She chuckled, and the sound seemed a sudden sun in the dark night. Holy hell, what sorcery had Lady Chattaway accomplished. The last time he’d seen Tessa, she’d been crying and small and broken.
Their shoulders brushed—an accident—as he turned to study the solid column that was the Grand Folly. Dark on the side street, but glowing a bit at the edges, as if its magnificence couldn’t be contained.
Their shoulders bumped again—another damn accident—as he turned back around. The moon above London, behind foggy striations clinging to the air, was round and full and silver. But he couldn’t enjoy it. Nor could he revel in the Folly’s glory. Almost glory.
Almost midnight. The first day of June was a mere quarter hour away. Soon he would discover if his plan had worked.The Rake Reviewalways found its way into the hands of greedy London readers the first of each month. And the first of the month was less than an hour away.
A hackney lurched to a stop before them, and Remmy let Tessa enter first, after she gave the driver Lady Chattaway’s address. He sat next to Tessa, and the hack took off.
The conveyance was small, and their thighs didn’t touch, but heat wafted off her in waves. He tugged at his cravat, which was suddenly much too tight.
He cleared his throat. “Are you still painting?”
“I am. I think I’ve improved, too.”
“I’m sure you have. You’ll show me? At Crossvale?”
“Of course.” She picked at her glove, pulling each finger loose one at a time then tugging the whole thing tight at the wrist. Again, again, again.
Was she nervous? Of him? Comic, that. He was the one who should be sweating. The last time he’d seen her he’d confessed his love, and she’d thanked him then bounced into a coach and out of the country. After years of feeling thoroughly humiliated, he’d realized she might not have fully understood his meaning. It may have been less a brutal rejection and more of a horrifying misunderstanding. But that didn’t matter. The end would have been the same.
“Are your mother and father still angry with you?” He’d not even tried to attend one of the Crossvale rector’s sermons since Tessa left.
She sighed. “Yes. Papa less so. He writes that he is merelydisappointed. And it took six years to get him there. Tell me, other than your interest in the Folly, how have you been? Your mother only ever speaks of that in her letters.”
He hadn’t been aware his mother was writing to her. It was not entirely unexpected. The countess likely felt responsible for Tessa to some degree. But considering she’d told alove-silly Remmy he would ruin Tessa’s life if he proposed… well, it was also quite the shock.
“That’s unexpected. Naturally, she and my father were not originally keen on me doing more than actually owning the theatre, but they didn’t grumble too much when it became clear I planned to put my mark on every aspect of the business.” Remmy rubbed the back of his neck. “The Folly has become an obsession for me. There is nothing I do that is not related.”
“You do not box?”
“Well, yes.”
“Or fence?”
“Yes, but?—”
“Or ride in the park?”
He chuckled. “You win, Tessa King. I am not so single-minded as I let on.” Though, he did not want her to know of his other activities, the ones with actresses and brothels and—damn. She’d find out sooner or later. He’d made it soeveryoneknew.
She settled her hand above her décolletage, her fingertips brushing her neck and overlapping a simple necklace that glinted gold in the moonlight.
What would it feel like to put a kiss just there?
He swallowed the impulse, old and leftover from the boy he used to be.
“Your mother writes of the Grand Folly constantly. In every letter. You’ve made it terribly successful.”
“It will be. Soon. The truth is… I’m still in the red. I’ve spent and spent and spent—the façade, the talent, the seating. Everything new and fashionable and the best quality. It takes money, and to make back that money, I have to fill the seats. And that has not been happening as quickly as I would have liked.”
He should hate admitting that, but it felt differentwith Tessa, like setting down a stone he’d been carrying for too long.
She patted his shoulder, ever the old, familiar chum. “Patrons will come. I know they will. The crowd tonight was quite nice.”
“Nice is not good enough. I need a crowd big enough to cause a riot.”
“That might be illegal.” She grinned, a mischievous little half thing begging for adoration.
