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Nicholas’s mouth curved.
“Yes,” he said softly, already imagining Bea’s scowl.“A simple, innocent ride.”
He picked up the folded newspaper again, eyes narrowing as he looked at B.Adroit’s handiwork.
A coincidence perhaps.
Or proof.
Nicholas didn’t know yet.
But he intended to find out.
He set the paper down, reached for his gloves, and allowed himself one last, private thought—half amusement, half anticipation.
This time, he rather hoped Bea wouldn’t suggest attending another political salon.
Nicholas smiled to himself.He had a feeling the coach would be far more interesting than a salon.
And if Bea decided that kissing him wasn’t the worst idea in the world?—
Well.
Nicholas had never objected to a woman having a bit of fun.
