She was mute. The only sort of acquaintance who might have an orangery within the confines of London would have to be a duke or an earl or some such. She could only imagine how they’d met.
“It must be my good influence, Lorcan. You couldn’t adhere to that lie for more than two seconds. Still, you must have done some swimming to get to him.”
“A bloke with a wee boat was selling rides across the bridge for a couple of pence. Then there was another boat ride, and a... well, let’s call it a wade... of sorts. There really are no limits to what a man who regrets burnt stockings will do, Daphne. Now hold out your other hand.”
“More?” she breathed.
“Are you complaining?”
She laughed, softly, wonderingly, and obediently held out her other hand. Her heart was, in fact, hammering with suspense.
Something cool and metallic was settled into it. Larger than a guinea, though she wouldn’t have minded a bit if that were her present.
She peered down at a little brass instrument of some sort that resembled a compass.
“Do you have one?” he asked.
“I do now,” she hedged.
On a little laugh, he said, “It’s an astrolabe.”
“For stars,” he clarified. When she said nothing.
She stared, momentarily absolutely mindless with happiness.
And then she gasped like a child with delight and goose bumps rained over her arms. She actually gave a little hop.
He laughed, delightedly.
“Put those stars to use for something other than wishes. For showing them you can harness them to steer to a location. And master your destiny. You can do all sorts of calculations if the mood takes you. After a fashion, the whole universe is right there in your palm, Daphne.”
She was breathless.
“Lorcan... where did you... it’s...”
“All this is just to say I could not find stockings.”
“I’ll hurl the rest of my stockings into the fire if you keep handing me gifts.”
He laughed.
She felt a trifle raw and shy and positively aglow. She had little experience with just sitting and receiving. She felt she hadn’t said enough to thank him. And yet he appeared to be basking in her happiness all the same.
“I haven’t any gifts for you. I would offer to engage you in a knife fight because I know you’d enjoy it but you’d find me no challenge at all.”
“I doubt that sincerely. I think the depths of your wiliness have yet to be fully explored, Lady Worth.”
She laughed. “I don’t know what to say. ‘Thank you’ feels inadequate.”
“I’m honored, indeed. Usually you have many, many words,” he teased. More gently he said, “It’s your birthday. You must endure the celebration.”
“Thank you for my presents. They are perfect.”
He looked even more pleased than she felt, and she felt positively airborne.
Trailing the coverlets like a cape, she gently placed her astrolabe in pride of place on the mantel, then returned to sit on the settee.
He produced a knife from out of nowhere on his person, because of course he carried about a knife, then snapped open a clean white handkerchief like a tiny tablecloth over the little game table. “Shall I?”
