“You weren’t expecting someone else, were you?”
“Of course not.” He was teasing her. “What are you doing?” Her voice, though barely more than a whisper, still sounded loud in the quiet night.
“Waiting for you,” he replied.
Her pulse quickened, a thrill coursing through her.
“What if I hadn’t come to the window?”
“Then I would’ve continued waiting,” he said simply, his tone dropping just enough to make her heart beat a little faster. “But I knew you wouldn’t leave me waiting for long.”
“You seem awfully sure of yourself.”
“Not of myself,” he murmured. “Of you.”
The words hung between them, and Melanie’s senses filled up with images, sensations—feelings—from just a few hours earlier. For a moment, they just gazed at one another, the space between their windows seeming to narrow, as if the street wasn’t really there at all.
“What do you mean by that?”
Even in shadow, she saw the faint curve of his lips—a not-quite smile. It was strange, and yet not, to see him like this, lighter, almost playful. This man, so very committed to being in control, was now leaning out his open window, possibly even flirting with her from across the road.
“I knew you’d come eventually. You’ve haunted those windows for nearly a year.” Looking back, she had spent a lot of time watching the street. Her family had constantly asked her how she could spend so much idle time staring out the window, criticizing, unable to hide their frustration. She had never been able to provide them with a satisfying answer.
And although he didn’t question her—perhaps because he didn’t question her—she tried explaining why.
“It was comforting,” she said. “Watching people do everyday things, go out and then return home. And do it all again the next day. I appreciated the reminder that things change, but that they also stay the same, despite…” Her throat threatened to close up, and she swallowed hard.
“I know.” Those two words had an oddly healing effect. “But change can be good, you know.”
“Even change you didn’t think you wanted?” It was as close as she could get to asking him about what, exactly, was going to change between the two of them.
He fell silent then, staring down the street and then back at her.
“I wanted to make sure you hadn’t been grilled by your siblings.” And then he added, “After you returned inside.”
“No. In fact, everyone was perfectly polite. Almost too polite.”
He studied her for a moment, his silver gaze making her feel… protected, even from this distance. “Are you sure? Would you tell me? If you had trouble because of me…”
“I would tell you.” A small smile touched her lips. She was tempted to admit that she’d tell him anything. She’d likely pour out her heart if he asked her to. But she decided to show some restraint. She was English, after all.
“You seem awfully concerned for someone who’s only pretending to be betrothed.” It was her turn to tease.
“And you’re awfully calm for someone who just…” He trailed off, a rare flicker of discomfort passing over his face.
All right, then.
Melanie tilted her head, studying him from across the distance. “Are we going to have this conversation with Regent Street between us?”
He huffed softly, his gaze flicking down before returning to her. “It’s more convenient than climbing the trellis.” His eyes glinted as he nodded toward the rickety structures loaded with honeysuckle vines climbing up the side of her mother’s house. “Neither of them look particularly sturdy.”
Melanie let out a startled laugh. “You would fall to your doom, you know.” She relaxed against the windowsill. “Goldie’s sister escaped from her father’s house using a trellis, and I believe it gave way, but Lord Westcott saved her.”
“Quite the charmer, that Westcott,” Harry said.
Pleasure trickled through her, because they weren’t talking about her family’s ruin, or scandal, or greedy earls, but just talking… about people they both knew, almost as though they were any other couple…
Her smile widened and the cool breeze caressed her face. “I think it’s romantic.”
