They exited the maze and rejoined the maids to walk into town. There, he drew her through the crowd of merchants along the road and directly toward a particular vendor. An old woman sat in front of steaming buns, smiling a gap-toothed smile at them. He handed her a coin, and the woman passed over two white, steaming buns.
Saffron accepted one and held it in her cupped hands. It had a pillowy texture and a yeasty smell. She laughed in delight. “Saffron buns. How did you know I was named after these? My mother loved them.”
“I didn’t.” Taking a bite out of his own bun, he gestured for her to continue walking through the streets. “But when I remembered that this town had a market, I thought you might enjoy it.”
As she walked, the steady wash of waves hit the embankment, along with the crunch of wheels on gravel and the muted chatter of voices. She knew he was giving her a chance to change her mind, to avoid talking to the man who might be their thief.
“What are you going to do after the auction?” Leo asked suddenly.
She swallowed the last of her bun, which turned sour in her stomach at his question. “I was considering employment with Lady Allen as a lady’s companion.”
“There are better options.”
She pulled her hand away from his arm and took a few steps in front of him, distancing herself from him and his impertinent questions.
“Let’s walk by the shore,” she said.
They walked arm and arm toward the bluffs. The seagulls squalled and dove as children threw bits of bread for them, white flashes against the blue sky. She stood behind a gaggle of children and watched them indulgently.
She could easily imagine they were her own, with her husband at her side.
But he didn’t want her as his wife.
She could understand why. Society called her odd. What viscount would want a wife who barely tolerated crowds, who had attacks that rendered her unable to speak? She was, quite simply, unmarriageable.
“Are you ready?” Leo asked.
She swallowed heavily. “Yes.”
*
The smell wasthe first thing to hit Saffron when they stopped at the closed door at the back of the church. Sour and astringent at the same time, with the foul undertone of rot. It made her gasp and clutch Leo’s arm.
“You don’t have to do this,” Leo said, in a low voice. “I can question him.”
Saffron blew out a breath. “No. I want to hear what he has to say myself.”
The odor of decay was strong, but she had been through worse. The Thames itself was so rancid that passing over bridges was an exercise in self-control. Many of the city’s poorer citizenshad to wear cloth across their faces during the hottest days of the year.
That gave her an idea. “May I have your cravat?”
He frowned, touched his neck, then removed the long cloth and pressed it into her hands. She wrapped it around her nose and mouth, and the difference was immediate. The smell was still there, but duller, and drowned out by the rich scent of Leo’s cologne.
“Better?” he asked, with a smile. The collar of his vest gaped without the cloth, making him look even more the rogue.
Rather than respond, she placed her hand on the doorknob and turned.
The door creaked open, shining light into the dark, cramped room that held a single bed, chair, and table. A white-garbed older woman was slumped in the chair, but as the light hit her face, she startled and rose to her feet.
“We wish to speak to the man,” Leo said.
“I am his nurse,” the woman said, stepping between them and the narrow bed. “He’s back with fever. You might not get any sense out of him.”
Such bravery.
Even with Leo’s rumpled appearance, he was recognizable as a lord, if not as the viscount himself. Yet the woman still stood in their way, protective of her charge.
“We will not stay long,” Saffron said.
