***
The Fiona that exited the nondescript brown town house was not the Fiona that Edward had watched enter. Her shoulders sagged, and she’d lost the determination she’d strode in with. Her hands clutched the handle of her satchel as though it were a lifeline, and as she got closer, he could see a suspicious shine in her eyes that made him want to storm into that building, find whoever had made her cry, and drop them out the window.
“How did it go?” he asked as he settled himself next to her, matching her dejected pace. They didn’t seem to have a set destination as they walked but Fiona had never been someone comfortable being still. She was always moving, and on the occasions that her body was still, her mind was skipping from one place to another.
She didn’t look up at him; her focus seemed to be firmly on her slippers. “His nae was kinder than the others. But still nae.”
“What will you do next?” Hopefully, she would call it quits and send Barnesworth or Asterly to do the business side of things. The sooner she was done traipsing about London the better for his sanity.
How the devil was he supposed to concentrate on his responsibilities knowing she was swanning through London with only a scrawny young footman to protect her—not even the proper parts of London, but the rougher parts where a lady shouldn’t set foot?
Not that Fiona was a lady, and that was the problem.
If she were a lady, their story would be very different.
If she were a lady, even just a third daughter of a baron, he could have married her without subjecting her and his family to cruel gossip.
But she wasn’t, and so here they were.
“I guess I’ll just start again tomorrow.”
Which was the response he should have expected. He’d never met anyone—man or woman—as stubborn as she was. She would keep pushing forward despite the obstacles and with no regard for the pain he knew it caused her.
There were plenty of places Edward was supposed to be that didn’t include walking through working London with the woman he had sworn to avoid. He could justify it when he was looking out for her safety, but now that her meetings were finished, he really should send her back to the house so that he could get to parliament, where he was currently missing an important session about the king’s latest taxes.
But the crestfallen look on her face, the listless walk, the desperation with which she grabbed her bag…They tugged at his heart too much to leave. As much as he wanted to be anywhere but next to her, he wanted to drive away her heartache more.
“Come.” He signaled to the driver who’d been following them the entire day. “I have something to show you, and it’s too far to walk.”
Swinton pulled the carriage up beside them and a footman leapt from the back and opened the door.
“I dunnae like surprises.” She made no move to get in.
He refrained from rolling his eyes. “That’s because when it’s a surprise, you’re not in charge. Get in.” He offered her his hand to help her up. After a long pause, she accepted it.
He faced her footman and gestured to the empty spot at the back of the carriage. The lad took a deep breath, as though he was about to protest, but then made his way to the dickey seat.
Once Edward was inside, an uncomfortable silence descended. Fiona slumped against the seat and her gaze traveled to the window, which she would stare out of wistfully until she’d jerk and return her attention to him and then to her lap.
After this occurred for the third time, Edward decided that he could not bear to watch her disappointment any longer. She needed something to keep her occupied until they reached their destination. “So, have you named them?” he asked.
“Pardon?”
“Your matches. Do they have a name?”
Her brows furrowed. “I have nae thought about it.”
“You could call them Quickfire.”
Fiona’s eyes came alight with thought. She pursed her lips as she always did whenever she mulled over a puzzle. He felt a tug of satisfaction at the change in her, that he had been the one to give her a moment’s relief from her sadness, even if she hadn’t noticed.
She wrapped a stray auburn curl around her finger before tucking it behind her ear. That small movement, one she’d made over and over during their time together, snagged around his midsection. She was the most beautiful creature he’d seen, if not in a strictly fashionable way. She was too vibrant and raw to blend in with society’s beauties. That copper lock of hair that had escaped the confines of her coiffure was the barest hint of the wild, fiery curls that he would give his soul to bury his hands in.
Edward shifted in his seat, the heated thoughts giving rise to unexpected twitching. “Redheads,” he said. “You could dye the tips red to show which end lights, and it would be a subtle nod to the creator.”
She liked that suggestion. He could tell from the way her eyes softened and a slight smiled formed. She cocked her head, studying him. The suspicion and hostility with which she’d viewed him the past few days was replaced by a tentative appreciation.
“You muddle me, Your Grace. I don’t know what to make of you minute to minute.”
