much he thought he could trust her. Did he? Trust came hard to him, almost as hard as it did for his sister.
“I was fortunate to inherit that bookstore and a small amount of money, which I invested carefully. I will never forget how difficult it was when I was young, however.”
“After you were kidnapped from your home.” She reached across the table to touch him, but swiftly snatched her hand back. “I suppose I can’t really touch you looking the way I do.”
“No.” At the mention of his kidnapping, he stiffened.
“Well, I think it’s lovely that you help children like Annie.”
“Will you really visit her?” He sipped his coffee.
“I want to. You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
“Perhaps you’ll bring me,” she said with a flirtatious smile.
He shook his head. “If you are trying to entice me to continue our acquaintance—”
She leaned forward, her eyes glowing. “Is it working?”
“Yes.” The word slipped between his lips before he could stop it. He leaned slightly forward too.
“I have a room upstairs,” she said rather breathlessly.
“How on earth…” He couldn’t even finish the thought, let alone the question.
“It’s under my name, Mr. Dazzle.”
Rafe stifled a sharp laugh. “You didn’t really use that name.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I did. And now I’m going up to that room. If you would care to meet me, it’s on the second floor in the back, facing Paul’s Alley.”
“Your capability is terrifying.”
“Is it?” She arched a blonde brow as she rose. “Or is it exciting?” She waggled both brows before going to the back corridor where the stairs were located.
How in the hell had she done this? How did she know where to go? Had she come yesterday and made the arrangements? She was terrifyingly exciting.
And he had no idea what he was going to do about her.
Chapter 8
By the time Anne reached the room upstairs, she was shaking. After she closed the door, she strode into the center of the small room and took a deep breath.
Would he come?
She honestly had no idea. She would give him a quarter hour to decide before going back downstairs in defeat.
In the meantime, she surveyed the room, which she’d visited the day before. The flowers she’d brought were still on the table in front of the window, as was the bottle of madeira and the two glasses. There were two chairs at the table and a short chaise angled near the narrow hearth. The largest piece of furniture was the bed. She’d specifically asked for a room with a wide, comfortable bed. And she’d made sure the linens were of good quality and clean. They were, thankfully, both.
Anne removed her hat and gloves and set them on the nightstand next to one side of the bed. Should she take off her boots? What if he didn’t come? Perhaps she should wait.
She checked the timepiece she’d tucked into her coat pocket that morning. Barely five minutes.
Pleased that she’d at least stopped shaking, she went to the window and craned her neck to try to see down the alley to Paternoster Row. She could just make out a sliver of the pavement and street. The crowd had not lessened.
She loved it. There was an energy and boisterousness here that didn’t exist in Mayfair. She wondered if Rafe had grown up nearby and hoped he would one day tell her.
He owned a bookshop! And helped children in need. What else didn’t she know about him? She hated that there seemed to be so much, but of course there was. He’d lived much more than she had, and that would have been true even if he weren’t ten years older. His experience was much different, broader and, from what she’d learned today, harsher.
That was part of the darkness inside him too—along with his wife. A hollow pain spread through her chest when she thought of how much losing her had to have hurt him. He’d said he loved her very much. Perhaps he loved her still. And why wouldn’t he? Though she was gone, she was clearly not forgotten.
Anne bent her head to smell the roses on the table. A knock on the door startled her so that she dipped her nose into the petals. “Goodness!” she breathed, putting her hand on the back of one of the chairs to right herself.
He was here. She hurried across the room and stopped short of throwing open the door. “Rafe?” What if it wasn’t him?
“Open the door, Anne.”
She did so, and he stalked inside. She closed the