The Lurker continued, full of innocence and good humor. “Do you happen to know if this door is always locked?”
It was a ridiculous question, which they both knew. Either he was trying to distract her from his larceny or catch her off guard to commit some worse crime.
Isobel was, to her extreme irritation, both distracted and caught off guard.
It had been so long. So very long.
“Idoknow that this door is always locked,” Isobel said, “as it is my door, and I lock it.”
“Always?” he wondered.
“Stop,” she said, unwilling to play along. If Isobel Tinker understood nothing, she understood the easy currency of flirtatious, handsome men who “played”at everything they did. She’d learned at the foot of a master, and it had nearly destroyed her. She’d survived instead, and now she was immune.
Or mostly immune.
“Who are you?” she demanded, tapping the parasol in her palm. “And what is your business at the alley door of my shop?”
“I was... hoping to come inside?” Another joke.
“Why not use the front door?”
“Why not have a back entrance?” he suggested. “Double your traffic?”
“Because this is an alley, and no one travels here except rats and men trying to pick the lock.”
“Well, there you have it—two potential customers at your disposal.”
“I’m sending for the constable,” she said.
“No, wait.” He reached out a hand. “I am a customer. I need to book passage. Truly.”
“Passage for whom?” The words were out before she could stop them. She gritted her teeth. If he’d been old, or wretched, or spotted, or anything but handsome and dashing and jocular, she would not entertain this conversation. Not forOne.Second. More.
But he was handsome and dashing.
And she’d learned nothing at all.
Obviously.
“For myself,” he said. He leapt from the stoop and landed in the alley with athwack.
Isobel took a step back. “Everland Travel provides holidays and travel services primarily forwomen,” she informed him. “I’m sorry, Mr.—”
“Northumberland,” he provided. “The Duke of Northumberland.”
Isobel let out a laugh. “TheDukeof Northumberland?”She shook her head. “Charming. A stalker and an imposter.”
“Heard of me, have you?”
Isobel stared at him, taking in his posh accent, his finely crafted boots, his easy confidence.
Surely not.
He added, “I prefer to be called ‘North.’ ”
Surely, surely not.
He finished with, “I’m only now becoming accustomed to the title. It’s...” a sigh, “...new. To me.”
