Words his body yearned to hear, but not about his cravat.
Her clever fingers made quick work of the garment before sliding it off his neck. She tied one end around the bacon and parted the curtain the necessary inch to cast the meat like a fishing lure. It landed with a soft thud, too muted for the couple to hear, caught up as they were in what sounded like a competitive shouting match.
The little terrier’s nose started working, then his head popped up. In a flash, he sprang to his four legs and, nose to the floor, began following the trail of meat as Hortense pulled the cravat, careful to keep the bacon just out of reach.
Jamie parted the curtain only wide enough to admit the cantankerous canine. Hortense snatched him up and offered the meat on her open palm. The dog gobbled it in a single bite. His little face stared up at her for more, all innocence. “Greedy beast,” she muttered.
Jamie felt a smile threaten to release. Those kept trying to escape. He suppressed the betraying muscles of his mouth and made himself useful by pushing the exterior door open. “After you.”
She poked her head out and glanced both ways, presumably checking for the guard. Then she swept through the narrow doorway, her shoulder brushing his arm in the tight space. An unexpected trace of electricity streaked through him. What a novel effect this one small woman had on his person. He shoved the thought aside and followed, joining her in the shadow of the perimeter wall where they’d left their boots.
“Do you have any more of that meat?” she asked in a rushed whisper.
Jamie glanced down and found the little terrier growling up at him from her arms. He felt around his pocket, located another cut of bacon, and extended it. The dog took one cautious sniff, then another, before snapping up the savory treat.
Hortense tucked the terrier deeper beneath her arm, while he remained somewhat content, and again hugged the perimeter wall as they scurried out of the garden at a fast clip. They didn’t speak again until they were half a street away.
“I must ask,” she said, not slowing her step. “How did you happen to have bacon with you?”
“Stinton leaves trays of food lying around as my appetite has become somewhat capricious.” Why couldn’t he curb this tendency to reveal himself to this woman? “Then I hied off after you. Hence, bacon.”
That pulled a reluctant smile from her. That he felt so gratified by it was perplexing. “I should thank you for saving the job,” she said.
“You can if you like. I won’t stop you.”
She snorted. Her lips pressed shut, no such thanks forthcoming. She slowed her pace to one more reasonable, one that invited conversation.
“That was,” he found himself saying, “fun.” The word emerged like it was a new experience. “We could do it again.”
Incredulous eyes rounded on him. “That was not our agreement.”
“Agreements can be amended.”
She would never agree to such an arrangement, so why was he pushing her?
Because something inside him couldn’t resist.
“Not ours,” she said, firm, definite. “Now, this is where we part.”
He glanced around the neat rows of townhouses stretching to either side of them. “You reside in Mayfair?”
“Of course not.”
“I shall see you to your lodgings.” His lordly tone brooked no disagreement.
“That is quite unnecessary.” She resumed walking, clearly intent on leaving him in her dust.
He held his tongue and allowed his feet to carry the conversation for him as he drew alongside her. He would see her to her lodgings. He was a gentleman, after all.
On they strode through London in silence. Even the little terrier kept his peace and hardly tugged at the lead she’d fashioned from the cravat. They traversed streets, byways, and alleys, exiting the tame environs of Mayfair into the heart of the city many in his social strata never experienced firsthand. London was never completely asleep, but this was as close as it got, few others crossing their path, and the ones who did, giving them not a moment’s notice.
In the deep reaches of Westminster, her step slowed, and she indicated a building ahead. “This is where we part ways.”
He gave the edifice a once-over—nondescript gray, black trim, its only decoration the number eleven. “You live here?”
He was stalling. Why?
An answer forwarded itself, one he didn’t especially like. An answer that explained why he’d said they could do this again.
