Page 21 of A Literary Liaison
He watched her carriage disappear into the London fog, his heart pounding with the desire to lay himself bare. Tomorrow, he would not regret his restraint. Tonight, he could only stand in the gaslight and wish he’d taken her in his arms and kissed her senseless.
Dangerous Encounters
The gas lampscast long shadows on the cobblestone streets of London’s East End as Edgar emerged from the nondescript building. Dressed in the plain clothes of a merchant, he tugged his cap lower, concealing his aristocratic features. The meeting with his associates had run late, and he was eager to return to the safety of his townhouse.
A bitter wind whipped through the narrow alley as he rounded a corner, only to find his path blocked by three rough-looking men. Their leader, a burly fellow with a scar running from eye to jaw, stepped forward into the lamplight. “Well, well. If it ain’t Mr. Flack. Thought you could skip town without settling your debts, did ya?”
Edgar’s mind raced through his options. He couldn’t reveal his true identity—that would raise far too many questions about why a duke was skulking around the East End. And without his signet ring or other identifiers, all of which were safely stored at home, he had no way to prove he wasn’t this Flack character.
Just as the men began to close in, their intentions clear in their clenched fists and ugly smiles, a clear, feminine voice rang out through the darkness. “Darling! There you are!”
Edgar turned, his heart skipping when he saw Miss Linde hurrying toward him. His thoughts quickly drifted to how he would keep her safe from these blackguards. She wore an expression of relief and exasperation, presumably playing a role as his savior. He steppedtoward her when one of the men caught him by the arm. He watched as the woman who had so thoroughly captured his attention approached the dangerous scene with remarkable composure.
She reached his side, linking her arm through his as naturally as if they’d been married for years. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, my love.”
Despite the role-playing, her words sent warmth through his chest. She turned to the group of men, her expression shifting to one of polite confusion. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”
The scarred man frowned, his gaze shifting between them with suspicion. “This man owes us a considerable sum.”
Miss Linde laughed, a sound of genuine amusement that somehow cut through the tension. “That is not possible. We’ve been living in France, you see.” She addressed the men, her tone shifting to one of confidential friendliness that Edgar found himself admiring. “This is Mr. Edward Crook, my soon-to-be husband. We’re in the East End sourcing fabrics for our new print shop.”
Edgar caught her cue and patted her hand affectionately, adopting a jovial smile and thanking the stars for her quick thinking.
“Who is it you are looking for?” she asked, her tone innocent.
“Mr. Flack,” the leader said, some of his earlier certainty wavering.
Miss Linde looked up at Edgar quizzically before turning back to the increasingly confused group. “We don’t know anyone by that name, but then, we don’t know many people in England. You see, we’re expanding my father’s business. In fact, we just left a meeting with Mr. Jameson about a shipment of Indian cotton. You know Jameson’s Imports, of course? Just down on Brick Lane?”
The leader’s aggressive stance faltered. “Jameson, yeah. We know him.”
“Wonderful!” she beamed, her enthusiasm so convincing that Edgar had to admire her skill at deception. “Then you must join us for the grand opening next month. I insist! Bring your friends. Drinks are on us.”
Edgar squeezed her hand in warning—she was pushing their luck—but her confidence never wavered.
The men exchanged uncertain glances. Finally, the leader shrugged. “Right. We’ll be there, Mrs. Crook, Mr. Crook. Be careful out here. These streets ain’t always forgiving.”
As the group shuffled away, Edgar released his breath. “Mr. Crook? Is that the first name that came to your mind when you encountered my visage?”
“No. Savage came to me first, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate that very much. Nor would you have liked the other alternatives.” Her eyes sparkled even as relief colored her voice.
“I cannot thank you enough for sparing me the name of Savage and the fate of Mr. Flack.”
Her eyes regarded him coolly, then she turned wordlessly, walking back in the direction she came. Edgar trailed after her like a scolded puppy, his ducal dignity shrinking with every step.
“What business did you have here at this hour?” he asked, noting how confidently she navigated the treacherous streets.
“I was visiting a bookshop. I lost track of time, talking to the proprietor. And you, Your Grace? If this is your way of understanding the plights of the poor, you’re going about it wrong.”
Edgar ignored her question and said, “I shall escort you home.”
“I don’t need an escort, Your Grace. I’m a grown woman. I’ve been traversing these alleys since I was a little girl.”
“Is there something else I can offer to repay your kindness?”
Miss Linde suddenly stopped and turned to face him. “You could tell me why the Duke of Lancaster is skulking around the East End in disguise. That would be a good start.”
“I am afraid I cannot.”
