Page 15 of One Night of Scandal
She was a few minutes early and didn’t yet see Mr. Barrett. Her pulse quickened at the prospect of seeing him again. Was that why she wished she was dressed as a woman? He’d commented on liking it last night, and today she found she loathed the feel of the whiskers on her face. She couldn’t help thinking how nice it might be if he flirted with her.
But would it be? She was being silly. And shortsighted. Her focus needed to be on uncovering this story,noton the devilishly handsome Jack Barrett.
Only he was more than handsome. He lived a life of purpose and seemed to genuinely care about those who were struggling. That was far more attractive to her than his looks. And that made him dangerous.
Pushing him from her thoughts, she scanned the interior of the coffeehouse. There were four corner tables. Which one was Hodges? Mr. Barrett hadn’t described him, so Viola would just have to wait.
And yet, she didn’t want to stand here and loiter. Two of the four corner tables were occupied. One held a trio of older men who were engaged in animated conversation, one of them gesturing wildly. The other table held a single man, perhaps in his late fifties, with a shock of white hair. His head was bent toward the newspaper spread in front of him across the table.
“Hodges, you need a refill?” the man at the bar called over to the single gentleman.
Hodges, apparently, looked up from his newspaper and flashed a smile. He pushed his spectacles up his nose. “Yes, please.”
Viola strode toward his table. “I’ll get it for you.”
Blinking up at her from behind his glasses, Hodges inclined his head. “Why, thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Viola smiled, keeping her lips thin and closed, then picked up his cup and went to the counter.
“Put his on my account,” Hodges called.
The coffee master refilled Hodges’s cup and then filled another for Viola. She picked up both with a nod and returned to Hodges’s table.
“I hope you’ll sit with me,” Hodges said as he folded the newspaper and set it to the side.
Viola glanced toward the door. She was supposed to wait for Jack, but he was now running late. Surely he would understand that she couldn’t pass up this opportunity. “Thank you. I’m meeting someone.”
Hodges smiled pleasantly. “He’s welcome to join us when he arrives.” He sipped his coffee and closed his eyes while he let out a satisfied sigh. “Nothing like a fresh cup.”
While Viola had learned to like a variety of ales over the past two years, she hadn’t ever tried coffee. She took a tentative sip of the dark, steaming brew and nearly sputtered. Forcing the sour liquid down her throat, she worked to hide her reaction.
However, she must not have been entirely successful, as Hodges chuckled. “It’s a tad on the bitter side today.”
“Yes,” she agreed, setting the cup down. “I’m Tavistock, by the bye.”
“Pleased to meet you. Name’s Emory Hodges, solicitor by trade.”
“I’m a writer,” she said, removing her hat and setting it on the bench beside her.
Hodges tipped his head to the side and regarded her, his dark eyes contemplative behind his spectacles. “The Tavistock who writes the gentlemen’s column for theLadies’ Gazette?”
Her jaw dipped in brief surprise before she snapped her mouth closed and blinked at him. “You read it?”
He chuckled again, and given the lines fanning from his eyes and the deep grooves on either side of his mouth, she gathered he did so often. “I read all sort of things. Can’t be too informed. I pride myself on reading and learning as much as I can.”
“An admirable endeavor,” Viola said in earnest. “What were you reading today?” She glanced toward the newspaper.
He waved his hand at theTimes. “Yet another article about the current disaster in the country, and how the radical workers must be kept in line lest they start another riot.”
“You disagree?”
“I think it’s dangerous to agitate people where there is already plenty of discord. But people like to read that sort of thing—more and more, it seems.”
“Yes. I find myself writing pieces to do with the current state of affairs.”
One of Hodges’s bushy white brows rose up above the edge of his glasses. “Not just who was seen where and what they were wearing?”
Viola tamped down her frustration—she didn’t think he was looking down on her. “I am interested in political issues as they affect my readers.”
