better judgment, Beatrix reached for his hand and twined her fingers with his. She wished with every fiber of her being that she wasn’t wearing gloves.
“We’re nearly to Queen Anne Street,” she said.
“I know.”
She realized their gait had slowed. He seemed as reluctant as she was for the night to end. Maybe they should have stolen into the house in Cavendish Square. But again, to what end?
Beatrix didn’t care. She didn’t want to think past the next few moments.
“Will you let me know if Bow Street contacts you again?” she asked.
“No.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
“What would you do?”
“I don’t know. I’d just like to be aware.” She was worried about him. Losing a spouse, the parent of one’s child, had to be difficult even in the worst of situations, which it seemed their marriage was. He seemed all right for the most part, but his flash of anger—and the way he pummeled the footpad—gave her pause.
“It’s a moot issue since they won’t be contacting me. You can put the entire affair from your mind.”
“Have you?” she asked softly.
“I’m trying to.” His voice was tight, and she was almost sorry she’d asked.
“I’m here if you ever need to talk about it.”
“I won’t, but I appreciate that.”
They reached the corner of Queen Anne Street. Beatrix stopped but didn’t let go of his hand. “Thank you for seeing me home. I’m glad you were with me. I would not have wanted to face two footpads alone.”
“You might be dead.” He squeezed her hand. “Promise me you won’t endanger yourself like that again. I couldn’t bear it.”
The insistence and desperation in his voice pulled at her heart. She moved closer to him. “I won’t.” The fact was that he wasn’t wrong. She would have been in a great deal of trouble. She could have shot one of them, but then what of the other?
Shoving the dark thoughts away, she summoned a smile. “Good night, then.”
“You’ll send me a note when you want to visit again?”
She nodded, but she wouldn’t. Because there wasn’t going to be an again.
They stared at each other, the night dark and cool around them. She shivered. He bent his head. She parted her lips, certain that he would kiss her now. Finally.
But all he did was tip her hat back and brush his lips against her forehead. Replacing the hat, he let go of her hand and stepped back. “I’m going to watch until you’re inside. Good night, Beatrix.”
“Good night, Tom.” Her body thrummed with unsatisfied need. Nevertheless, she turned and went to the house, where she slipped down the stairs to the basement entrance.
She hurried upstairs and held back the curtain to see if he was still there. He stood on the other side of the narrow street, a tall, shadowy figure.
They watched each other for several minutes before he finally turned and walked back toward Portland Street. When he disappeared from sight, she stepped back and let the curtain fall.
Sadness wrapped around her and snaked down her throat, making it feel scratchy and raw. She wouldn’t cry. This wasn’t an ending, but a beginning. Tomorrow, she and Selina would move to Cavendish Square, to security. And the following night, she would finally meet her father. Her future was assured.
But was it the future she still wanted?
Regan had bounded into Thomas’s room at an exceptionally early hour. He’d been asleep only a short while since returning from walking Beatrix home. And that was after he’d tossed in his bed for some time before finally dozing off, his mind and body rife with the excitement of his evening with Beatrix.
Evening? It had been the middle of the damn night.
And every moment of it had been positively sublime. Well, not every moment. Thinking of the footpad attack still made his heart race as well as sparked his rage. When he’d seen that man grab Beatrix, Thomas had wanted to pound him into oblivion.
He might have too, if not for her intervention. There’d been a note of fear in her voice. Had she seen into the rot inside him? He prayed not. Yet, there had been a finality to their parting last night that made him wonder.
No, that couldn’t be the end of their association, even if it should be.
The invitation to the masquerade ball her brother was hosting tomorrow night sat in the middle of Thomas’s desk. He’d already responded. Last night was not the last time he would see her.
He sat back in his chair and tried, for the dozenth time