She finally looked up at him. He studied her face, and her eyes fluttered under his scrutiny. “Your note said, ‘Quid pro quo.’ You want my help to find Timothy.”
Her lower lip quivered, and she pulled it between her teeth. Her hands tightened on the cane. “I have to.” She ran a hand down her lapel. “I like you, Lord Robert, and I do believe I can help you, but I fully admit I would not be here—like this—if it weren’t for Timothy. Imustfind him.”
“So you did not come here to help me. And would not have if not for Timothy.”
She stiffened but met his gaze straight on. “No.”
He straightened and took a step toward her. “Good.”
Eloise’s eyes widened. “What?”
Robert reached and lifted the top hat from her head. He perused the way her hair was caught up in a soft, flattened bun on top of her head, then set the hat on his desk. “I believe you to be a woman of honor and integrity, Lady Eloise Surrey. You have been a chaperone for Lydia for weeks. You know that I am essentially betrothed to her. You would not have inserted yourself into that relationship, and you would not have known I was Robbie Green were it not for our encounter at the modiste’s.”
He pulled the cane from her hands and laid it beside the hat. “We would not have come together at all had we not been suddenly thrust into these awful and unexpected events.” Robert gripped her shoulders a moment, then slowly eased his hands down her arms, squeezing the muscles. “But we have been. There’s no denying that. Unusual circumstances require unusual actions. We have been called upon to take unexpected directions with our lives.”
Robert lifted her left hand and gripped it in both of his. One thumb massaged her palm as he examined her fingers, peering at the supple length of them, the gray and black stains on the tips. “And you have always been responsive when your friends need help. It’s right here, in your hands.” He kissed her index finger, closing his lips over the tip.
Her cravat bounced as she swallowed. Robert smiled at the astonishment, and growing desire, in her wide eyes. How much he wanted this woman! How dearly he wanted to take her into his bed again and feel her tender responses, her moans, as she moved beneath him.
But now was not the time. Instead, he pulled her closer, slipping his arms around her. “Let me hold you,” he whispered, his lips at her temple.
And Lady Eloise relaxed, almost collapsing against him. Her arms slid beneath his coat, around his waist, her hands moving up his back as he deepened his hold on her. He spoke quietly, his lips moving against her hair. “We will help each other. We will get through this. We will find Timothy. We will find a way through this scandal we are enduring. I do not know what will happen when it is over. But for now, I want you here. With me.”
She nodded against his chest, whispering only, “Yes.”
Robert pushed back from her, looking into her eyes. “Bill’s funeral is tonight. Come with me.”
She scowled a bit. “Like this?”
“Yes. I have a glimmer of a plan, which could help us locate Timothy. You looking like this could play into it.”
Eloise stilled, and Robert nodded as a sudden understanding lit her eyes. “You want to be seen with a boy.”
“I need to open some doors.”
“I thought you wanted to extract yourself from scandal, not create a new one.”
He held his face calm. “Some things are worth the risk.”
“Robbie—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Shh. Somepeopleare worth the risk.”
Her lips formed a bow, kissing his finger. Then she pressed herself against him again, clinging tightly. Robert rested his head on hers, closing his eyes. He had been truthful—the coming days would be excruciating. Knowing there could be moments like these, however, with this woman at his side, in his arms, made the future somewhat less terrifying.
Chapter Thirteen
Monday, 18 July 1825
The streets of Whitechapel
Just before midnight
Eloise had neverbeen to a funeral. Ladies did not usually attend them, even for close family, and no one close to her had died since she was seven, when her great uncle had pitched head first over a galloping horse that abruptly refused to jump a stream. As a young woman of theton, Eloise especially would not have been allowed to attend a funeral held in Whitechapel, at a Baptist church attended primarily by a mix of black, white, and Indian people who subsisted on tradesmen’s and servants’ salaries. People who did not observe the propriety of keeping grief to themselves. Sorrow seemed to roll through the crowd in great waves, and the crush of people who pushed into the chapel created a growing heat that brought perspiration to Eloise’s forehead as well as more intimate areas of her body.
This was definitely not the staid Church of England service she had been expecting. Most funerals she had heard about consisted of the family and mourners following the coffin from the deceased’s home to the graveyard for a brief and solemn service. That they had taken a carriage to a church had been her first surprise of many.
When they had first arrived at the Campion home earlier in the evening, Robert had introduced Eloise to Bill’s widow, Nora, and their daughters Hannah and Prudence, and explained her state of dress, which the three women dressed in elegant black gowns of crepe and lace took in stride. Now she sat near the front of the church with the four of them. Eloise had tried to ignore the stares they received as they moved to the front pew, but she could not help but hear the whispers, the mentions of Robbie Green, the questions. Nora treated Robert as if he were her son, clinging to his arm as much as she did Hannah’s, and the preacher—who greeted them as they were seated—did the same.
