The knock at the door took him from his thoughts for a moment. “Yes?”
“Miss Seymour, my lord,” said Polly’s voice.
“Good. Come in.”
She always came to breakfast. Her presence today was no surprise and a bit of a relief, considering the previous evening. All the same, Stephen leaned forward to watch the door open, tense and alert for—God knew what.
It was some comfort, and troubling at the same time, to see that Mina didn’t precisely look at ease. Pretty, yes, even on a day like this one and even in yet another combination of plain dark dress and tightly knotted hair. She held her body rigidly, though, and she looked only briefly into his eyes. “Good morning.”
“And to you,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Polly disappear through the door and wondered if perhaps he shouldn’t have asked her to stay. But what cause would he give? It was too late for him to start acting like a maiden aunt.
He poured Mina a cup of tea and pretended that it took his full concentration, that another sort of tension entirely wasn’t threatening to make itself known. Her skin was creamy and pale against the dark dress, and her eyes were huge, but he wasn’t going to take much notice of that.
He told himself that very firmly, addressing the thought particularly toward his groin, which seemed disinclined to listen.
“I hope your bedroom was all right,” said Mina, fortunatelyafterStephen had put the teapot back down. It wasn’t so much the words themselves as the way she caught her breath afterallright, realizing what she’d implied. She bit her lip, small white teeth against crimson skin.
With that, Stephen’s cock came to full attention.
Damn, he said again, silently this time and directed toward his unruly senses. He had to work with this woman, a purpose he wouldn’t serve by acting like a schoolboy—or a satyr.
He managed to keep his voice from betraying his arousal. “I saw nothing damaged,” he said. “’Tis good of you to ask.”
“Oh. Good.” Mina turned her attention toward her breakfast.
As far as Stephen knew, the walls and furnishings of his drawing room were completely mundane: stone, plaster, and wood, quite natural and certainly not given to changing. All the same, the room seemed about half its normal size. The air was warmer too; the clammy day outside had slipped from his mind entirely.
Business. Business would help—and making progress on that business would get Mina out of his house all the sooner. She’d been very clear about wanting that a few days ago, and it would certainly be better for both of them.
Stephen wished he hadn’t felt the need to tell himself that.
“Speaking of last night—” Bad start. Mina jerked her head upward, eyes wide, and Stephen was very sure which part of last night she was recalling. He shifted in his seat. “Our visitors were mentioning a pub, and you looked like you knew the name.”
“Not very well,” Mina said. The mingled shock and desire left her face—it was probably just as well—and she tried to replace them with a severe, governess-like look. One side of her mouth kept turning up, though. “Not personally, anyhow. But I’ve passed by it a time or two, and I’ve heard a few stories.”
“You’ll need to tell me about the place today.” Stephen glanced over at the window. “We’re having good weather for stories, at least.”
Mina laughed then. “I’ll pull up a chair, shall I, and you can sit at my feet and listen? I only wish I had some knitting, and maybe a lace cap—” Then she stopped laughing, and her golden-brown eyebrows slanted downward. “You’renot going there. And you’renotasking about Ward.”
She was almost asking a question, except that the sheer disbelief in her voice was too strong.
“And why not?” Stephen asked.
“Because you’ll die.” Mina put down her fork, half a slice of bacon still on the tines. “Definitely if you start asking questions and maybe even if you don’t.”
She spoke as if she was explaining some basic and obvious physical law—gravity or the need to breathe air.
“I’ve gotten the impression the last few years,” Stephen said, emphasizingyearsenough to let her know what other words he might have chosen, “that I’m a fair hand at taking care of myself.”
“Against a whole pub full of men? Without revealing more about yourself than you want?” Mina shook her head. “I wouldn’t put money on it. Anyhow, even if you did come out on top, the story’d be all over the street two hours later. Do you really want that?”
No, he didn’t. Last night’s burglary and its results would doubtless get back to Ward anyhow, sooner or later, and the other man had to know that Stephen would be asking questions. Still, the less Stephen gave away, the better—including how good he was in a fight, how much he’d been able to find out, and where he’d gotten that information.
“But,” he said, “if the man’s been offering work, surely plenty of people must have been asking about it.”
“Nobody like you,” said Mina.
That might have been flattering, but Stephen didn’t count on it. “I wouldn’t just be walking in there like this,” he said, a gesture taking in coat and waistcoat, pocket watch and cuff links. Although, in truth, he hadn’t thought of that until Mina mentioned it, nor was he sure where he’d get other clothes. Perhaps he could borrow Owens’s, though the groom’s shirt would be tight across the shoulders.
