“I know that.” After perching a hip on the desk, Jeremy smoothed a wrinkle from his trousers. “Forgive my hesitation. I’m happy to arrange for you to meet them. Though I assume it will not be as A. J. Quill.”
“No,” she agreed. “Just as a longtime friend of yours. Given the connection all three of you have with Mr. Ashton, and the public reaction to the series of prints onMan versus Machine, I don’t think it will strike an odd note if I’m curious about their views on the subject.”
He nodded. “As it happens we’ve made a plan to meet for a walk in Green Park tomorrow afternoon. Would you care to join us?”
“Yes,” replied Charlotte quickly, even as a chorus of voices inside her head began to chant a warning.
Beware of the dangers that lie along that path.
She’d been very careful to stay outside the circle of Polite Society. The Greek myth of Persephone showed the perils ofmoving back and forth between the land of the living and the land of the dead.
“Then it’s settled.” Jeremy brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his breeches and then quickly rose again, though without any of his usual grace. “And now, I’d best toddle off and allow you to settle in to your new abode.”
“Thank you again for everything, Jem,” murmured Charlotte. “I’m . . . I’m truly grateful.”
Her friend snapped a jaunty salute and turned with a whisper of well-tailored wool.
As Charlotte watched him walk away, a frown slowly furrowed her brow. They had been kindred spirits since childhood and with her artist’s eye for faces, she had always been good at reading the subtle nuances of his expression.
It wasn’t that Jeremy had been lying . . .
But for all his show of sunny candor, she was sure he was hiding something from her.
CHAPTER 11
Wrexford took a moment to survey the surroundings before announcing himself at Charlotte’s new residence with a rap of the knocker. Though modest, the neighborhood was far more pleasant than her previous one. The street wasn’t a hellhole of muddy ruts, the air didn’t ooze with the unwashed scents of the city, and the house showed no threat of imminent collapse.
Her friend—the baron, he reminded himself—had chosen well.
Another mystery regarding Charlotte’s past.But like the others, one she fiercely guarded.
The earl was about to bang the weighty brass ring again when the door flung open.
“Wot’s that ye got?” demanded Hawk, regarding the canvas-bundle with bright-eyed interest.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” he responded.
A grin split the boy’s face. “ ’S’alright—I’m a weasel!”
“Close enough. They are both small, furry beasties.”
“Oiy, but a weasel is much cleverer than a kitty.”
“Not if the little beastie thinks it’s amusing to annoy a largeand irascible predator whose arms are growing tired,” warned Wrexford.
The retort provoked a laugh.
Alas, how low the mighty have fallen.His august title no longer intimidated anyone in this household. He shifted his hold on the bundle. “Might I come in?”
Hawk quickly stepped aside. “M’lady, m’lady! His Nibs is here!”
A clatter of steps sounded on the stairs, and a moment later, a breathless Charlotte came hurrying down the corridor.
“Lord Wrexford!” She halted and lifted a hand to catch an errant lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek, twisting it slowly around a finger before tucking it awkwardly behind an ear. “I didn’t expect . . . any visitors.”
“Forgive me if I’m intruding at an inconvenient moment.”
“No—that is, I didn’t mean. . . .”
