“Lydia. Stop. I can see your mortification. I believe you.” His voice held a nasal quality that hadn’t been there earlier.
Oh dear. His nose must be swelling. Now every time he spoke, she’d be reminded of her scandalous behavior. Even worse, she’d feel the momentary brush of their lips. How could she ever look at him again? He’d see the red and know what she was thinking.
If she did write another book, she’d turn this whole scene into a comedy. Or maybe she’d write it as a tragedy and let the heroine die of embarrassment right on the spot. She certainly wished she had.
“We’ll move forward as if nothing happened.” His eyes dropped to her lips, then immediately darted to the door. “I am still your friend, and I will go with you.”
“Thank you. We had better leave before I lose my courage.” Or did something else to jeopardize their friendship.
“I’ll be right by your side.” He pressed a guiding hand to the small of her back, then seemed to think better of it. His hand dropped like a boulder off a cliff. By the speed of his stride to enter the foyer ahead of her, his shoes had caught fire.
She shook her head. He’d be right by her side, eh? More like scurrying out of reach so she couldn’t pounce on him again. Moving forward like nothing happened must have a different meaning for him than her.
He was almost outside when she caught up to him.
Placing the half-closed door as a barrier between them, he directed her to stay inside until the carriage pulled up. “I’m going to search the grounds for any sign that Poe is watching.”
His exit felt like a retreat as the door shut nearly on her nose.
She parted the curtains wide enough to peer out with one eye.
Abraham stared skyward as if praying or, more likely, complaining to God about her. After a moment, he slapped his hat against his leg, repositioned it on his head, and strode out of view.
This was going to be a long and awkward ride to O’Dell’s.
Twenty minutes later, Lydia burst from the coffin-like carriage into the glorious fresh air in front of the bank. Who would have ever thought she’d consider the repugnant summer smells of horse droppings, urine, and factory smoke pleasant? She waited until Abraham turned to give the driver instructions before gasping, then drawing in slow, deep, clearing breaths.
She’d been right about the ride being long and awkward, but she had no idea it would be because of Abraham’s … unique scent. When he’d sat diagonally from her, she’d believed he wanted to put distance between him and her potential leap across the seat to kiss him.
Then the minutes passed.
Hot, stagnant air captured the truth and made it more potent with each passing street. She’d discreetly coughed and then shifted to sipping breaths. When her eyes began to water, she’d dabbed at them with her scented handkerchief and prayed he assumed she was still upset over the knocking-him-off-his-feet stunt. He didn’t ask, and she didn’t offer an explanation. They’d spent the entire ride staring silently in opposite directions at the closed curtains.
Never in her life had she been so glad to exit a carriage—and she’d pulled off many escapades where that had been welcomed. The unpleasantness of the city air returned, abandoning its brief victory of being considered fresh. Still, it was a relief to breathe normally. Never again would she smell Florida Water Cologne without gagging. If ever she reached the point of giving Abraham gifts, the first one would be a new cologne.
After one final cleansing breath, she focused on the imposing stone monstrosity in front of her. She’d chosen the bank because of its proximity to O’Dell Publishing—a blessing for more than one reason should she be able to convince Abraham to walk rather than ride the remaining distance.
She smelled Abraham before she felt his touch on her arm.
“Stay close. The closed carriage is drawing too much attention,” he mumbled. “We should have taken an open-air hack.”
On that note she could agree, but most likely not for the same reason as his.
He offered his arm and nodded toward the entrance. “Shall we?”
Her eyes slid to the decorative wood doors, and her chest constricted. The one benefit to Abraham’s odor was she’d been too focused on not smelling it to think about her dilemma. But here it was. The beginning of the end. The climax of her story. Except she was the villain, and hers would not be a happy ending.
Together they walked through the busy foyer and selected the shortest line. Abraham stood rigidly next to her, inspecting the room as if searching for danger. Which, likely, he was, and he should. Only yesterday had the Keatons tried to abduct her. She shivered against the memory but immediately suppressed the shiver, and the memory, when Abraham’s attention snapped to her.
He arched a brow in silent question.
“I’m fine.”
His doubtful gaze lingered on hers for several beats, then returned to its vigilant watch. “I’m right here. No one is going to hurt you or take you from me.”
His words, accompanied by a reassuring tightening of his linked arm, were worth a swoon. Detective Darcy needed a story and a girl of his own—a heroine just like her to keep him on his toes and provide many opportunities for danger and adventure.
Her heart pinched, and her soaring thoughts crashed. She would not be the one to write those stories. She meant what she’d promised God. She’d do what He wanted, even if that meant she never wrote again.
