may join you for breakfast, I can explain our business problem.”
“You two do that,” I say. “I need to pop home. I’ll return later today, William.”
He catches my arm before I can go. Then he hesitates, grip loosening.
“Why don’t you join us for breakfast?” August says. “I would very much appreciate the opportunity to better display my manners and my wit. I shall occupy no more of William’s time than necessary.”
“If you’re sure—”
“Excellent. I shall set out Mrs. Shaw’s lovely cold breakfast and brew coffee. Please tell me you have coffee, William?”
“In the cupboard from your last visit,” William says.
“Do they drink coffee in the future, Bronwyn?”
“They have entire shops devoted to coffee, one on almost every street corner.”
He sighs. “Heaven.”
William shakes his head and ushers me upstairs.
25
At the top of the stairs, William pulls me into a kiss that leaves me gasping. One gulp of air, and then another kiss, deeper still, the blanket falling as he pulls me against him.
“Good morning to you, too,” I say when we finally part.
He chuckles, but there’s an uneasy edge to it.
“It really was a mistake, William. I heard a crash in the kitchen, and Pandora came running up, so I thought she knocked something over. Your shirt covers me, so I wasn’t thinking how inappropriate it is in your time, and August and I really did get caught up in our conversation—”
He cuts me off with a kiss. “I’m not the least bit concerned about him seeing your bare legs, Bronwyn. While I’m annoyed that he didn’t help you find a blanket, I do not suspect you of flirting with him. As for August, the man flirts like others breathe—he scarcely realizes he’s doing it. If he did, it was not intentional.”
“Are you all right, then? You seem a little off-kilter.”
“Oh, I’m fine. I certainly did not wake to find your side of the bed empty and fly up in a panic, worried you’d changed your mind.”
I hug him. “I most definitely have not.”
He looks down at me. “At the risk of sounding like a fretful boy, I realize I may have said things last night that were more than you wanted to hear just yet.”
“I believe I reciprocated them.”
“I also know I was very . . . physical in my affections, affording you little sleep.”
“And it was glorious.” I put my arms around his neck. “You did and said nothing last night that I am not thrilled about. Now, how about we get dressed, go downstairs and have breakfast, and then we will separate for the minimum amount of time before I return in hopes of compensating for the fact that our first morning together has been rudely interrupted.”
The coffee is . . . well, let’s just say it’s better than some overpriced espresso chains, which isn’t saying much. Coffee in Victorian times was relatively new, and with no modern machines, it’s made almost like tea with ground coffee being steeped in cloth bags. Also, it’s not exactly quality coffee to begin with.
When August asks me how it tastes, I try to demur, but August seizes on that with the fervor of a true aficionado. Coffee in the future is better? Tell him about it. Where is it from? How is it made? He’s genuinely fascinated, and by the time we’re done with the conversation, I’m promising to bring better coffee. More importantly, we’re both relaxed and comfortable, devouring the repast he’s laid out.
“So this business problem . . .” William says.
When August glances at me, William says, “Bronwyn is no society maiden who expects frivolous conversation over breakfast until we can retire to our manly business discussions.”
“Certainly not,” I say. “And in truth, I suspect many of those maidens—and matrons—would be happy to hear such conversation if it wasn’t deemed too ‘complicated and coarse’ for their untutored and delicate ears.”
August laughs and says, “You sound like . . .” He wipes a hand over his mouth and cuts a slice of ham. “All right, then, the problem is with a shipment. William and I have shared interest in a shipping company that docks in Whitby, and one of the ships was supposed to depart last night, but the new harbormaster is causing trouble.”
“He wants a bribe,” William says. “Which he’s not getting. Bribery is for thieves and smugglers, and to suggest we are either . . .” He stabs his ham and mutters expletives under his breath.
“Agreed,” August says. “I was hoping you’d come to the wharf and tell