“Would you care for a reading?” She was looking at Emil with interest.
“Why not?—”
“No, we haven’t the time. Thank you again.” There was absolutely no way she could risk him hearing a similar trajectory. He would laugh them all the way home.
And with uncharacteristic bravery, she gripped his arm and pulled him out the door.
Chapter 11
Olive stumbled onto the street with a gasp of relief.
“What’s the hurry?” Emil asked, shutting the front door behind him.
“It was too stuffy in there. Too many candles and whatnot,” she said, hurriedly adjusting the veil to cover her face. Had he heard what Madame Celestia told about him? Would he say anything if he had? Better change the topic, distract him. “Was your search successful? Did you find anything interesting?”
“Boy, did I.” Emil let out a low laugh. “It’s obvious she, or someone else with access to her shop, has an illicit printing practice. I found a printing press, inks in various shades, and even a few metal sheets for engraving. You’ve outdone yourself, Olive.”
Relief rushed through her, pushing aside her remaining embarrassment. He hadn’t heard the tarot reading after all. He’d been too busy swallowing her bait.
With a bit of luck, he would waste his time watching the shop for suffragists to come printing. Because she was the only one who had done so—and she had absolutely zero plans to do so again—he would waste a lot of time there.
“Then there was the other stuff.”
“What other stuff?”
“The prints,” he said obliquely, as if it should be obvious.
“What prints?”
“If you don’t know, I won’t tell you. I’d hate to offend your tender sensibilities.”
“It was my idea to come here, if you’ll recall.”
“Then you know about the erotic paintings.”
“The…”
“Erotic. Paintings,” he said, enunciating each syllable in isolation. “Frolicking satyrs and playful maidens engaged in sultry moonlight rituals. You know the type.”
She gasped. “I most certainly do not!”
He leaned in close, bringing his mouth right up to her ear. “I took one.”
Another gasp tore from her mouth.
“It’s inside my coat. Shall I pass it under your veil for you to study it at your leisure?”
She shook her head. Horrible, teasing man.
“I can hear you panting,” he whispered. “I wonder, is it from embarrassment…or from interest?”
“I—I?—”
“Tell me.”
His entreaty, so lewd, so seductive, sent desire cascading through her, settling in the cleft between her legs. She squeezed her thighs together and shook her head so violently she saw stars.
“I think you’re a fiend.”
