“Her tiramisu is nothing short of a revelation.”
“I have a question for you.” Valentina was watching him very closely, a trait he now knew she got from her mother. “What were you speaking about with Papa?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“At Epsom.”
“The racecourse where you’ve arranged to meet Lord Nestor?”
Archie nodded. “I wanted to give your father and anyone else who’d been swindled by Nestor the chance to be there when justice is meted out.”
Her demeanor softened. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”
Archie shrugged, dismissive.
“Not many people know that about you, do they?”
He wasn’t sure he liked the direction this conversation was taking. “People generally see what they want to see in a person.”
“And you play upon those assumptions to your advantage.”
He definitely didn’t like this direction. “And what advantage is that?”
“To remain hidden.”
Oh, this woman… She saw too much.
Too much?
No.
He wanted to be seen by her.
He also wanted…
Her.
His best wicked smile curled about his mouth, and he reached down into the footwell between them and scooped up her right foot.
She gasped and tried to reclaim the appendage. He held tight.
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed.
“Your feet must ache from all the walking you did earlier.”
“I caught a ride on the donkey cart two streets over from Casa Windermere.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” he commiserated. He began untying her boot laces.
“Archie.” She tried to keep the scold on her face, but ultimately gave up the struggle and laughed.
He slid the boot off her foot and began rubbing her sole. He sensed her tension melting by slow increments. How long before she was a puddle in the footwell?
He reached for her other foot, which she offered with nary a struggle. When he interrupted his ministrations to untie the laces of her other boot, she gave a small cry of protest.
“Has no one ever rubbed your feet?”
