After a moment’s hesitation, she took his arm. That evening, overbouillabaisse(which was indeed delectable), she proceeded to do something she’d never done before: she confided her secrets. Fayne’s response was equally novel, for he listened. Afterward, he insisted on situating her in a hotel and hiring one of the maids to attend to her. The next day, he took her to see her guardian, whose face had reddened with rage.
“How dare you question my honor.” Clearly, the sedative hadn’t worn off completely, for Swainey’s words were slurred. “Taking the word of a lying, scheming little slut.”
Fayne requested that Charlotte wait in the carriage. When he emerged a quarter hour later, he possessed a document signed by Swainey relinquishing his guardianship. She took the precious proof of her freedom, and as she did so, noticed Fayne’s bruised knuckles. Her throat tight, she impulsively took his hand, running her fingertips lightly over the damaged skin.
He didn’t flinch, his eyes a brilliant night sky riddled with stars.
“How can I repay you for what you’ve done, my lord?” she’d whispered.
“Have lunch with me.”
“Lunch?” she’d said stupidly.
“Otherwise known as the meal between breakfast and supper.”
Seeing the smile lurking in his eyes, she couldn’t help but laugh.
“You’ve given me back my freedom. And all you want in return is lunch?”
“That isn’t all I want, my lady.”
The golden blaze around his pupils stole her breath. His hand engulfed hers in a warm, callused grip. His touch was both foreign and familiar, and it took her a moment to recognize what it felt like.
Home.
The slow, wicked curving of his mouth made her heart hammer and belly flutter. Suddenly, she felt anythingbutsafe, and her soul, that of an adventurer’s daughter, shivered in anticipation of discovery.
His voice was husky with promise. “It is merely a place to start.”
Six
“Do you want to tell me what happened back there?” Devlin said.
Charlie, who’d been staring blindly out the carriage window, turned her gaze to him. He occupied the opposite bench. With his cap and wig removed, his curls gleamed in the dim light of the carriage lamp. His countenance was strangely mutinous.
“I told you,” she replied. “I was beset by scoundrels who caught me unawares, and I took care of them.”
She wasn’t about to share the ignominious truth: she’d fainted, and someone had come to her aid. Even worse, she had a crazed notion that that someone was her dead husband. When she’d recovered from her brief swoon, incapacitated cutthroats had littered the alleyway. Her rescuer, however, was nowhere in sight.
It was just a Good Samaritan.But why did he leave before I could thank him?
Her temples throbbed. She told herself not to think about it. To focus on the job.
“Unfortunately, I lost Quinton,” she said.
“Devil take Quinton.”
Devlin’s vehemence surprised her. He usually gave the impression that little could disturb his devil-may-care equilibrium. Yet now he was glaring at her.
She frowned. “Why are you angry?”
“I’ll give you three guesses, Madam Employer.”
At his unmistakable sarcasm, her temper flared.
“I do not play guessing games, Devlin.”
“Fine. You took off. Into an alley full of brutes without reinforcements. Without alerting”—his voice grew louder as he jabbed a finger at his chest—“me.”
