He flashed his crooked smile back at her and Charlotte turned quickly away, furious that her eyes had so thoroughly ignored her brain.
“So,” Miss Plim said, “to be clear: at St. James’s the other day, you did not save a tea shop waiter from cruel verbal abuse, thus earning theadmiration of this—this gentleman of undetermined occupation, as well as the pride of your entire family?”
“Er...” Charlotte blinked, bemused. “Well, perhaps I might have done that.”
Miss Plim stretched her lips into what might have been called a smile by someone without the benefit of wit or a thesaurus. “You are being modest, dear.”
“You know me, Aunt,” Charlotte said with a brisk nod. “I don’t like to draw attention to myself.”
Alex did not laugh, but Charlotte sensed how carefully he was not doing so, and she scowled again. Arrogant creature! (The captain, that is—certainly not Charlotte, of course.) Words tumbled in a whisper from her tongue before she could stop them. A moment later Beryl’s gold spyglass leaped off a wall display and flung itself across the room toward Alex’s head.
He caught it without looking.
“I commend your humility,” Miss Plim said, not noticing the inclusion of weaponry into their conversation.
“Thank you, Aunt,” Charlotte replied, surprised by such a positive remark.
“Indeed,” Alex murmured. “Miss Pettifer seems like an exceedingly humble girl.”
Charlotte counted at least three different insults in that single compliment. The churl! She pressed the toe of her elegant, embroidered boot against his much rougher one, and had the pleasure of noticing his body stiffen with what was undoubtedly fear.
“Nevertheless,” Aunt Plim continued, “it was gracious of the captain to tell me about it, and a well-behaved lady would be gracious about such graciousness in return.”
“And not accuse them of being a pirate,” Alex added.
Miss Plim nodded. “Exactly.”
“But you are a pirate,” Charlotte pointed out.
“That is no cause to accuse him of it,” Miss Plim said.
Charlotte took a deep, calming breath. “Thank you for correcting me, Aunt. By the way, did you know about the new orphanage opening today on”—she pulled a name randomly from her imagination—“Knightley Street?”
“New orphanage?” If Miss Plim’s ears could have pricked up, they would have. Her knot of hair did seem to spring more erect.
“Indeed, it is so new they have no benefactors yet, and I hear the children are quite starved and cold.”
Miss Plim snapped her head around to stare at Miss Gloughenbury, who was standing beside the amulet display, clutching her velvet-clad dog and trying to convince the guard she was a reputable antiques dealer and merely wanted to inspect the goldmark on the piece, after which she would give it back, of course, absolutely.
“Does anyone else know about this orphanage?” Miss Plim asked offhandedly.
“No one,” Charlotte said.
Miss Plim stepped back, gathering up her stiff gray skirts. “Good heavens, look at the time,” she said, not even pretending to seek out a clock. “I am going to be late for my dental appointment.”
“Oh dear.” Charlotte gestured toward the exit. “You had better dash!”
No sooner had she thus advised than Miss Plim was hastening across the gallery, keeping an eye on Miss Gloughenbury as she went.
“That woman is more ruthless than a nun who’s just seen a student with dirty fingernails,” Alex O’Riley muttered.
Charlotte almost nodded in agreement, but caught herself in time. She turned to glare at him. “I don’t know what you are playing at—”
“Playing at?” he echoed, his voice all innocence despite the darkness in his eyes. He idly flipped the spyglass around his hand as he looked at her.
“—but I can assure you I am not discomposed.”
The spyglass went still. His mouth slid into a smile that would have made a lesser woman blush. “And I can assure you, Miss Pettifer, that if at some point I do choose to play with you, you’ll end up thanking me profusely for how discomposed I make you feel.”
