Behind him, a carriage horse reared and whinnied and Miss Jones’ bonneted head whirled in his direction.
Hugh whirled into a doorway; a trout stared him in the eye.
“Looking tidy today, Mr Cadwalader,” called the fishmonger inside Messrs Henster and Co. “Sally took a nice fillet of turbot for yer supper tonight.”
With a tip of hat to Mr Henster, Hugh swivelled and popped his head from the doorway.
Had he lost her…
No, there she was, that carpetbag poking out from behind a broad lady’s skirts.
With not a moment to lose, he hurried on, circumventing dogs, mincing dandies and debutantes promenading on the arms of their mothers.
So to prevent recognition and a quarter-hour prattle, he nudged his hat brim south and his coat collar north.
Along Bond Street she continued, and he was sure they were now headed for Piccadilly, until she halted at a stationer’s window.Ah ha, was she to buy her pape–
“Coo-ee, Mr Ca–”
Hugh swung and shoved a hand over the squealing lady’s lips, another to her waist, twisted and dragged her around the corner of the alley leading to Bruton Place.
The pretty blue eyes of Lady Thurwood widened over his palm. She was rigged out in the most ridiculous hat he’d ever seen, with three peacock feathers wafting about.
Although why could Miss Jones not be wearing that? She’d be visible from Cheapside.
“Forgive me, my lady,” he murmured, removing his hand. “Er… Creditors hounding me, you kno–”
“Oh, Mr Cadwalader,” she gushed, “how I’ve longed for you to do that.”
“Beg pardon?”
“So dominant and manly and… Oh, do that agai–”
“Hush, my lady.”
She quivered, clutched his gloved hand and rammed it over her lips, body plastered to his as though she were a paperhanging and he were a wall.
With a frown, Hugh leaned aside her to peer around the corner of the alley and observe Miss Jones re-cross the road.
Now he just had to resist the lure…
The tantalising draw…
The tormenting temptation…
The enticing invitation…
Of the Guinea Tavern behind them with its waft of grilled lamb, mint sauce and roasted potatoes.
But work first, so he deposited a bewildered Lady Thurwood back on the street and hot-footed in pursuit.
No time to dally as his quarry crossed the junction with Conduit Street and…
She stepped into Madame Devy’s Modiste, which formed the corner with Grafton.
Hmm.
He loitered with intent three doors up.
