“No, of course not.” She glanced around, trepidation causing her brow to furrow. She took a deep inhale and straightened her shoulders. “We shouldn’t be seen leaving together, should we?”
“Don’t want to find yourself with another souvenir?”
“Best if I don’t. If I create a scandal, who would invest? People need to know we can be trusted to do the right thing, aren’t prone to disgrace.”
“Fair point. I’ll go out first and wait for you by theside of the building. Give me a couple of minutes and then follow. When you exit through those doors, go to your right.”
She nodded, and he wondered if she felt marginally better by not voicing her daring agreement to his questionable proposal. For the benefit of those walking by, he took her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Thank you, Miss Garrison, for joining me in the library and for a most delightful evening of conversation.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
Releasing his hold on her, he winked. “I shall wait with bated breath until we once again cross paths.”
Her lips twitched, and he envisioned few men—few people—had ever put in the effort to make them react in that manner. Having accomplished that tiny little movement, he felt rather like a holder of magic.
With a lightness to his step, he headed out the door, strode over to the side of the building, and leaned casually against it. He shouldn’t feel so triumphant knowing he had her trust. And yet he did. And while there were many who trusted him—offhand, he couldn’t recall a single person who didn’t—her faith in him seemed like a precious gift. It wasn’t something he intended to abuse. He wouldn’t touch her in the damned carriage no matter how badly he wanted to.
Something about her calmed the rage within him, the rage that was never far from the surface. For most of his life, he’d fought the stigma of being the Earl of Elverton’s son, his heir. Yet with her, he could almost imagine that it didn’t matter. She knew his father only by reputation. She’d never had to suffer through him leering at her, making untoward advances, or seeking to convince her no greater honor existed than being hismistress. Apparently, his sire had possessed the ability to be quite charismatic when he wanted and had easily charmed the clothing off ladies. Although Rook suspected Miss Garrison would have seen through the facade, would have taken his father apart ruthlessly, to discover the rot beneath the surface.
Keeping his attention on the entrance to the club, he knew the moment she stepped outside. Straightening from the wall, he didn’t quite know what to make of the elation rippling through him at the sight of her. It was more than her hair, eyes, and heart-shaped chin. It was the glow when she was intrigued and exploring something in order to determine how it functioned. While he feared the roulette wheel had ultimately been a disappointment for her, he’d been mesmerized by the anticipation flowing off her as she analyzed its various parts.
She reached him and he offered his arm, grateful when her hand nestled within the crook of his elbow. “My carriage awaits just up here,” he told her.
“I like London at night,” she quietly.
“Even with the fog rolling in?”
“Especially with the fog rolling in. It gives everything an ethereal quality.”
“It can dampen you if you’re out in it too long. Fortunately, we won’t be.”
They reached his vehicle. His footman opened the door, but Rook handed her up and then followed, taking the bench opposite the one she’d chosen. “Trewlove Hotel,” he ordered the footman. “The long way.”
“Aye, m’lord.” The door was slammed shut.
“The long way?” she asked.
“Since you enjoy London at night, I see no need for us to rush.” Rook extinguished the light in the lantern,so they could travel in the dark without having to draw the curtains. He didn’t want her being clearly seen or identified.
He liked that her jasmine fragrance wafted through the confines and would probably remain long after she was gone. He couldn’t quite determine what it was about her that drew his interest. Lust, surely. The manner in which her body fit so perfectly against his. Her height that required he dip his head only a fraction to take possession of her mouth. How quickly her hands took to roaming over him. The feel of her bare fingers against his skin. He couldn’t recall any other woman so subtly taking an interest in his skin while he still wore clothes. Most were content to tear them off. But she was an intriguing blend of brazenness mixed with shyness. It sparked his desire while simultaneously calling to his need to protect—even if that meant protecting her from him.
“Does your brother often leave you without escort?” he asked.
“He seldom takes me with him. He probably simply forgot I was there.”
He couldn’t fathom how anyone could forget she was there. The lights from the street filtered in through the windows, allowing him to view her profile as she watched the passing scenery. He wasn’t certain he’d ever found a carriage ride so peaceful.
“Although I do wonder where he got off to,” she murmured.
“There are a goodly number of clubs where a gent can find entertainment.”
“Club... gent... entertainment.” She swung her gaze to him. “Are you referring to a bordello?”
He loved how this woman could be so forthright, uttering a word that he doubted had passed the lips of any other lady he knew. Although he did regret the shadows that prevented him from determining if she was blushing. “And gaming hells,” he clarified.
He saw the flash of her smile. “I imagine I’m closer to the truth. Sam has never liked lying, and he was able to avoid doing so by not finding me to let me know where he was off to.”
Her brother should have foregone that one pleasure to ensure his sister ran into no trouble and her reputation was not tarnished. Rook suspected, however, that she wouldn’t appreciate his pointing that out, especially as she probably knew the truth of it. “Should anyone like lying?”
