“Why did you choose to become Mr. Hudson’s assistant editor?” Mr. Michaels studied him with blatant curiosity. “When I happened upon you that first time, you didn’t strike me as the sort of man who needs to work for a living. And if you do, I expect you’d need a higher salary than what Hudson & Co. can provide.”
“Um…” Brody grabbed his tankard with both hands and considered coming up with some sort of excuse, only to decide the truth – or part of it, at least – might be better. “Looks can be deceiving, Mr. Michaels. Unfortunately, I’m not as well off as you might think. My fault, to some extent. A lapse in judgment I’m now trying to rectify.”
Auspiciously, he had received an offer on the townhouse that morning, which he’d since accepted. The down payment alone would allow him to pay off the five hundred pounds Finn owed Mr. Apcot.
“Do you know,” Mr. Michaels said with a mischievous smile. “You just got a lot more interesting. I’m intrigued.”
A sentiment Brody shared, though he chose not to say as much. But the truth was he got a feeling things weren’t quite as they seemed with Mr. Michaels either, and wondered what secrets the lad might be keeping.
“Another drink?” he asked once they’d both downed the last of their ale.
“Thank you, but I really must get home to my sister.” Mr. Michaels stood, so Brody did too. “I’m glad we did this though. It was…nice.”
Brody felt an indefinable pang of emotion behind his ribcage. It was the most curious sensation – a little too much like a yearning. It puzzled him as much as the fact that he’d taken note of the lad’s lovely eyes, his elegant fingers, and luscious lips…
Good God. Brody froze as panic swept through him. He could not be attracted to Mr. Michaels. It was impossible. He fancied women. He’dalwaysfancied women. Their sensual curves were what aroused him. Not bristly jawlines and muscular chests.
Although one might argue that Mr. Michaels was quite clean shaven and didn’t look muscular in the least, he’d still have all the wrong bits.
“Yes,” Brody agreed, fearing he might sound strangled if he said more than one word at the moment. He added a smile for good measure while feeling a light sweat break out at the nape of his neck.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Mr. Michaels said as soon as they were outside on the pavement. “I’m headed in that direction. How about you?”
“The opposite,” Brody informed him while doing his best to dismiss Mr. Michaels’s pretty features. It was as though they were growing more apparent with each passing second. Perhaps because of the ale?
By the time he climbed into bed one hour later, he’d decided it had to be the drink. It was the only thing that made any sense.
7
An uneasy feeling settled over Harriet the next day as she worked. Oliver was unusually quiet. More than that, he responded to Harriet’s comments with an underlying hint of contempt.
When she’d greeted him, he’d muttered a clipped, “Morning,” without making eye contact with her. As he read from the manuscript, his voice was curt to the point where even James and Matthew exchanged wary glances.
It got worse as the day wore on. By the time work ended, Harriet could no longer stand the tense atmosphere filling the print room.
Determined to get to the bottom of it, she grabbed Oliver’s arm and held him back, preventing him from following James and Matthew when they left. “What’s wrong?”
Oliver shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Really?” Harriet scoffed. “If I’ve said or done something to upset you, I’d rather you confront me about it instead of treating me with hostility. So what’s got you in a snit, Oliver?”
With his jaw set in a hard line, Oliver looked as though stubbornness might win out. Harriet sighed and withdrew her hand. She shook her head and began turning away when Oliver seized her and spun her around. Her back connected with the closed door, and Oliver leaned in, his eyes sparking with heightened emotion.
Harriet sucked in a breath. Her pulse, so steady moments before, now leapt with agitation.
“I saw you.” Oliver’s voice shook. His nostrils flared as he gritted his teeth. “You said you had to get home to your sister, but that was clearly a lie. Wasn’t it?”
Harriet frowned. “I don’t follow.”
Oliver snorted. A pained expression captured his features. “I saw you last night. With Mr. Evans.”
“You left here at least ten minutes before me, so unless…” A sick sensation swirled in Harriet’s stomach. “Were you stalking me?”
“Don’t be absurd. I realized I’d forgotten my hat, so I returned. Right in time to find you heading into The Ugly Grouse with Mr. Evans.” Oliver held Harriet’s gaze. “Apparently you had no issue enjoying a drink with him. Me, on the other hand, the idiot you’ve been leading on for the past couple of months, gets the boot.”
Panic descended on Harriet with the weight of an anvil. He had to know she wasn’t male. Somehow, in her eagerness to befriend him, she must have overplayed her hand. It was the only possible explanation. And yet, instinct compelled her to keep up her ruse - to try and convince him he’d made a mistake.
So she did what she could to convey incredulity. “Leading you on? I’m a lad, Oliver, in case you weren’t aware.”
