Not about to confess that she was glad he had, Fancy glanced around. The crowd who’d left the theater had dispersed, and those who’d been waiting for the next show had made their way inside. “We’ll sit on the steps, shall we?”
She didn’t wait for him but settled herself halfway up the stairway that led into the theater. He dropped down near her, his long legs stretching out before him. He wasn’t as near to her as he’d been in the cab, and she rather regretted that no portion of him was touching her. It had been quite lovely to brush up against him as they’d traversed through the streets.
“It’s surprisingly good,” he muttered.
“I noticed a queue earlier when we arrived. If you set up a stall outside a theater, you need to establish a reputation for dependable fare if you hope to have any success at all.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “Your brother teach you that?”
“No, I figured it out on my own, not to mention that it makes a great deal of sense. People don’t return if they’re dissatisfied with the results of a purchase.” She shrugged. “Well, around here they might return in order to introduce you to their fists.”
She bit into the tasty crust, laughing lightly as the thick filling dribbled down her chin. With her gloved hand, she wiped it away. So unladylike. But it was rather delicious.
When he didn’t respond, she looked over to find him studying her with a hunger in his eyes as though he wished to lick the broth from her skin—or perhaps she was merely projecting her own desires onto him.
“I have a linen in my pocket.” His voice sounded rough and raw.
“The one with my tears?”
He nodded. She’d been deeply touched when he’d gently wiped away the dampness, and for some reason she didn’t want to soil the cloth, having an irrational thought that perhaps he would never again wash it but would keep her tears for eternity.
She shook her head. “It’s really too late now. I’ll continue to use my gloves and simply remove them when I’m done.”
“They’ll be ruined.”
They were already ruined. She noted he’d had the wisdom to remove his before they began eating. “I’ve another pair.”
Abruptly, he returned his attention to his meat pie, and she took another bite of hers. Then she felt a need to confess, “I’ve peered through a part in my draperies and caught you lurking at your window late at night.”
“I’m hardly lurking, simply looking out over the mews.”
“Not at my window?”
“Sometimes my gaze might pass over it, but it is not my intention to spy on you, Miss Trewlove.”
She didn’t know why his words disappointed her. Perhaps because she wanted him to be as intrigued by her as she was by him. “From your window across the way, you can see my bedchamber but not the perfection of what rests on the other side.”
“Are you referring to yourself?”
Her light laughter floated around them. “I’m not so arrogant as all that. Beneath my window is a small reading nook. My brothers built a bench into the wall. My mum sewed a thick stuffed cushion and embroidered pillows for it. Sometimes I sit there and read until the world falls away.”
“Don’t let my looking out prevent you from doing what you enjoy.”
“Now who’s being arrogant, to think you could stop me from doing something I wished to do? I simply wanted you to be aware that if you should see me sitting there, it’s not because I seek to garner your attention, but rather it is my habit to do so.”
“I shall keep that in mind. What will become of your shop when you marry? Will you continue to manage it?”
“I won’t have time, will I? Not with all my social and wifely obligations. Morning calls, dinners, plays—being seen everywhere. Mick still owns the building.” He’d been unwilling to give it to her because the law wouldn’t allow her to keep control of it once she married. Her husband would be able to do with it as he pleased. “He has promised to let me have a say in how it’s managed, but I won’t be working there, certainly not living there. No, Marianne will take over the running of things, although I hope to still have a hand in the teaching. Ladies married to lords do good works, you know. That shall be mine.”
It would be a very different life, but she was excited about the possibilities of it. The challenge was in finding a man who also saw the potential and embraced it. She took the last bite of her pie, wiped her gloved hand over her mouth, and began tugging it off.
“You missed a spot.”
Turning, she found him studying her so intently she feared she looked an absolute mess. She lifted a hand, the glove dangling halfway off it. His fingers closed gently around her wrist. “May I?”
His voice held such sincerity she might have nodded had he asked to ravish her, but all he wanted was to remove a tiny bit of food that she’d overlooked. In amazement, she watched as he touched his tongue to his thumb—quite possibly the most sensual thing she’d ever seen a man do.
“Just there,” he said, pressing his thumb near the corner of her mouth.
