Alice considered this, then nodded. “True. I shall do research and provide a written sheet of information when we report back for duty.”
Daniel looked up from the black gloves he was donning, and while his face remained impassive, Alice saw a glint of a smile in his eyes. Either that or a reflection of street lighting. Although it was not raining at the moment, dark clouds so clogged the sky that the lamps had been lit. In the feral shadows between them, with his black clothes, and his hair slightly breeze stirred, Daniel Bixby looked a lot like a man who had consorted with pirates and knew exactly how to make a woman walk the plank.
She paled at the thought.
“What?” he said, noticing her altered expression.
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
She shrugged uncomfortably. “I was just thinking about how one would escape being thrust onto a piece of wood that is jutting out...”
“You mean like a pirate’s plank? It helps to have either training in acrobatics or else a parachute.” He gave her a long, penetrating look. “Do you have acrobatic experience, Miss Dearlove?”
“Not yet,” she admitted.
“What, not even a handstand?”
“I’m waiting for the right trainer. I supposeyouhave experience, Mr. Bixby.”
“Some.” He went on looking at her, and she felt her stomach curl as if his gaze had reached right in and was stroking it. “I could teach you a few moves,” he said. “A backward somersault maybe, or a cartwheel, so that when you find yourself walking a plank you know what to do.”
Alice yanked herself away from that unblinking gaze and frowned in the general vicinity of nothing at all. The air had become so muggy she felt sure any moment there would be a great rush of rain, wetting her right through.
“I can manage myself, thank you,” she said. “A woman is entirely capable of cartwheeling on her own.”
“I agree,” Daniel said. “But it is more enjoyable when you have someone else to flip you.”
Alice opened her mouth to retort but could not think of anything suitably repressive. The fact was, mutual acrobatics sounded rather fun. But, Alice reminded herself, she did not do fun. She was sensible right through to her lumbar vertebrae and sternum. So they walked in silence until she stopped at the entrance to a narrow alley.
“I go this way. Therefore good day, Mr. Bixby.”
Daniel eyed the grotty darkness of the alley. “I go that way too.”
Alice bristled. “You do not. You believe I need protection and are beinggallant.”
“I am being reasonable.”
“Hm. Interesting word choice. Allow me to offer a synonym.” And she smacked him with the umbrella, turned sharply on a heel, and marched away down the alley.
A moment later, footsteps synchronized with hers.
“Knitting?” he asked.
She glanced at him briefly, irritably. “What?”
“Or embroidery? Or perhaps you paint watercolors?”
“I have no hobbies, Mr. Bixby.”Click-clickwent her shoes against the cobblestones, and as she listened to the emphatic sound, Alice reminded herself she was a successful, professional woman, and Daniel Bixby was altogether allur—that is to say,annoying.
“Not even reading?” he asked, easily matching her stride.
“Reading is not a hobby,” she said. “It is a way of life.”
He was silent a moment as he considered this, then he nodded in agreement.
“I suppose you play guitar or put ships into bottles,” she said in a tone so wry it sounded like it had performed several acrobatic moves and was now lying back smoking a cigarette.
