“In the apartments above,” I lied. “It is very convenient.”
He made a noncommittal sound, but seemed to believe me. “Can I see you again? Tomorrow? Overmorrow?”
My heart had a traitorous little fit. “Both are rather soon.”
“Take advantage of me while you can, Miss Fleet. As I said.”
“That is not precisely what you said,” I reminded him, but my gaze had strayed to his mouth. My nerves were fraught, imagining Wake on the other side of that door. Between my anxiety and my fatigue, I was unhinged—that is my excuse for what I did next.
I reached up and, putting a cool hand around the back of his head, pulled him down for a kiss. I made it a good kiss. I had little practical experience with such things, but I had studied my salacious novels quite devotedly, and the gentle press, pause and linger of the act felt quite natural. It was pleasant.
My calculated intentions, however, fled as soon as he kissed me back. His hands cupped my head in turn, a quick, hungry movement that pulled my chest flush to his and drew me right up onto my toes. He took my lower lip between his with a brush of tongue, then delivered softer, subtler kisses to the corner of my mouth, my upper lip, back to my lower.
I staggered a little as he released me. His hand dropped to my upper arm, steadying, and I blinked at him in a haze. My blood raced for an entirely new reason, and I found myself oddly tremulous, too hot and too close to him and yet not closeenough. My imagination, such a helpful instrument, produced several vivid images of what we might do next, and it was all I could do not to reach for him again.
I had not thought of Lewis during that kiss. I was now, obviously, but only to reflect on his absence.
It was eminently freeing. Intoxicatingly freeing.
Harden broke me from my rambling thoughts to point at the door beside us. “I’ll be here, eight o’clock.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow night. I am taking you out,” he stated, grinning broadly. There was something behind his eyes though, a rawness that had not been there before. Something hesitant. Something that was not sure how I would react to this little encounter, despite his bravado.
I composed myself, though my insides felt rather gelatinous, and my knees were not doing their part in stabilizing me.
“Very well,” I consented.
He touched his hat and left, glancing back once as the sound of the door opening drifted down the street. He slowed, I noted from the corner of my eye, and watched discreetly until I closed the door and he was blocked from sight.
In the darkness on the other side, I threw the bolt and put my back to the door.
I had one moment, one breath in the dark, to shove aside my thoughts of Harden and the kiss and Lewis, and to ram steel into my knees.
“Mr. Wake?” I called. “I have arrived.”
Mr. Wake awaited me on the sofa in Mr. Stoke’s office, elbows on his knees and one of Mr. Stoke’s notebooks open in his hands.
“You are extremely late,” the man commented, sitting back and crossing one leg over the other, notebook still in hand. “Who was the man escorting you, just now?”
“An admirer who I could not evade,” I said, which was enough of the truth to be an effortless lie. “Do not worry, I made no mention of you lying in wait for me in the shadows.”
He grunted and looked back at the notebook. “Of all the artifacts whose recovery Lord Stillwell might have entrusted to you, I find it curious that he gave Mr. Stoke the most valuable. Did they have a previous relationship?”
“I believe they knew one another from their military days,” I replied, stopping in the doorway. “Lord Stillwell was an officer at the time, and Mr. Stoke owed him a debt.”
Wake seemed to take me at my word. Overall his demeanor was eerily unoffensive despite my tardiness, the gun at his hip ignored.
I sat on the other side of the sofa. I noticed the notebook he had been reading was only half-full, many of its pages untouched and smooth. It was Mr. Stoke’s latest.
“Where did you find that?” I demanded. “That was not here yesterday.”
“I found it on Mr. Stoke,” he informed me levelly. “I encountered him today. The meeting was brief. We scuffled, he refused to answer my questions, and did not appear to be in possession of the artifact. This did, however, fall from his pocket as he fled.”
I was momentarily too stunned to speak. “You saw him? Where was this?”
“The museum island.” Mr. Wake held out the notebook, surprising me further. “It seems he was in contact with a historian or some such thing, but their name is not mentioned. Do you know anything about that?”
