The oil lamps grew sparser as they traveled north, pools of light giving way to longer stretches of shadow.They passed through Piccadilly, where late-night theater-goers still milled about, then into the narrower streets, where the buildings pressed closer together, blocking out even the faint starlight.
The journey meandered through Soho’s tangle of lanes.Here, the character of London changed entirely.The smells were different — coffee roasting, bread baking in early-morning ovens, the sharp tang of vinegar from pickle shops.Foreign voices drifted from open windows, snatches of French, Italian, German.A street vendor pushed a cart of grilled herring and onions, catering to the coachmen and watchmen who had to be out at all hours.Somewhere a violin played a melancholy tune that made her think of home.
Jonathan navigated the tight corners with practiced ease, never once forcing his passengers to brace themselves.Crossing London took perhaps twenty-five minutes.However, pressed against Jonathan’s lean strength, Lise found herself wishing it could last longer, even as propriety demanded she wish the opposite.
When they finally pulled up before the modest but respectable lodging house on Rathbone Place, the tiger jumped down before the phaeton had stopped rocking.Her brother decided it would be easiest if Lise stood up, turned and climbed over first.She did this with aplomb, thinking the young man would help her down.However, while the tiger unfolded the steps, Jonathan set the brake and jumped directly over the wheel to the cobblestones below.He was already looking up at her.
“Take care, Miss von Ostenfeld,” he advised, holding out his hand.
She hesitated.Should she turn and give him her posterior or try to face him?That seemed a dangerous position as the rungs were narrow.
Ultimately, Jonathan made the decision.
While Lise dithered, still clinging to the seat back with one hand, he reached up, put his hands on her waist and swung her down.
When her slippered feet touched the ground, she looked up at him, feeling his gloved fingers like branding irons through the satin of her gown.Her heart was beating as if she’d just run all the way from St.James’s Square, rather than having had a leisurely ride.And her insides felt strangely liquid as she stared into his eyes.
He didn’t release her.Not immediately, like he should.Not until they heard Henrik’s boots hit the pavement.
“Thank you, Bowen,” her brother said, as Jonathan’s arms fell away and she stepped quickly back, bouncing off her brother’s sturdy form.“And good evening to you.”
“Actually, good morning,” Jonathan returned, with a wry smile.Then he added, “I hope I might see you again before your return to Eutin, Miss von Ostenfeld.”
She winced, wishing he had included her brother in that sentiment, rather than singling her out.
“I am attending one more ball,” Lise told him, even as she could feel waves of disapproval emanating from Henrik.“The Committee of Merchants assembly, next Friday.”
Jonathan nodded, lifted her gloved hand to bow over it, and said, “Then I shall see you there.”Their gazes locked.
Henrik cleared his throat, the warning unmistakable.“My sister is engaged to be married, Bowen.Just so there is no confusion.”
The words struck her like a physical blow, a not so gentle reminder that she’d been behaving badly by encouraging this man.
Jonathan’s expression momentarily froze, although he recovered quickly, releasing her hand slowly.
“I see.I was unaware.Despite that, I hope to claim a dance on Friday.”The viscount nodded to Henrik.“There is no harm in that, is there, Lieutenant?”
“As long as you understand the situation,” Henrik continued stiffly.
“Indeed,” Jonathan continued, still sounding friendly.“I fully comprehend the meaning of an engagement.”
With that, quite rakishly, he winked at Lise.She bit her lip rather than gasping, but it was a tad outrageous.
“I hope to see you both anon,” he said, then touched his hat before climbing nimbly onto his phaeton.Immediately, he was underway, with the poor tiger having to run very fast indeed to grab on and scramble up to his place.
As Jonathan disappeared down the street, it was obvious his drive home would be an entirely different experience from the plodding and safe one she’d just endured.Racing like a madman, the viscount turned the corner on two wheels.
“That was unnecessary,” Lise said to her brother when they turned toward their front door.
“Perhaps,” Henrik said.“Perhaps not.”
Chapter Five
Jonathan’s invitation read, “The Committee of Merchants for the Relief of the Families of the King’s German Legion requests the honor of ...”
Baring & Co, the most powerful merchant-banking house in London, second only to the Bank of England itself, was hosting the assembly.It promised to be an evening of excess at this, the most prestigious public banquet space in the city, with only the finest musicians and a gluttonous banquet.As a man used to excess of all kind, whenever he wished, nothing about this held any real appeal.
Most assuredly, he wouldn’t have gone any other year, as his family donated a great deal already to a multitude of charitable causes.Moreover, they’d supported the KGL in many ways, including the recent dinner party that he’d not only strongly suggested to his parents that they host, but also had provided them the short list of names.
