Seducing a Stranger (Victorian Rebels #7) - Kerrigan Byrne Page 0,65

her to Manwaring Street, where East Indian bazaars and spice markets magically unfurled with the dawn alongside eateries serving flavorful curries and savory meats and cheeses roasted in tandoori ovens.

They’d eaten with their hands, sprawled on cushions like ancient royalty whilst tucked away in a quarter of a city where they might have been any avant-garde couple. After, she’d insisted upon a constitutional back through the evening market where she’d purchased a pair of earrings and wildly impractical shoes.

The next night had called for cabbage and fish of all things, so he’d introduced her to Russian cuisine. The night after that, she’d given the rather innocuous request for lamb, however the precedent had been set. Morley had whisked her to a Greek establishment where lively men had danced to rousing music, delighting her to no end.

It alarmed him how much enjoyment he gleaned from these outings of theirs. How, for entire hours, he’d forget everything that threatened their future happiness and lose himself in nothing more extraordinary than a conversation.

His wife held little in the way of personal prejudices and was endlessly curious about, and appreciative of, the traditions and people he introduced her to. She’d a rare gift for observation, carefully and cannily picking out the subtleties and nuances of culture whilst doing her best to not offend. She never remarked upon the perceived class of the neighborhoods to which he’d taken her, nor did she make anyone she met feel like less than the most interesting person with which she’d ever held a conversation.

All of her attention was absorbed by whomever was speaking, and he noticed she’d the kind and genuine way about her that garnered them little extras of gratitude wherever they went.

It was why he’d dared to bring her to St. Dismas. Because this was the floor upon which he and Caroline had often slept in the winter. In the borough that’d whelped him and abandoned him.

He’d not been to the parish since before his wedding, and he knew Vicar Applewhite would be bereft he’d not been invited to the wedding.

They’d almost made their way down the aisle as the old blind priest stopped to bid every family a personal farewell, and to cover his anxiety, Morley leaned down to ask Prudence, “What does the little fiend crave for luncheon, I wonder?”

She made a pensive sound. “Do you remember three days ago when we sampled those sautéed Chinese noodles?” She swallowed before continuing, and he’d the notion she’d salivated.

“I do.”

“Something like that, but not exactly that.”

Instead of clarifying, he allowed her to work through the conundrum, having learned that she’d arrive at a specific flavor and texture eventually, and his job would then be to provide it.

“Butter,” she finally announced. “There must be butter. And… maybe cheese.”

“Pasta?”

Her mouth fell open and her eyes twinkled like sunlight on the South Sea. “Pasta,” she breathed. “Ingenious suggestion.”

“Angelo’s on the Strand, it is,” he decided, realizing that his own stomach grumbled emptily at the thought. “Francesco serves this white wine and butter dish with garlic and scallions—”

She grasped his arm with undue dramatics. “Cease tormenting me or I’ll expire before we arrive.”

He adopted a sly, teasing smile. “I suppose you don’t want to hear about the fresh loaves of—”

“Morley?” Vicar Applewhite turned his face in their direction, the tufts of his hair sticking out in a riot of copper-grey as his grin unfurled a gather of teeth yellowed with age. “Morley, my boy, that you?”

Morley took the blindly offered hand and pressed an envelope into it. “Vicar,” he said. “I’m sorry I’m late this month. There’s extra in there. Just have Thomas count it out and he can take some home to Lettie and Harry, as I know they’ve likely covered expenses in my absence.”

“You know them well.” The envelope disappeared into voluminous robes with the swiftness that bordered on sleight of hand. “I’m sure you had good reason and…well, you’re not beholden to our upkeep.”

“You know I am,” Morley murmured, very aware of how still his wife had become as she watched the exchange with interest. “But I do have reason. I’d like to introduce you to…my wife, Prudence Morley.”

Out of sheer habit, she curtsied to the blind man. “How do you do, Vicar Applewhite? I was very moved by your words today.”

The Vicar’s features lit with an almost childlike radiance of unadulterated glee. “Oh my God! My happy day! I’ve had many prayers go unheeded, Lady Morley, and I’d given up on this rascal hitching himself to

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