A throat cleared behind him. He turned to find she’d dressed herself…somewhat. Her hair was half up and half down, and thoroughly sodden, and her dress might be on backwards, but it was enough to preserve her modesty from prying eyes.
Hisprying eyes, to be exact.
Side by side, they followed the path that led around the side of the villa.
“About our bargain,” she said.
Perhaps she’d come to her senses and thought better of it.
“Yes?”
“I’ll expect you at my villa tomorrow night—” Her brow furrowed. “Tonight?”
He nodded. It had grown late.
“For our first painting session.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“And bring a fig leaf.”
“A fig leaf?”
“To preserve your modesty.”
For the first time in what felt like an age of thirty years—perhaps it had been—he laughed, long and hard and without reserve. It cleansed, this sort of laughter. But, really, the things that emerged from this woman’s mouth. “You mean to preserveyourmodesty,” he said.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You’ll see.”
Could she truly be that innocent?
He looked into her eyes.
She could.
“Midnight,” she continued. “You know where my bedroom is located.”
They reached the alleyway, but before they emerged from the shadows, he signaled that she stop. “Stay put and out of sight.”
With a sharp whistle, he caught his driver’s attention. Within a few minutes, the carriage rolled into view. Tristan waved it as close as could be managed. Even so, Lady Amelia would be exposed to a good five feet of light. The unconcerned eye would find nothing amiss. The gossipy eye, however…
She was a Windermere. That was what people would say. What they didn’t understand about Lady Amelia, however, was that she was a different sort of Windermere.
He opened the carriage door and waved at her. She seemed to understand the mission, for she dashed as fast as her sloshy slippers could carry her and made a mad scramble inside the carriagetout suite. As she passed him, he might’ve even caught a few droplets of spray from her hair, which now streamed down her back in wet blonde streaks.
Once inside, she stared straight ahead and didn’t acknowledge his existence. She might’ve sobered up a bit.
He poked his head into the open window. “One bit of advice,” he said to the side of her face. “When you get home, drink a large glass of water. Your morning self will thank you.”
He pulled back and gave the side of the carriage two sharp raps.
As he watched the carriage speed off into the night, he knew what he should do. He should send a note first thing tomorrow backing out of their bargain.
But he wouldn’t.
He knew that, too.
