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But before I can curl my fingers around the handle, the door opens. And standing there, looking down at me through thick lashes, is my dinner date and possible serial killer.
“Hello.” Theo’s eyes crinkle as he greets me. And I have to take a deep breath because somehow in a thick navy wool coat and white shirt, he looks even more delectably handsome than I remember. His thick brown hair is brushed back from his face, and there’s a hint of stubble on his jaw.
“Hi.” I take his proffered hand and let him help me out of the car.
“Thanks, Eduardo,” he says, leaning in.
“No problem Mr—”
Theo closes the door before Eduardo can finish.
“Did he owe you a favor?” I ask Theo.
“What?” he replies, looking confused.
“Eduardo. Does he owe you money or something? Is that why he agreed to drive me? Not that it wasn’t nice to ride in a Rolls Royce.”
He shrugs, leading me toward a sleek black door on the outside of the white building. “Something like that.”
He hits the doorbell. God, everything about this country is different. Cats wander around outside and you have to ring doorbells for restaurants, apparently.
“What’s this place?” I ask him.
“Not really sure,” he says. “My… friend recommended it.” He lifts a brow. “Apparently it’s ‘fun’.”
I try not to laugh at how he makes it sound completely un-fun. And then the door opens and a woman wearing a long black dress with a white frilly pinafore opens it. Her hair is tied back in a bun, like a Victorian maid.
“Theo for two?” she asks.
He nods and she smiles widely. “Then come on in. Mr. Ebeneezer Scrooge is expecting you.” She lowers her voice. “But I warn you, he’s a little grumpy this evening.”
Theo’s brows knit. “I’m sorry? What?”
“Mr. Scrooge. My boss.” She grins “You’re having dinner with him.”
His shoulders stiffen. And this time I can’t stop my laugh. Dear God, he looks like he wants to kill somebody.
“Is this one of those cabaret dinners?” I ask him. Because I’m pretty sure Scrooge isn’t really the maid’s boss. And to be honest, right now I’m thinking she isn’t really a maid either.
“I have no fucking idea,” he mutters.
The way he scowls is stupidly sexy. I obviously have some kind of angry-Englishman fetish going on.
We walk toward what looks like a booking desk. Above it is a sign.
The Ebeneezer Scrooge Experience. The best dinner cabaret in the whole of Victorian London.
Theo narrows his eyes as he reads it. “Jesus,” he mutters. “I’m going to kill Jess.”
I’ve no idea who Jess is, but right now I feel sorry for her. And I’m on the verge of hysteria. I’ve never seen anybody look as appalled as he does right now.
The maid holds out her hand. “Let me take your coats.” We pass them to her, then she leads us up what looks like an old Victorian corridor. “We start the evening with drinks in the library,” she tells us. “And then when Mr. Scrooge is ready, he’ll call you in for dinner.”
A little growl comes from Theo’s throat.
The library turns out to be a bar lined with wallpaper printed with books. It’s also full of people chatting excitedly about the experience. Most of them seem to be American.
“Would you like a drink?” another woman-in-a-Victorian-maid-outfit asks us. She’s holding a tray with cocktails. “This is called Marley’s Chains,” she tells us.
