the alley to where it met Warwick Lane. He located the cabriolet and helped her inside as the tiger held the horse. She set her bonnet on her head and brought down the veil as he settled in next to her.
He drove them out to Paternoster Row, but instead of turning west, he went east toward Cheapside.
“You’re not taking me for caviar, are you?”
He laughed. “No. We’re not even stopping along Cheapside.”
“That’s a shame. I thoroughly enjoyed our afternoon here.” Her head moved from side to side as they entered the thoroughfare, and though he couldn’t see her face, he knew she was delighted.
“This is perhaps my favorite part of London.” He hadn’t told her that when they’d come before. He’d always kept his guard up, but suddenly, perhaps because of what the children had tried to do, he just didn’t want to make the effort.
“Even more that Paternoster Row?”
He chuckled. “It’s close. Cheapside wins slightly, only because of its greater size. I imagine how it might have been hundreds of years ago when the streets earned their names—Ironmonger Lane, Bread Street, Milk Street. I wonder what those people who lived here would say if they could see it now.”
“They would be amazed. At all of London.”
Just before they reached Poultry Street, he steered them to the right onto Bucklersbury Lane. Partway down, he pulled the cabriolet to the side and came to a stop.
“You can see Mansion House quite well from here,” she said, gesturing to the end of the street in front of them.
“Yes.” Seeing that grand house had been one of the reasons he’d chosen Bucklersbury Lane for his own residence. He looked to the left at the house in front of where they’d stopped. “This is my house.”
She lifted her veil and took in the narrow brick façade. “This is where you lived as a child?”
He shook his head. “This is where I lived the past four years. Would you like to come inside?”
“Very much.”
He helped her from the vehicle and returned the cabriolet to his tiger’s care. Offering her his arm, he guided her up the steps. He inserted a key in the lock, and by the time they walked into the entry hall, Mrs. Watts came hurrying to greet them.
A short, stocky woman, the housekeeper also served as his cook. Her biscuits were never too salty, and she was, in fact, the reason he adored cakes.
“Mr. Bowles,” she said with a smile, her gaze flitting to Anne. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”
He’d stopped in on Saturday when he’d visited the bookshop. “This wasn’t a planned visit. Allow me to introduce my friend, Miss Anne Pemberton.” He realized he should not have used her real name, but as he’d learned on the way here, it seemed he didn’t particularly care about hiding things at the moment.
Mrs. Watts bobbed her head, her white mobcap pinned tightly to her gray curls since it didn’t move even slightly. Whereas Anne, after removing her bonnet, nodded, and a slender blonde curl fell against her temple.
“Welcome,” Mrs. Watts said. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m going to give Miss Pemberton a brief tour.” He took Anne’s bonnet and her gloves and set them on a narrow table beneath a mirror along with his own. “I’ll let you know if we require anything.”
“Very good.” Mrs. Watts turned toward the back of the house. “I have warm spiced cakes if that interests you,” she called before she disappeared.
“That is very tempting,” Anne said. “Much more tempting than salty biscuits.” She looked around the small entry hall, with its marble tile and solitary painting.
“You’ll find this house wanting after my residence in Upper Brook Street.”
Her eyes met his. “I don’t think I could find anything wanting about you.”
Her words heated him, and he let them, relishing the connection between them instead of resisting it. He showed her the dining room and the library, which looked rather sad since most of his books had been moved to Mayfair.
“You outgrew your library,” she said. “Is that why you moved?”
“I moved because I wanted to live in the best place.”
She looked up at him. “And Mayfair is the best? I’d say the best is wherever you’re happiest.”
Then that had been the small house he’d lived in with Eliza near Blackfriars. The first place where he’d felt he belonged. “Where have you been happiest?” he asked.
“Right now. Here, with you.” She squeezed his arm. “I would ask you the same, but I doubt you’d tell me.