“Swindlers and scoundrels, I suspect.”
She looked back out the window. “There’s the Palace of Westminster. Do you sit in the House of Lords?”
“Not yet. Not until my father passes.”
“I cannot imagine having so much responsibility.”
What the devil did she think she was carrying on her shoulders if notso much responsibility? Was she so accustomed to it that she no longer noticed it, like a splinter that was impossible to remove and eventually became a part of the whole? Or had she simply accepted that caring for her family was her burden to bear? She was the one looking out for her brother and mother. Who looked out for her?
She did. With a pistol in her reticule. Invitations to potential investors. And her father’s timepiece that served as a reminder of what she’d lost. Where would she find that love and acceptance again? Was she even aware of what she was truly searching for?
He knew what it was to crave acceptance. His entire life he’d modeled his actions in ways that would result in approval. As a result, he suspected he could be rather boring at times. No secret assignations until her.
Why did he have the sense that with her, he was more his true self than he’d ever been? He wasn’t quite certain if he should repel his interest in her or embrace it. Both choices seemed to come with a cost: lose her or lose his respectability.
Suddenly Big Ben bonged the first stroke of eleven.
“Can we stop?” she asked.
He immediately banged on the roof, and his coachman brought the horses to a halt. She reached for the door, but Rook beat her to it, leaping out, and then assisting her. Her feet had barely hit the ground before she was hurrying to the edge of the embankment. The Thames separated them from the Palace of Westminster and the Clock Tower, both shrouded in fog. To prevent the dampness from settling on her, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She barely seemed to notice as the bell continued to chime.
“Big Ben sounds so solemn and lonely this time of night,” she said nearly on a whisper, as though striving not to wake a sleeping giant. “Perhaps because the streets aren’t crowded and there’s no din of conversation, laughter, and people going on about their business. It just seems more... magnificent... than when I’ve heard it while out during the day.”
The streetlamps allowed him to see her more clearly than he’d been able to in the carriage. She looked positively enthralled. He found her beguiling, like an ethereal being who might visit him for only ashort while. And he should make the most of whatever time remained to them.
“Do they have people up there ringing the bells?” she asked.
“No, it’s mechanized, a complicated series of levers and pulleys that cause the hammer to strike each bell at the appropriate time.” A process that would no doubt delight her, and he imagined the inner workings of the Clock Tower strewn out over the street as she disassembled all the various gadgets that came together to create such a masterpiece.
She looked at him as if he’d performed some sort of magic. “Have you seen it?”
“I was given a tour a few years back.”
“Oh, I envy you that experience.” She turned her attention back to the tower. “How do they illuminate the clock?”
“Gas lighting.”
“I assumed as much, but I always like to have confirmation. I constantly angered my tutors and teachers when I asked for proof regarding some of the things they were striving to teach me. What formed the knowledge is usually more interesting than the knowledge itself.”
The clock went silent, the final gong seeming to hang on the air with the promise of time continuing, and he wished there was an hour that required a thousand chimes. Whatever was wrong with him to find such peace in this moment? He’d begun to take the ringing of the bells for granted, barely even acknowledged or heard them when he was near enough to do so.
But now he knew he would never again hear them without thinking of her. When he sat in the House of Lords, he would remember her. When he strolledalong the embankment and different portions of the hour were heralded with various bells, he would recall how she’d stood there enchanted and enchanting.
“Thank you for halting your carriage. I know you must find me silly for—”
Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he lowered his mouth to hers and tenderly sipped, stealing the words that were the complete opposite of how he found her. Breaking his vow not to touch her. No longer a man of his word, and yet the moment demanded that he not let it pass without making the most of it, without signaling how special she was. He drew back. “Not silly at all.”
“How do you label that sort of kiss?” she asked quietly.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never engaged in one like that before. I do hope you’ll forgive my lapse in not keeping my word.”
She lifted a slender shoulder. “It was only a small lapse.”
“You’re extraordinary, Miss Garrison.”
“Nora,” she said softly, self-consciously.
Strange that they’d shared three passionate kisses, and yet it was this one, as light as a butterfly settling on a rose petal, that had deepened the intimacy between them. “Johnny.”
