Page 76 of The Number of Love
“It has not!” And wouldn’t. Just because she liked him, just because his words, written in code, kept playing through her mind, didn’t mean she wasin love.
“There you are.” Lukas edged his way to them once they left the sanctuary, through the crowd of parishioners who seemed none too eager to go out into the cool December air again. “What have you made my sister scowl about this time, mon amour?”
“The fact that she’s sweet on Drake Elton and doesn’t want to admit it.” Grinning like the mischief-maker she was, Willa turned toward the aisle. “We’d better get home, luv. My family’s probably already there.”
Lukas, of course, was too busy staring at Margot with questions in his brows to follow his wife. “Is she right? You actually like this fellow? I thought him on a fool’s errand when he said he meant to win your heart.”
“My heart isn’t in need of winning, thank you.” And she’d prove it if she must. A quick plotting of the most efficient course through the milling masses—bypassing Mrs. Neville, of course—and she was sidestepping her way over to where he stood just outside the doors. She’d simply tell him she wasn’t interested in being courted. Perhaps if he heard the words outright, that would be that.
Though she’d said as much the first time he’d flirted with her, hadn’t she? And yet here they were, apparently involved in something romantic without her ever once having agreed to it. All she’d done was read the letters. Did that equal agreement? Complicity?
A rotund gentleman shifted into her way, requiring an immediate course correction to avoid plowing into his well-padded back.
Drake would probably be embarrassed if she just went up to him now and said, “We’re not courting.” Which might help her cause, ultimately.
Though he’d no doubt stop sending the letters then too. Which shouldn’t make her pace slacken ... but it did.
And she didn’t want tohurthim. Or, to be honest, embarrass him. He’d been nothing but kind to her. And he was a good man. The best sort of man, always watching for a way to help others. He certainlydidn’t deserve a public dressing-down for the crime of liking her, did he?
She cleared the doors. He’d wandered a bit along the sidewalk with his friend, but he stood now ten paces away, tracking her. As she neared, he turned a bit so he was facing her more than his friend. Waiting for her.
Never had she imagined she’d find herself in this position. Her words to him that first time he’d flirted had been perfectly true—men usually forgot quickly enough that she was female when they realized she was smarter than they were. That she didn’t enjoy flirting. That she had no interest in the things a girl was supposed to want.
Why was he different?
His friend said his farewells and moved off as Margot drew nearer. Still, with each step closer, her desire to put him in his place about this courting nonsense dropped by another twelve percent, until it was so low upon reaching him that she couldn’t summon the words to her lips.
Instead she asked, “How are you holding up? Tired?”
He smiled, silver eyes sparkling. “I’ve quite recuperated from the walk here, actually. Though I think my pace on the return trip will have to be rather slow.” His head tipped toward hers a bit. “Perhaps you’d walk with me? I’d love to hear your thoughts on Father Foster’s homily. When he’s visited me as I recuperated, I found him to be a thoughtful man.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t exactly admit that she hadn’t been paying that much attention—he’d ask her what had distracted her, and then she’d either have to scramble for a lie or admit that she kept seeing the numbers from his latest letter, arranged like poetry on the page.
12.15.3 67.3.8 112.9.9
She blinked them away and smiled. “Of course.” They’d be eating together at Dot’s flat anyway. There was no point in refusing to walk with him. Especially since Dot and Holmes were exiting the church now too, her hand in his arm.
Her friend had no qualms about falling in love. No question about what it meant for who she was if she did so. She could simply enjoyit, bask in Holmes’s smiles, celebrate his new victories knowing they could become her victories as well. She could encourage him and not feel as if she were compromising her identity in doing so.
Drake picked up her hand and looped it through the crook of his elbow, setting it on his forearm. He wore gloves, and so did she. But still she was acutely aware of the touch. And not in a way that made her itchy or eager to pull away.
She looked up to meet his gaze. “You set the pace.” For the walk, she meant. And yet it sounded like more in her ears.
Perhaps it did to his as well. He gave a low, slow smile and led her along the sidewalk.
They’d barely gone three steps when an olive-clad figure stomped into their path, his scowl as dark as the circles under his eyes. “De Wilde! I thought you’d never come out. It’s impossible.”
Drake’s arms tightened a bit under her fingers. Interesting. She blinked at Camden. “I take it your first night shift didn’t go well?”
“How could it? It’s impossible. I don’t know how in blazes any of you ever manage to find the new variations. I tried every conceivable one and couldn’t make sense of it.” He flicked his eyes toward Drake, nodded. “Morning, Elton.”
Drake gave him a rather pointed look. Probably because he hadn’t actually saidin blazes, though Margot had gotten rather accustomed to filtering the men’s talk for herself as she processed their conversations.
Margot motioned him to move out of the path. He could walk with them if he wanted, but they’d be holding up everyone else if he just stood there.
Not that Phillip Camden seemed to mind inconveniencing anyone.
“Are you certain you were using the right telegrams to try to break it?”
