Page 17 of A Stranger’s Gamble

“I wish you well.” Without another word, he turned and walked down the street. If the infernal woman followed him, this time, he would run.

Minutes later, Adam turned on the cobblestoned lane and caught sight of a slender figure emerging from the rear gate of townhouse Number ninety-one. Beatrice, he realized. She carried a basket, and this time, she wore a worn brown velvet spencer and a peach-colored morning dress that clung sensuously to her curves. She had pinned her brown curls under a simple bonnet. She hurried down the street and disappeared around the far corner. He quickened his pace and followed.

He caught sight of her up ahead conversing with a woman hawking oranges out of a wheelbarrow. He arrived as Beatrice dropped a penny in the woman’s outstretched hand.

“Thank ye kindly, miss,” the street hawker grinned. “Pick your six.”

Beatrice looked up at his approach. Surprise flickered in her eyes. “Mr. MacAlister, how...interesting to see you here this morning.” She returned her attention to the street hawker and chose her fruit. A slight twitch of her lip betrayed her pleasure at his presence.

By God, was she toying with him? As the street vendor trundled away, he stepped closer to Beatrice. “Call me Adam.”

She wrinkled her nose into a smile. “Only if you call me s-uh—” She clapped her hand over her mouth and hiccupped. Her brown eyes sparkled over her fingers as she continued with a slightly strangled laugh. “Why, I beg your pardon. Call me, Beatrice.”

He angled his head in acknowledgement. “I’d be delighted. You’re out early this morning.”

“Hold out your arm,” she ordered.

“Hold out my arm?” It was an odd request, though he did as she asked.

She deftly looped the basket handle over his arm. “I need someone to carry this for me.”

His gaze caught on her lips, lips that could bring a man to his knees. “Perhaps there’s a price for my help,” he murmured.

“Indeed, there is,’ she said in a businesslike manner. “Few can afford the honor of my company. But for you, sir, I shall bestow the gift of my company freely. My aunt—my mistress’s aunt—is in sore need of Dr. Anderson’s Pills. Do you know the way to the apothecary?”

“I do.” He affected a low bow. “This way, Beatrice.” They set off down the street at a leisurely pace, him carrying the basket. “That was a fine animal I saw you riding yesterday. I’m surprised your mistress allowed you to ride.”

Beatrice laughed. “She was exceedingly displeased, but the mare needed exercise.”

“Is your mistress that difficult?” he asked.

“Is she? Why yes, I suppose she is. I had to sneak out today before she awoke. She’ll be furious to find me gone.”

He frowned. “Why? How else does she expect you to run your errands?”

She shrugged. “As I said, she is not easy to deal with. Plus, she is fretting over the upcoming ball.”

“I thought you said she did not wish to marry the marquess.”

Beatrice nodded. “Which is why she is fretting.”

A group of sooty men barreled around the corner of a candle shop. Adam grabbed Beatrice’s arm and pulled her aside just in time to keep the men from knocking her over.

Beatrice looked up into his face, and Adam stared into kind brown eyes that made him wish he were a simpler man. When he’d fallen in love with Lena, he’d been glad to be a rich earl. He hadn’t fooled himself. If not for his money, she wouldn’t have looked at him twice. Now, he wished for nothing more than a quiet life and perhaps a beautiful woman to smile at him as did Beatrice. Adam jarred and realized he was staring. Hell, she was staring back.

He released her and she exclaimed, “Oh, dear, we have lost two of the oranges.”

One lay on the walk near him, the other rolled slowly toward the edge of the curb. She lunged with the clear intent of catching the orange before it rolled into the street. Adam seized her arm and yanked her back as the orange dropped off the curb and into the street just in time to be squashed by the front wheel of a passing carriage.

Beatrice yanked her head up, a deep frown on her face. “Why did you do that? Now I have lost an orange.”

He released her and scooped up the nearby orange, then dropped it back into the basket. “I do not think an orange is worth your life. Are you always so impetuous, riding horses while dressed in breeches and trying to fight a carriage for an orange?”

“I promise you, sir, my ride in breeches was well planned.”

Adam blinked. Then laughed—hard. “Someday, I may ask you to explain.” He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

She eyed him for an instant, as if uncertain he might bite, and he was surprised to find he half wanted to. Beatrice slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, and they resumed their walk. Adam allowed her to chatter on about the vendors hawking their wares and the fine carriages that rolled past.