Grace’s grin widened. “I daresay he feels much the same.”
“’Struth!”
“Now, we resume.” Grace adjusted her skirts and lowered her stance. “Copy my movements, and you shall learn what to do if an opponent attempts to strike you with a blade.”
* * *
The sun foundits way into the narrow close beside the newspaper offices—The Morning Herald—warming Maria through her grey woollen coat and matching breeches as she descended the step of the hackney. The morning had gone precisely as usual. She’d eaten, dressed, and summoned the carriage with her favoured coachman and footman—whom she paid handsomely to keep her daily whereabouts secret—and rode to Cheapside, where she left them. Thomas had remained asleep while she changed for her day of work, and then she’d summoned a hack to bring her there.
She inhaled deeply as she entered, taking in the aroma of paper and ink.
The office was humming with activity, and she inwardly grimaced. Working atThe Morning Heraldwas valuable for experience, and it provided a means to help Thomas, but she rather preferred silence when she wrote.
“Oh! Good morning, Mr. Robertson.” Cordelia smiled at her in greeting, green eyes crinkling in the corners.
Maria returned her smile and touched the brim of her hat before slipping the secretary a piece of folded parchment. “Good morning, Cordelia.”
The woman nodded, curiosity brightening her eyes as she accepted the note and hid it in the folds of her skirts. Maria winked at her and strode away.
Reaching her desk, she found three article requests from her superiors, as well as several leads on where to find information. She placed her hat on a nearby hook and settled in to do her work.
Despite the noise, she was soon lost in her writing, the words flowing swiftly from her, the gentle scratch of her pen filling her ears. Before long, two of her articles had been completed, and she was working on her third.
Loud murmuring broke through her focus and drew her notice. The men in the desks around her spoke softly to each other, their attention fixed on the office’s entrance. There stood four men in conversation at Cordelia’s desk. Two of them—unquestionably fellow writers—had their backs to her, and the other two men were obscured by a wall. They spoke animatedly until one of her fellows, Mr. Shoemaker, gestured one of the hidden men toward Shoemaker’s desk.
Her pulse sped and shoulders tightened.It couldn’t be.
They rounded the corner and strode into the room. Mr. Shoemaker’s wide smile was bemused but genuine as he walked past. And following him was the Duke of Derby.
Maria’s breath froze in her throat. If she did not draw attention to herself, perhaps she could take her leave without his seeing her. Surely he would be too preoccupied with his own business to trouble himself with the other workers around him.
She slowly released her breath and unclenched her fists. All that was required was patience, and she could?—
No doubt feeling Maria’s scrutiny, Jasper’s head turned abruptly. His gaze, two-toned and penetrating, met hers as he stood immobile, poised to sit in the proffered chair across from Mr. Shoemaker. Hope fleeing and heart fluttering wildly against her ribs, Maria attempted to keep her expression neutral. Mayhap he would not recognize her.
Just as the thought occurred, his eyes widened.
CHAPTER8
It cannot be. Jasper’s gaze was transfixed on the stormy grey eyes of a writer forThe Morning Herald. But they wereMaria’seyes.
“Oh!” the genial man across from him said. “Have you met Mr. Robertson?”
“I do believe I have,” Jasper replied absently.
Without a conscious thought, he straightened, his feet carrying him towardMr. Robertson. Panic flooded those grey eyes, and Maria stood, reaching for her—Mr. Robertson’s—hat.
“Good morning, Mr. Robertson,” Jasper said, his voice low and challenging.
Maria’s lips thinned into a grim line and her shoulders dropped as she turned to face him, sketching a bow. “Your Grace. Mr. Shoemaker.”
The woman had lowered her voice and painted the shadow of a beard upon her face, for Christ’s sake. What in the hell did she think she was doing?
His gaze travelled over her person: starched white cravat, pale-green waistcoat, and grey coat and breeches over shining Hessians.Christ, those legs. To his surprise, his cock twitched in interest and heat spread across his chest.
He cleared his abruptly dry throat. “I did not expect to see you here.”
Mr. Shoemaker chortled. “Oh, but Duncan comes in to complete his articles nearly every morning, don’t you?”
