“Sì. It is. Friends don’t flirt with friends, remember?”
“Che peccato,” he murmured, gaze dropping to her mouth and making her lips tingle. “I thought we had decided that flirting was acceptable.”
And to think . . . she had kissed that mouth. Twice, in fact.
“No, we decidedly did not.” Allie took a step back and crossed her arms, hoping somehow to ward off the allure of him.
“Are ye sure? Because I seem tae remember that—”
“Why are you here, Mr. Penn-Leith?”
That grin flashed again, here and then gone. “Why am I not surprised Kendall didn’t inform ye that I would be joining yourselves for the voyage tae Muirford House?”
“Why indeed. Pray enlighten me.”
Allie listened in stunned silence as Mr. Penn-Leith explained Kendall’s plan to stay ahead of the gossip-mongers.
“It is a rather brilliant scheme, ye must admit,” Mr. Penn-Leith said as he finished.
Nodding her head in begrudging agreement, Allie sighed, “It is diabolical. I would expect no less from Kendall.”
It appeared that her brother had already neutralized the threat that Fabrizio posed, which meant Allie did not need to tell him about her would-be blackmailer. If Fabrizio went to the press now with his information, his claims would batter futilely against the powerful reputation of the Duke of Kendall. And despite their personal differences, Allie could not disparage Kendall’s character as a gentleman of honor. His stalwart reputation was well-honed.
She glanced at Ethan. Granted, she didn’t approve ofeverythingher brother had done.
“Of course,” she continued, turning to look at the shoreline, “his lofty dukeness couldn’t be bothered to share his plans with me.”
For all of Kendall’s talk of a ceasefire between them—a wish for more amicable interactions—he still didn’t understand that any meaningful relationship required trust as its bedrock. But he had shattered their mutual trust years ago and obviously would make no attempt to rebuild it.
Frowning, she left the shelter of the paddle wheel and returned to standing at the ship’s railing. The ship floated out of the river lock and slowly merged with the crowded boat traffic on the Thames. Heads turned to stare at theSS Statesmanas it churned past, seafaring steamships being an uncommon sight.
Allie watched the city drift by, a fetid wind tugging at her bonnet.
Mr. Penn-Leith nudged her elbow with his.
“It wasnumpty-headed of your brother not tae tell ye of his stratagems,” he said quietly.
This was the problem with Ethan Penn-Leith, Allie decided.
Yes, he was the Highland Poet—charisma wrapped in a kilt—saying charming things like ‘numpty-headed’ in his Scottish brogue.
But he was also Ethan . . . an insightful, kind man who slid behind her emotional defenses as smoothly as a Borgiastilettothrough fresh mozzarella.
It was equal parts unnerving and gratifying.
She longed to sink her head onto his shoulder. To allow him to support the weight of her heavy heart. To find an island of respite in his sympathy.
Swallowing, she shoved the urge down, down, down. In her experience, weakness had only ever led to heartache. Trusting anyone other than herself ended in disappointment.
So instead, Allie laughed, hating the bitter edge to it but helpless to tame it either. “Anumpty, you say?”
“It is abrawScots term. Your brother is a wee bit of a fool to abuse your affections so.”
Allie’s breath caught in her throat. “Affection? What possible affection could I hold for that overbearing, rude—”
Mr. Penn-Leith turned and fixed her with such a disbelievinglookthat Allie broke off speaking.
She glanced away from him, watching the metropolis as it continued to scroll past—wharves and docks, warehouses and tenements.
