“This may take a while,” Wilkins said, his expression grave. He nodded toward a spot behind them. “You’re welcome to sit over there while you wait.”
Gabriella turned to find three chairs by the wall, all of them empty. However, there was also a glass-paned door leading out to a massive interior courtyard.
She returned her attention to Wilkins, halting him before he was able to stride off between the rows of shelves where all the records were kept. “Might we enjoy some fresh air instead?”
“Certainly,” Wilkins said, then off he went in search of Mr. Warren’s file.
Peter said nothing. Instead he gave her a curious look, in response to which she said, “It’s been a long time since we left Bow Street. I thought you might like to have a cheroot.”
His eyes widened. “You, of all people, are encouraging me to smoke?”
“Of course not,” she muttered.
“Sounds like you are,” he countered.
She crossed her arms and huffed a breath. “We can also sit over there if you’d rather do that.”
He held her gaze for a second, then swept his arm toward the door. “After you.”
Every inch of her skin pricked with the knowledge of being subjected to his full attention as she preceded him into the chilly afternoon air. Clouds had blocked the sun since their arrival, encouraging winter’s sharp fangs to sink into their flesh.
A shiver raked Gabriella’s spine. When she turned to look at Peter, she found him leaning against the side of the building, legs crossed at the ankles, while he pulled a neatly rolled length of tobacco from his silver case.
He struck a flint and drew in a visible breath as he lit the cheroot, then sent the smoke skyward while snaring her with a steady gaze.
There had to be at least three yards between them, and she was wearing not only her grey woolen dress but also her charcoal pelisse along with a dark brown bonnet and gloves. Yet in that moment she felt undressed. Naked. Scrutinized in a way that made her wrap her arms around herself, not only to ward off the cold but also her self-conscious discomfort.
“As we established earlier,” he said, his voice soft, the words measured, “I’m quite a bit older than you.”
Seventeen years, to be exact.
She arched a brow. “And?”
He set his cheroot to his lips once more, sent another plume of smoke into the air, then offered it to her. “Care to try?”
Her nose instinctively scrunched. She shook her head. “No thank you.”
Silence fell between them for a short while, until he tossed the cheroot on the ground and snuffed it out with the sole of his shoe. Instead of approaching her, he remained where he was with distance between them, quietly watching and clearly assessing.
Eventually he said, “You’re a pragmatic person — another quality I respect and one that I hope will allow for frank conversation between us.”
“Of course.”
He pushed away from the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I can’t afford to make any mistakes where you are concerned, Gabriella. As you are the chief magistrate’s daughter, even the slightest error on my part could end my career.”
“I understand.”
That steady gaze didn’t let up. “You should also know that I am not seeking the kind of attachment that ends in marriage. Or at least I wasn’t until half an hour ago. But then you declared yourself. That is, I presume you did, though there’s a chance I’m entirely wrong. In which case I’d like to forget this conversation ever happened.” He took a deep breath and expelled it. “The point is, I need to know exactly where we stand with each other so we can move forward accordingly.”
A valid point she could not dispute.
“I’m not accustomed to feeling the way you make me feel. Out of sorts, nervous, unsteady on my feet.” She ignored his smirk and the glint in his eyes. “It’s disconcerting, but when I realized I hurt you earlier in the carriage, it clarified matters. So yes, I did declare myself to you, Peter, but I’ll likely need a moment or two in which to adjust. As for marriage, I’m really not sure I’m the sort of woman you’d want as a wife.”
“First, stop diminishing yourself. Second, that would be my decision to make, would it not?”
“Of course. I just don’t want to be a regret, which there is a good chance I may become when you yourself have just said you are not seeking the kind of attachment that ends in marriage.”
She stared at him, at the sudden displeasure pulling his features into a tight mask. It was clear to her that he didn’t like her comment. Whether because he disagreed or took issue with her questioning what he would feel about being tied to her in perpetuity, she wasn’t sure. Whatever the case, she wasn’t sorry for what she’d said. It was, as he’d pointed out, best to be frank so there would be no misunderstanding between them.
