“I think we’ve established Miss Wilson does not give a fig about society or its rules. So I shall take her home. Good day, Mr. Howard,” Ambrose said.
The man did not want to leave, but a lord had told him to, so he did.
“Good day to you both, and I shall see you this evening, Miss Wilson. If you could put me on your dance card, I would be grateful,” he said.
“I will put you down for two waltzes,” she said to annoy Ambrose. But would it annoy him? She couldn’t be certain of that.
“That man has clearly shown an interest in you, Tilly, so don’t lead him on,” Ambrose said when Mr. Howard had left.
The words shocked her so much, her mouth actually fell open. Regaining her wits, she said, “You have no say in anything I do or say simply because you amused yourself by kissing… and… ah, doing the other thing with me.” She picked up her books after that pathetic speech, and before he could reply, ran out through the door and straight into Mr. Greedy.
“Miss Wilson, are you all right?”
“Mr. Greedy. How fortuitous. Please enter Lolly’s Bookshop and help Lord Talbot. His head is paining him terribly, and he is refusing any help to alleviate it. You could convince him, I am sure.”
“I will at once.”
Tilly ran on then, down the narrow lane until she reached the last shop on her right. Stepping inside, she closed the door quickly. She hoped Ambrose had not seen the direction she had taken and that Mr. Greedy was in fact keeping him occupied.
Please don’t let him follow me.
The scent in the shop hit the back of her throat and made Tilly gag. An assault of rose, bergamot, something sharply citrus, and beneath it all, a musky smell she couldn’t identify. The combination was extraordinary and overwhelming in equal measure.
The elderly man behind the counter addressed her. “Good day to you. Are you wishing to have a scent made?” He had kind eyes and a sweet smile that had her returning the gesture before she looked over her shoulder to check no one had followed her in here.
“I’m just browsing,” she said, taking the handkerchief out of her sleeve as she turned away and pressing it briefly to her nose. How did the man stand being in here with those scents? She couldn’t define a single one, as there were somany, layered one upon the other until the air itself felt thick with them.
“If I may suggest, rose is popular, and when combined with orange blossom or vanilla can be quite something,” the man said.
“That does sound wonderful,” Tilly said, moving toward the window and peeking out at the lane beyond again.
There was no sign of Ambrose. Good. She exhaled slowly, relaxing. Well, as much as she could relax after being ravished for the first time in her life. He’d kissed her before, which had been wonderful, but that had been different. It was so much more.
Why did he continue to kiss her when he clearly didn’t like her overly much? In fact, he treated her as an annoyance most of the time. Then there were his words about Mr. Howard.“Do not toy with him.”Tilly could honestly say she’d never been accused of that before.
She left the store twenty minutes later, no clearer as to why Ambrose had kissed her, but sure he’d left the lane, believing himself to be in pursuit of her.
The proprietor had convinced her to order two scents, created in a surprisingly pleasant consultation with the gentleman she now knew was called Mr. Martine, who had turned out to be extraordinarily knowledgeable and not remotely offended when she’d requested something that smelled less like a drawing room and more like old books and autumn air. He’d genuinely laughed at that, and they’d built something together from sandalwood and dried leaves and just a touch of something green she couldn’t name.
She stepped back out into the lane, feeling almost cheerful.
Almost.
The sky had darkened considerably while she’d been inside,the way London skies sometimes did in the late afternoon when weather rolled in off the river. The narrow lane felt different now. The bright bustle of midday had dimmed. There were still people about, but the crowds had thinned considerably.
Tilly adjusted the parcel of books under her arm and started toward a main street where she’d be certain to find a hackney. She had gone perhaps twenty steps when a feeling settled over her. It was nothing she could pinpoint after looking around, just a prickling at the nape. Was she being observed? Tilly took another look, but saw no eyes focused on her.
In some books she’d read, the writers spoke of an awareness of being observed. She’d thought that sounded odd and not at all plausible, until now. There were two men outside the tobacconist, so she was not alone, so why was she feeling like this?
You are being ridiculous, she told herself firmly.You are unsettled because of everything that is going on in your life.There was certainly enough afoot to put even the sanest person to bed for a week.
She walked on, but the prickling did not stop. At the corner, she paused under the pretense of shifting the weight of her books and looked back again. The lane was emptier still. A boy had appeared from somewhere, kicking a stone along the cobbles with the focused intensity only children could bring to such things. Nothing else had changed.
Her mind drifted back to what she’d learned today, which was, honestly, not a great deal. The books might yield something if she could get through enough of them before falling asleep from boredom because, while she enjoyed learning, the subject of Societas Rosicruciana or Freemasons did not hold huge appeal, even considering what was taking place below her club.
She thought, against her better judgement, of Ambrose’s face when she’d told him to shut up. Mr. Howard had been genuinely shocked. Ambrose had not been shocked at all, which said something about one of them, she wasn’t entirely sure what of which one of them it said it about. And then there was the matter of the glasses. She pressed her lips together to suppress the smile and failed. He would hate that she knew about him needing glasses.
The main street was just ahead. She could hear carriage wheels on stone, and the noise increased. As she turned onto the street, the relief was immediate. People everywhere. A flower seller on the corner, two carriages passing each other, a newspaper boy shouting headlines. Tilly looked for a hackney, and that was when she heard the footsteps behind her. She turned quickly.
