Rhys didn’t miss a beat. “There will be tea.”
Whitty’s feet stuttered to a dead stop, pulling them all up with him. “Tea?” Whitty instantly looked twenty-five percent more sober.
Rhys nodded, firm. “Tea.”
“What is this?” No mistaking the note of betrayal in Whitty’s voice. “Is this a kidnapping?”
“Now, Whitty?—”
“Don’t Now, Whitty me.”
“If you’ll just see?—”
Whitty gave a great, long shake, like a dog returned from a swim who was now expelling the water from his fur, in the process freeing himself from Tilly and Rhys’s grasp. Then, liberated, he whirled around and started running until he reached the end of the street, his head frantically bobbing left and right at the apparent dead end before scuttling sideways into a narrow snicket and disappearing from view.
All the while, Tilly and Rhys stood rooted in place, watching Whitty’s desperate progress, dumbstruck and gobsmacked.
“That was…” began Rhys, staring at the last place they’d seen Whitty.
“Unexpected?”
“I didn’t know he could run that fast.”
“While tight as a tick,” said Tilly, nodding, impressed. “Imagine how fast he could go without half a bottle of whisky in him.”
“Hard to, actually.”
Like that, it struck Tilly.
She knew what tonight was all about.
“So, Whitty was your second noble deed, then.”
Rhys nodded. “Was supposed to be.” He shook his head. “I thought I could get him out of the clubs and have a quiet chat about the change in my life and the good it’s done me.”
Tilly understood. “And he would suddenly want that life for himself.”
Rhys snorted. “Over tea.”
A giggle escaped Tilly. “Tea might’ve been the feather that broke the horse’s back.”
Rhys’s face turned serious. “I’m not giving up.” He reached out and grabbed her hand. “Come on.”
Next thing Tilly knew, her hand was clasped in his and she was dashing down the street alongside a Rhys as determined as she’d ever seen him as they followed Whitty’s trail to the narrow confines of the snicket, then onto another street, soon finding themselves back on St. James’s and facing the impressive Portland stone facade of Brooks’s club.
Lawks, didn’t it just look like an establishment for nobs.
Gasping for breath, Rhys faced her. “They won’t let you in.”
“Oh, the wretched lot of woman.”
A smile twitched about his mouth, even as earnestness warmed his eyes. “You’ll wait here?”
He wasn’t telling.
He was asking.
And how she liked that.
