“I do as I please,” he assured, capturing her hand and placing it upon his arm. She could feel shifting sinew.
“Men frequently do,” she murmured low.
“Can you believe, Miss Jones, I ventured into Fortnum and Mason not so long ago and ended up in a light altercation.”
Amelia blinked up at him, mirth and panic warring within. “How awful. What is London coming to?” She tutted for good measure. “Women aren’t safe to walk the streets and gentlemen aren’t safe to purchase their smoked salmon.”
“Caerphilly cheese.”
“Pardon?”
“I purchase my Caerphilly cheese there.”
“I see.”
“And may I carry your carpetbag? It appears most…burdensome.”
“Books,” she declared. “And I’m quite used to it, thank you. I never leave home without Miss Appleton’s tome. Just in case.”
They promenaded Bond Street in silence and Amelia was sure that neither of them were breathing.
A tension seemed to arc between them, a frisson far too rousing for a governess. Or a spy.
She’d best proceed apace with her repor–
Was that a rumble of thunder?
Amelia glanced to the sky.
Overcast but with no sign of a storm.
“Apologies,” her employer mumbled. “No breakfast.”
