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Viv held her breath. He’d changed his mind. He didn’t mean to kiss her after all. She had only to step away from him, but he filled her senses, his solid warmth at her back, the low rasp of his voice, the scent of soap and rain on his skin. His hands tightened on her waist. He leaned in. His breath disturbed a curl behind her ear. Then his lips touched the side of her neck, a brief pressure that sent a violent shiver through her. Lark.

Hurrying footsteps sounded on the stairs. He stepped back, and Viv stood there, unmoving, her nerves registering his absence and a thousand tiny kiss shocks.

Jenny appeared, a plain blue kerseymere gown over her arm, a startled look on her face.

“I’ll wait in the kitchen for my shirt to dry.” He stepped around Viv and strolled down the hall, the towel over his shoulders, his shirt in his hand.

Jenny glanced from him to Viv. “Miss? Are you quite well?”

Viv came back to herself. “Help me, Jenny. I’ve got to get upstairs to Lady Melforth.”

*

Viv entered the upstairs drawing room, her damp petticoat hem clinging to her ankles. Mr. Stryde filled a chair at Lady Melforth’s right elbow, while Mrs. Stryde perched, her neck stretched high, on the ottoman beside Lady Melforth’s injured left foot. Between them, they trapped her in her nest of pillows. In her ladyship’s concealed hand and listless posture, Viv read the signs of an overlong visit. A cup of Doctor Newberry’s soothing headache draught stood untouched on the tray of remedies by her ladyship’s side.

Viv tugged the bell pull and moved to help her employer. “Dear ma’am, how uncomfortable you look.”

“Of course, she’s uncomfortable,” snapped Mrs. Stryde. “You abandoned her yet again. I wonder, Miss Bradish, that you dare call yourself a lady’s companion at all.”

Viv caught a mute appeal in her employer’s gaze and refrained from rising to Mrs. Stryde’s provocation.

“Thank you, Eustacia,” Lady Melforth said. “It’s been good of you and Arthur to keep me company, but Miss Bradish is here now.”

“She may be here now, Aurora, but where has she been? Really, we cannot leave you to her care without some assurance that she is prepared to do the work she was engaged to do.”

Viv ignored Mrs. Stryde, concentrating a tight smile on Mr. Stryde. “If you will move your chair a little, sir, I can help her ladyship to be more comfortable.”

He looked surprised, but complied, and Viv leaned over her employer to help her to an upright position among the pillows. “You’ve not taken any of Dr. Newberry’s draught, ma’am. Let me send Jenny for a fresh cup, and we’ll have you feeling more the thing.”

“Thank you, Viv. How was Dodsley?”

“He made only one difficulty today.”

Lady Melforth laughed, her warm, throaty laugh turning to a dry cough. “You set him straight, I hope.”

Viv nodded and cleared away the untouched cup.

“One difficulty?” asked Mrs. Stryde. “Yet you’ve been gone for hours, Miss Bradish, neglecting your duty, and I dare say, risking your reputation with no maid to attend you.”

The justice of the accusation stung a little. In Viv’s absence Lady Melforth had been plagued by her cousins, and the neglect was not in meeting Dodsley, but in the visit to Marie Christophe’s house and that fleeting moment in the stillroom. Her thoughts had been centered on Lark. She resolved to banish him from her mind.

Jenny appeared, a little breathless from the stairs, and Viv handed her the old medicine, asking her to bring a new cup.

“The elderberry, miss?”

“Yes, thank you, Jenny.”

“Should I bring more tea for the visitors?” Jenny whispered.

“Absolutely not,” said Viv.

Jenny bobbed a curtsy and hurried off.

Viv turned back to Lady Melforth and her visitors, and pulled a chair up on the far side of the ottoman. “When I must do an errand for her ladyship,” she explained. “I rely on Jenny. She’s familiar with Dr. Newberry’s instructions and very reliable.”

Mrs. Stryde twisted round to frown at Viv. The stiff little curls at her cheeks didn’t move. “Yes, but, a young woman, venturing unattended into those regions of London wholly devoted to commerce, is so indelicate as to no longer be considered a lady.”

“In general, perhaps, ma’am, but a writer may always meet with her publisher quite respectably wherever his offices may be. Our most renowned lady writers have done so.”