“What a delightful surprise to find you here, Miss Ritter.”
Cora’s thoughts ricochet, a game of whiff-whaff. As she was carrying on with Dagmar, taunting her boss halfway across town, was it in her Württembergian lilt? Did Cal spy her earlier and listen in? And how on earth is she going to explain why an emerald heiress is drinking with their cook down in the Bowery?
“I...” Cora’s mind keeps free-falling. “Württemberg is a country very known for its ale!”
Goodness, is she slurring? A hot, sudden awareness overtakes her. She is not only slurring but swaying. When did that happen?
Cal’s blue eyes glimmer from under the bar’s lantern light. “Is that so?”
“Yes, er. Indeed, it is. I ask my servants to accompany me down to this area of the city when I’m feeling particularly lonely,” she over-enunciates. “It helps withhomesickness.”
Cora scans the room for Dagmar—although, would she make this situation better or worse?
She thrusts her glass forward as evidence, sending half of it sloshing to the floor. “This, here, is the finest in town. In my opinion.”
Cal’s eyebrow quirks. “If it’s so fine, you might want to do better at preserving it.”
She places the glass on the bar top, nearly trips.
“Fancy sitting down, Miss Ritter?”
She scoffs. “And where would I sit?”
Cal Archer gestures downward. That smirk again.
There is indeed a stool sandwiched between them.
Her cheeks redden. “If you insist.”
She steals another look at the reporter, noticing that he’s doing a fairly pitiful job of hiding a laugh. He’s looking particularly handsome at this moment, she must admit. Tie loosened, suit jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled just so. A slim vest, no hat.
“I always assumed you had brown hair,” she blurts. She managed to hold on to her accent at least.
“Thinking of me when I’m not around?” Mr. Archer smiles. “How thoughtful you are.”
“Do you want to buy me another?” She nods to the taps.
“Is that a good idea?” His eyes, still twinkling. Blue eyes, tousled blond hair.
Cora squints. Really, was he always this attractive?
She knows the answer, though—feels it flush across her skin.
“Then again, who am I to pass up the chance to converse with the esteemed Cora Ritter of Württemberg?”
He flags down the barkeep, then turns, refocusing on her.
“Want to tell me why you’re really here?” he asks.
“Oh, please. Anything I say, you’ll print in...” She waves her hands, momentarily and mortifyingly forgetting the name. “...that paper.”
“I’ll have you know I’m more than just ‘that paper.’” He slides a drink her way with a wink. “Anything you say tonight is off the record. You have my word.”
“Off the record?” Cora takes a sip, picturing Alice in her study, dismissing Cora’s entire future with a simple wave of her hand. “Just been a bad day, I suppose. Got some badnews... about Württemberg. My future plans. It seems my cousin...”
Cora stops. She’s probably breaking at least five different rules of propriety, being here in this bar with a man she’s neither engaged nor married to, pretending to be someone she isn’t, talking about someone she shouldn’t. But now that she’s started, she desperately wants to unload to someone—and who better than this charming (no, no, not charming,worldly) reporter? The only person in this city who’s ever seemed to care about what she has to say? Who is so interested in what she might contribute that he’s pursued her around Manhattan? Who’s currently looking at her as if he’s desperate for her to let him in?
She simply needs to spin the lies this time, in order to confess the truth.
