Page 3 of A Bluestocking’s Secret Courtship

“No, and thank you.” She gingerly touched her lip again. “For the handkerchief and for saving my reticule.”

Jonathan brandished the orange. “You recovered the reticule yourself. You have impeccable aim.”

“You are British.” She gifted him with a smile that reached her deep blue eyes. “I definitely detect a Yorkshire accent.”

He inclined his head, acknowledging her observation.

“What language were you speaking a moment ago? Was it Greek, perhaps?”

“Russian,” he said, “but I know Greek as well.”

“How marvelous! I have something for you.” She dug into her reticule.

“No, no.” Jonathan waved to decline a reward as a commotion from the crowd caught the young woman’s attention.

“Please, move aside. Let us through.” A striking woman with golden blonde hair shouldered her way through the crowd, pointing in his and the young woman’s direction. “I see her, over there. Evangeline!”

The young woman swiped the handkerchief across her peachy pink lips, leaving a fresh smear of red on the linen. “Blast,” she muttered when she saw the stain. “My sister is headed this way.”

A handsome man with darker skin appeared at her sister’s side, guiding her clear of the crowd with his hand on the small of her back. He whispered into her ear as her eyes widened.

“Good heavens!” The blonde rushed forward to hug the younger woman. “You’re bleeding, Evangeline. What happened?”

Evangeline… It wasn’t a name he heard every day. Why did it sound familiar?

“Minor trouble with a thief,” Evangeline answered, holding up her reticule. “But there’s no cause for alarm. My property has been recovered.”

Her sister’s face was red and glistening. “What were you thinking, wandering off like that? You could have become lost.”

Evangeline laughed lightly. “My sense of direction is more refined than you suggest, Gigi.”

“You know what I mean.” The blonde, Gigi, turned toward the man standing next to her, frowning. He rubbed her shoulder while murmuring reassurances.

“You there,” a gruff voice called out in Turkish.

One of the Janissaries approached, his face stern and eyes hard. Jonathan stepped in to shield the women from any further unpleasantness. After a brief exchange, the guard informed Jonathan that he and the young woman—Evangeline—were free to go, as the thief was in custody.

She had lost her parasol during the tussle, and he found it dangling halfway over the edge of the dock. Its ruffled edge fluttered in the breeze as he untangled it from a coil of rope and approached the traveling party.

“It isn’t good for you to become overwrought,” Evangeline was saying to her sister.

“Don’t you dare accuse me of fretting over nothing.” Gigi planted her fists on her hips. “You should’ve just given him the reticule.”

“But we need it. What can I say to ease your worries?”

“That you won’t do this again. You could’ve been seriously injured.”

“I wasn’t,” Evangeline said softly, reaching for Gigi’s hand as tears misted the slightly older woman’s eyes. “I promise to be more careful in the future. You have my word.”

The gentleman accompanying them wrapped his arm around Gigi’s shoulders. “Your sister is safe, chérie, and she has promised not to be foolish again.”

“Wait a moment.” Evangeline frowned. “I never used the word foolish.”

The man’s challenging green gaze met hers, and she ducked her head.

“An oversight on my part,” she murmured.

Jonathan stepped in. “Miss, I believe this is yours.”