A large hand engulfed hers. Shocked, Madelina went still. The heat of his skin radiated through his glove. He gave a tug, not hard, but enough to turn her back. He raised her hand and, cupping her fist, used his other hand to smooth open her fingers.
“You’re angry,” he murmured, an odd note in his voice.
She shook her head, not at his question, but at his tone. It bespoke of…hope. What hope could he find buried in her coiled fist? He traced his fingers down her palm. The sensation sped through her, making her dizzy.
“Does your silence mean you aren’t angry?” He turned her hand over and brought it to his lips.
Madelina’s eyes went wide. He placed a kiss on the back of her gloved hand. Time ticked by to the giddy rhythm of her heartbeat.
“I am angry,” she breathed, and pulled her hand free. Unwelcome cold immediately replaced the warmth of his clasp. No means existed by which to turn from the intensity of his gaze. “You made me feel as if you fancied me, and then you left in the middle of the set”—she barely bit back the words, ‘to attend a despicable auction,’ but didn’t restrain—“at the behest of your mistress.”
“She is my mistress no longer.”
Madelina frowned. “Since when?”
“Since I saw you.”
Jasper Mclintock was mad. There could be no other explanation for his words, his intensity.
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered. “This is some fancy of yours. Some game. You do not even know me.”
“But I should like to. Permit me to call on you.”
“What?” Madelina gasped.
“Call on you,” he reiterated. “Come to your home. Have tea and conversation made awkward by your hovering chaperone. Bring you flowers. Take you for a ride in the park.”
“You mean court me.” When had the museum become so warm?
“I do.” He grimaced. “Or am I fooling myself to think you would welcome such attention from someone likeme?”
She heard the emphasis he placed on the final word. She nearly laughed. Of course, he feared she might shun him because he’d been born out of wedlock. How duplicitous that would make her!
Yet, the attention of a gentleman would be a distraction. She’d come to London to put her skills to good use. To join Lord Lefthook in stamping out evil. She may not be able to rid the world of her now-dead father, but she meant to rid it of other villainy. How could she carry on as a vigilante with a man courting her, let alone, once wed?
Mister Mclintock pressed his lips into a hard line. Hurt darkened the glow in those amber eyes. Glancing away, he sucked in a deep breath.
She couldn’t permit him to believe she held the circumstances of his birth against him. That she thought his illegitimacy made him somehow less than other men. And she couldn’t deny that, now that she suspected he’d left the ball to save young women rather than enslave them, his attention flattered her.
If only she could tell him what Miss White had said to the girl, Kitty. Gauge his reaction. But Madelina could think of no explanation for how she could possibly have overheard.
He shrugged. Expression bitter, he started to turn away.
Madelina caught his arm, felt the tension in the muscle under her fingers. “I hadn’t planned to accept that sort of attention from any man so soon, but I should be pleased to make an exception for you.”
His head snapped up. Though he didn’t turn to face her, even in profile, his smile was apparent.
“Well, then,” he said, tone bland. “If you’re willing to make an exception for me, maybe I shall call.”
“Maybe?” she asked in mock indignation, though a thrill of worry went through her.
He turned his smile full on her. Her hand convulsed on his arm. Happy, he was even more handsome.
“Yes, maybe,” he reiterated.
A bell began to toll as she gazed into the depth of his eyes. Another bell joined in, and another. Around the boroughs of London, churches rang out the hour.
Mister Mclintock blinked. His gaze dropped. She followed that look to see he’d pulled out his timepiece again.
