Page 108 of A Scot Is Not Enough
“Fletcher’s House of Corsets and Stays, miss.” Hat to his chest, a gray yarn wig capping his head, Mr. Munro was a kind thread. “Will ye need me to fetch you later?” he asked as she exited the hack.
She glanced at Alexander. The world tipped, uncertain. Planning more than an hour ahead with him was new territory.
“Would eight o’clock at the Silver Fox suffice?” Alexander spoke to Mr. Munro before he angled his face to her. “I hear they serve an excellent cottage pie on Mondays.”
Mr. Munro grinned. He approved of a gentleman taking the lead.
“Eight o’clock, sir. I shall be there.” He bowed smartly and climbed back on his perch. A snap of the reins, and the hack rambled onward.
Alexander was donning his leather glove, a tentative smile curving his mouth.
“I might’ve rushed that.”
“You did, but I forgive you. This is new for both of us.”
“I know. I heard Jenny earlier today. I collect she disapproves of me.”
“Oh, Jenny has an opinion about everything,” she said, batting the air.
“I can’t say that I blame her. It is one thing to . . .” He paused in deference to passing pedestrians beforelowering his voice. “To spend the night in your bed and quite another when laundry is involved.”
“The laundry worries you?”
“Our clothes washed togetherisdomestic.”
She laughed and spoke to him in a scandalous whisper. “What about theotherthings we did together? Does yelling your name in the throes of passion count?”
A rakish smile chiseled his Roman senator’s mouth. “You moaning my name, it’s quite fascinating.”
They were standing close, White Cross Street’s late day shoppers passing by. She craved his humor, his voice, his intelligent conversation. Upright and strong, a man of the law, Alexander had bent his moral code for her. But how much longer would this last?
She touched his sleeve. “You know, you do not have to stay with me.”
“It’s not a matter of having to. I want to... as long as you’ll have me.”
A breeze riffled black silk securing his queue. He was stalwart and true, his jaw shaved, his cravat proper. A man on the verge of asking for more.
Hairs on her arms raised, the same as when she’d skimmed fingertips over a glass tube demonstrating electrical currents. Amber, sulfur, and glass rubbed together, producing a shock of light. Stunning to see, more stunning to touch.
Almost too much.
She caught sight of her face in the shop window. The luminous eyes of a startled doe looked back. A hunted woman snared by her choices. She was dressed in brown velvet, the hue similar to Alexander’s wool coat as if they meant to be a matching pair. Beyond her reflection, somewhere in the shop, was her near future. Her costume and with it came a course of action. Taking thesgian-dubh. A pledge fulfilled.
The man beside her—a pledge waiting to happen.
“Cecelia?” His voice was a gentle prompt.
“We’ve nothing to worry about. We’ll have fun, you and I.” She was brittle and overbright, adding, “For as long as it lasts.”
Hurt patinaed his eyes but he clasped both hands behind his back, morphing into the solid gentleman she knew him to be.
“Nothing to worry about? We were shot at.”
She smiled and petted the front of his coat. “You know what I mean. Why don’t you go to the haberdashers and purchase a new hat?”
Like her, he’d lost his tricorn in the river, but he wasn’t budging.
“It will be a judicious use of our time. You at the haberdasher shop, while I see about my costume. Then we’ll meet at the Silver Fox for some fine cottage pie.”
