had become quite transfixed on him. “Oh, about my chest?” She glanced down at herself, then looked at him and realized he’d followed her gaze.
He snapped his attention from her to the coffee. “I asked for a weak brew for your first taste. Coffee can be quite strong.”
She found his awkwardness sweet. “You didn’t have to apologize.”
“I shouldn’t have said something so…intimate.” One of his blond brows arched into a sharp peak. “Perhaps we’ve become too familiar.”
“I don’t think so.” She put her hand on his arm. He looked down at where she touched him, then into her eyes. The moment stretched until she finally said, “Now, show me how to drink coffee.”
Withdrawing her hand from his arm, she tamped down the desire that was swirling within her once more. She reached for her cup.
“Do you really need me to show you?” he asked wryly.
“I suppose not.” Lifting the vessel, she put her lips to the edge and carefully sampled the dark brew. An intense bitterness snapped across her tongue. She set the cup down rather hard, nearly sloshing coffee over the rim. It was a bit of a struggle to swallow it down. She ran her tongue along the roof of her mouth and backs of her teeth. “That’s weak?”
He lifted her cup and sniffed. “Yes.” Handing her his cup, he said, “Smell this and tell me what you think.”
She inhaled and immediately turned her head to cough and sputter. “Fine, mine’s weak.”
Suppressing a grin, he sipped his coffee before returning his cup to the table. “It’s somewhat of an acquired taste.”
She wouldn’t have cared if he’d given her dirt in a cup. Nothing could detract from their time together. “I want to come to Magazine Day,” she said. “I’ll make the necessary plans for a man’s costume and a reason to go out.” She’d have to ask her chaperone—her godfather’s daughter—if they could move their appointment that week from Thursday to Wednesday.
“You’re certain?”
“Absolutely.”
The orange mark in his eye seemed to glow brighter as he stared at her. His gaze suddenly shifted over her shoulder. His jaw tightened, and an almost imperceptible shadow fell over his features.
He abruptly stood. “Come.” Moving behind her chair, he helped her rise.
“What about our coffee?”
“I know you don’t really want it,” he whispered next to her ear, eliciting another shiver along her spine.
He slid his arm around her waist and guided her toward the back of the common room. They moved through a doorway into a narrow corridor. He stepped in front of her and took her hand.
A prick of alarm shot through her. “Where are we going?”
He looked back over his shoulder and past her. “Someone I don’t want to see came into the shop. We’ll leave through the back.” He continued forward, passing closed doors on either side.
“You seem to know where you’re going,” she said.
“I’m good at pretending.”
His words made her stop. She tugged on his hand. “Is that what we’ve been doing?”
He pivoted, and she moved with him until her back was against the wall. With more than a foot of height advantage, he towered over her. “What would we have been pretending? I am not a lord. I made that clear from the start.”
He’d made it clear he wasn’t an earl, but she wouldn’t quibble. Now that he was so close to her and the space was dim and small, she knew what she’d said was foolish. The time she spent with him was the most real she could be. He didn’t expect her to be a perfect young
