“But my hats would suffer overmuch.” He began to walk again, only for the door directly past the alley to open, revealing none other than Mrs. Haverwick.
“Blast,” he swore, spinning back to Sophie.
There wasn’t time to rush down the alleyway again. Nor was he desirous of another dog encounter. Doing the only thing he could think of, he pushed Sophie backwards, a step, then two, into the shadows.
Hands on her upper arms, he brought his face just beside hers.
Her rising chest met his; he’d come so close. Their eyes collided from inches away.
“She is back?” she whispered, barely audible.
“Steps away.”
“She will see us here, certainly.” Her hands cupped the backs of his elbows.
“No one looks too long at a couple embracing,” he murmured. “It is uncouth.”
“Oh,” was all she said. Her hands were tight on his arm. Her toes against his.
“I should think she is nearly gone,” he whispered. But in defiance of his words, his hands constricted on her arms.
“Perhaps a bit longer to be entirely certain.” Her eyes shifted between both of his.
His heart hitched. Was it simply her logical nature making that suggestion? Air swept around them, the wind sending her curls tickling across his lips. He would swear she leaned into him, that her fingers curled closer around his arms. Did she feel even a small measure of the same draw he did? That a hundred threads had tied him to her, and they were inching ever closer.
A loud bark from a dozen paces away startled them apart. Andrew immediately pushed Sophie behind him in case the mutt had returned. His eyes swept the darkness, but he could see nothing.
Sophie grasped his hand, tugging. “Come, I do not see her, and I… I am going to be late.”
The moment was broken. The threads cut.
He could only hope he would find a chance to retie them. Soon.
Chapter Nineteen
For the first time in years, Andrew was disappointed to be stuck at work late. The sun had set an hour before he was able to leave to return home. He took a hackney to speed the process and ran up the steps to the front door when he arrived. But the wind grabbed at his hastily packed portfolio, and as he shifted his hold on it, several sheets blew free, requiring him to run back for them.
The hackney horses plodded off as he gathered the last of his things, but a movement across the street grasped his attention. Just within the entrance of the garden, someone sat on a bench, head bent over something.
He knew the tilt of that head. The form of the woman.
“Sophie?” he called.
The person looked up. Stood.
Andrew was already across the street. “What are you doing out here?” he asked as he approached. His eyes flitted over the loose papers and small, brass telescope on her bench and the notebook in her hand.
She sat heavily, wrinkling her nose. The moon was bright, providing enough light to see her, if only just. “It is silly.”
“Now I’m curious.” He sat beside her, picking up a paper that seemed close to being stolen by the breeze as his had been.
She sighed. “I am proving something to myself.”
“Oh?” He draped a hand over the back of the bench, watching her. “And what is that?”
She tapped a finger against the telescope. “That I am as capable as I believe.”
His brows lifted. His eyes traced the papers filled with diagrams and equations. Occasionally, something in the scribblings appeared familiar.
