Chapter Twenty-Three
“Mr. Carson is here, and he’s brought a friend,” their butler said with a long-suffering sigh. Beatrice was surprised Mr. Finley had taken the time to find her and tell her. “They’re in the parlor, miss.”
“Thank you.” Curious as to whom Greer had brought, she went to the closed parlor door and tried to push it open. It didn’t budge, as if someone were leaning against it.
“Mr. Carson?” she called through the door.
“Yes, hang on a moment.” She waited. “All right, come in.”
This time, it opened at her touch, and she spied Greer holding a skittish-looking Miss Sylvia.
Beatrice couldn’t help smiling. “How nice of you both to come calling.”
“Please close the door,” he urged. “She’s been trying to escape my room for days and today, she did. I think she’s a little out of sorts after I caught her running down the hotel hallway.”
Beatrice’s smile vanished as she shut the door firmly behind her. “How awful! You could have lost her. How did she escape?”
“I was robbed!”
She gasped, and he rubbed his cat’s head absently.
“In point of fact, I wasn’t. My room was broken into, but nothing was taken. Perhaps the thief didn’t like my taste in clothing. Maybe the fellow hoped I had something valuable, but he ran out after Miss Sylvia did. I saw him leave.”
“I’m so sorry. This would never have happened if you were still at the Langham.”
“True enough. May I put her down?”
“Of course.” She watched him set her carefully on the floor, and she immediately slunk under the large sofa.
“She’s had a lot of travel and upheaval in her life for a cat.”
“For anyone,” Beatrice agreed.
“I’ve brought her with the hopes you will keep her safe until I ... until I find a better situation.”
“You hesitated. What aren’t you telling me?” she demanded.
He looked thunderstruck, and then he grinned. “We do know each other very well, do we not? I don’t believe I can keep anything from you, nor should I try.”
“No,” she told him, “you shouldn’t. If you’re going to start hedging and not being my frank American friend, then you can leave and take Miss Sylvia with you.”
“Right you are.” He came closer and took hold of her hands. “I simply didn’t want to raise false hopes.”
Beatrice cocked her head at him, her heart thumping at his closeness. “Meaning?”
His gray-blue eyes crinkled at the corners. “I love the way you make demands.”
She rolled her eyes. “Explain yourself.”
Instead of doing any such thing, he kissed her. He didn’t take his time, but simply planted his mouth upon hers, making her gasp again, and as she did, he swept his tongue between her lips and touched hers.
