“Oh, isthatwhat was happening? I had no idea the idiot was going toproposeto you.”
“He didn’t propose, he—” She couldn’t finish. Explaining Drummond Hooke’s extortion was not part of her civic duty.
“It makes no difference about my conversation with Mr. Hooke,” she finished. “I’ve agreed to your interview, and so now here I am. Are we meant to talk in the alley? The rats take over after dark, I’m afraid.”
“Indeed. I don’t suppose you would invite me inside?”
“Ah, no. I do not entertain men alone inside my house.”
“Quite so. Which is why . . .” and now he sounded like he was improvising, “. . . I’ve scouted Grosvenor Square. You’d suggested this, did you not? If we clearthe fence and take a side path to the center, we should be out of sight and undisturbed. Well chosen. Very sensible.”
“I’m always sensible,” Isobel muttered, more to herself. A reminder. She’d taught herself to be sensible. Since returning to England, sensibility had been her guiding force.
Pulling her hood around her face, she picked her way to Duke Street. Northumberland fell in beside her, a large, silent presence over her left shoulder. Before she could stop herself, Isobel asked, “You heard every word, then? With Hooke?”
“I’m a spy, Miss Tinker. Hearing every word is part of my job. It’s why I came early to Lumley Street. It’s why I was late to the alley.”
She glanced at him. He was neither gloating nor threatening, simply stating a fact. She watched him scan the street like a wolf hunting in a dark wood.
Isobel felt the tingling again, this time on the back of her neck. If she hadn’t sworn off men—which, absolutely, she had—she might have wondered why her body always conjured tingles for thewrongmen. Why not tingle for someone like... a Boring Rule Follower or Dependable Office Hack? Why not tingle for Drummond Hooke and make life simple for everyone?
Isobel recoiled at the thought. Anyone but Drummond Hooke.
She knew the way to Grosvenor Square and he allowed her to take the lead. She kept to the shadows, head down, cloak barely fluttering. They reached Grosvenor Street, and the square loomed like a black void in the center of torchlit Mayfair.
Northumberland stepped around her, gesturing for her to stay back, but she’d already tucked herself intothe recess of a building. She knew how to navigate a dark street, for God’s sake.
Go on, she said with a nod of her head.
He considered her a long moment and went, a silent shadow darting into the abyss. The gate to the square was locked at sunset, and the duke didn’t try it. He chose the most overgrown stretch of fence and vaulted over it with a swift bounce, disappearing into the trees.
He’d not suggested her next course of action. Isobel had been surprised by this—surprised and a little bit thrilled. She knew well how to slip into a locked park but this would be a secret skill to him.
Shrugging deeper into her cloak, she followed his path to the fence. She detoured slightly to retrieve an empty crate on the corner and propped it against the black iron. Working quickly, her movements small, she climbed first the crate and then the fence, balancing a booted foot between the spiked iron slats. With one hand, she clasped the top of the fence, and gathered her skirts with the other. She was just about to bring her second foot to the fence when giant hands caught her around the waist, lifted, and whirled her over the fence in a smooth arc.
She made only the slightest yelp.
“Shhhh,” he warned.
This is not exciting, Isobel lectured herself as the duke plunked her down beside a rosebush.
This is not diverting.
He is not exhilarating.
I’ve been sacked from my job and will be evicted from my home. This man wants to know too much about things I’ve vowed never to discuss.
I’m having no fun at all.
When she was steady on the ground, the duke ducked between two bushes, signaling her to follow into thefoliage. Isobel returned to the crate, reached between the slats of the fence, and tipped it gently away. Without waiting for thecrackof wood against stone, she hurried after the duke.
When it rains, it pours, she thought unhelpfully, pushing through leafy fronds and low-hanging boughs.
If one trouble comes, wait for the other.
Didn’t respectable ladies spout wise-but-baseless idioms during trying times?
Isobel endeavored to do the thing that respectable ladies did, especially if her own instinct was to swear profusely.
