then someone in the household would know her secret—that she was at least sending messages to Rockbourne. This would take some planning.
“Yes, truly.” Rockbourne sounded calmer.
They turned into Cavendish Square. “The house is just there on the right.” She pointed to the house that had most recently been occupied by her friend Jane Pemberton. “Lady Colton has already moved out. She and Lord Colton were wed, rather by surprise, a week ago. It was incredibly romantic.”
“In what way?”
“He arrived at her house with a special license, a vicar, and her sister as well as their best friends.” They paused in front of the house.
“Lady Colton had no idea?” Tom asked.
Beatrix shook her head. “None. Isn’t that lovely?”
“So long as she said yes.” He chuckled, and she was so glad to hear the sound. “That could have ended badly.”
“I suppose it could have. Lord Colton probably knew how she felt, don’t you think?”
“I think knowing and understanding others’ feelings is extremely complicated. I’m glad things worked out for them. I hope they’ll be very happy.” He said the last with a mix of wistfulness and darkness, as if he expected his hope to be dashed.
“So the house is empty?” he asked.
“Well, the servants are there. Harry is retaining all of them.” She turned to look up at him. “Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason. There are just…opportunities with an unoccupied house.”
Desire fluttered in her belly—and lower. All night, she’d been aware of an undercurrent of attraction. There had been a few times in his sitting room when she thought he might kiss her. She’d been shocked to realize she wanted him to. Rather desperately, in fact.
Now he was telling her about opportunities with an unoccupied house. Her imagination took flight and winged its way directly into a fervent longing.
Before she could ask about specific opportunities, he skimmed his hand against her lower back, and they continued along the square. He didn’t keep touching her as they moved, much to her disappointment.
“You didn’t answer why you have a pistol,” he said.
“I don’t recall you asking.” She was sure he hadn’t.
He didn’t look at her as they walked. “Why do you have a pistol?”
“Because I’m, as you put it, wandering around London in the middle of the night.”
His exasperated breath permeated the damp night air. “Where did you get that pistol?”
That wasn’t a story she felt comfortable sharing. He was already wondering about what kind of woman she must be since she’d held her own against a footpad. What would he think if she told him she’d stolen it? “It was given to me by a…friend.”
“How do you know how to use it? You said you did.”
“My sister and I thought it wise to learn how to shoot. Her former husband taught us.” She hated making up things that were blatantly untrue. Long ago, Selina had cautioned her against doing so because if you forgot what you’d said, you risked being caught in the lie. It was better to rely on half-truths or, better still, to avoid answering troublesome questions altogether. That was becoming harder and harder with Rockbourne. He already knew far more about her than anyone except Selina.
Why had she let her guard down with him?
Beatrix cast him a sidelong glance as they reached Portland Street. Perhaps she should sever this relationship entirely. What was the point of it anyway? She’d helped him, he’d helped her—she was certain he was behind the voucher to Almack’s. Everything else was now just…what? What was it?
Temptation.
He was a father in mourning, and she was the bastard daughter of a duke who was hoping to secure her future. There really wasn’t any need for them to continue meeting, much as she wanted to. How sad that made her.
She opened her mouth to say so, but he spoke first.
“Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in a very, very long time.” He paused a beat. “Except for the footpads.” He said the last with a humor-filled warmth that made her smile. Not that she needed much prodding after he’d said tonight was the most fun he’d had in a long time.
A very, very long time.
“The footpad incident wasn’t all bad.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Now he looked at her, and she felt the heat in his gaze everywhere. “I liked it when you called me Tom.”
“I didn’t want to call you by your title. Not then.”
“Don’t feel as though you ever need to use that again. Tom is fine. Tom is lovely, in fact.”
Yes, he was.
Against her