Shadows of passersby moved in and out of her peripheral vision.
“I suppose you consider yourself humorous,” she deadpanned, stepping away from the gate and placing his large body between herself and Gilbert House across the street. Anything to avoid attracting the watchful eyes of Kendall’s servants.
“Oh, aye.” He matched her monotone cadence, though his lips curved slightly at the corners. “The best poets are.”
Unbidden, a burble of laughter escaped her throat.
A lightness filled her lungs, like balloon gas taking flight.
Mr. Penn-Leith stared down at her, his green eyes wide and, if she were to label the expression, nearly stunned.
“IfImay offer a word of advice—” he began.
“Please do not.”
“—ye really should laugh more, Lady Allegra. I fear ye haven’t laughed enough in your life.”
Allie lifted an eyebrow. “You are surprisingly terrible at taking a hint.”
“Alas, my talents lie in other areas.”
A murmuring rush of sound finally broke through Allie’s consciousness.
“It’s him,” a voice said to her left.
“’Tis hard to tell without the kilt,” another answered.
“Mr. Penn-Leith!” a third person called.
Allie peeked around the Scot’s shoulder.
A phalanx of faces greeted her.
Ladies in feathered bonnets that eagerly bobbed in time with their heads. Gentlemen wearing black top hats and curious expressions. Maids in pinafores, giggling and clutching one another’s hands.
A veritable mob of people, eyes somewhat glazed and transfixed on Ethan Penn-Leith.
Allie resisted stumbling back, her initial sense of surprise rapidly morphing into alarm.
And then . . .
. . . the crowd surged forward, trapping herself and the Scot against the iron railings of the garden fence.
6
Ethan turned around to face the crowd, keeping Lady Allegra behind him, praying his body protected her from the gathered throng. His heart pulsed against the back of his tongue.
Damn and blast.
Hisladra’sthroaty laugh had taken a battering ram to his intelligence. And, quite frankly, every sensible cell in his body.
His chest still sparked and popped like a damp log over a red-hot fire.
How had he forgotten his surroundings so easily?
The masses were gathering by the second.
A Greek chorus of “Mr. Penn-Leith!” and “Read us a poem!” rose in the air. A few hands from the crowd grabbed at him.
