Wrenching his gaze away, Nigel frowned down at the floor. His eye was caught by something lying where the two of them had fallen together. A handkerchief. One of his own; he recognized the whimsical mushroom border.It must have fallen from his pocket in their brief struggle. Nigel cleared his throat and stepped to one side, bending to retrieve the misplaced article. Even as he did so, however, Luna uttered a little, “Oh, that’s mine!” and sprang forward in a shiver of green satin. She caught one end of the handkerchief in her fingers.
“No, Miss Talbot,” Nigel said softly. “This is one of mine, I believe. A gift from Mrs. Goddard.” He turned it then, showing the initials,NG. “See?”
“Oh.” Luna exhaled a little breath. “Right. I must have missed that.” Releasing her hold, she backed up a pace. “Of course. It’s yours. Take it.”
Brow puckered, Nigel stuffed the hankie into his pocket. His gaze sought hers, but met only the stern set of her profile, half-hidden behind a curtain of curls. He opened his mouth, searching for something he might say, but came up short. In the end, he managed only a low-spoken, “I think it’s time I was going.”
“Yes.” Luna nodded. “Yes, probably.”
“Will you, erm, give the marigolds to your roommate for me?”
Another big smile broke across her lips. She turned it on him, nearly blinding him with the brilliance. “Oh, naturally. Bryony willlovethem, I’m sure.”
“What will Bryony love?” a voice spoke along with the creak of the parlor door.
Nigel, half-swallowing his tongue with surprise, turned to see none other than Bryony herself appear. Her eyes, dramatically painted for the Rowdy House stage, swept across the room in a trice, taking in Luna’s dropped heel on the floor, the flowers on the armchair, and the two of them close to the half-open window. “Why, Lunaloo,” she trilled, “you look a treat tonight! And . . . I say, isthatwho I think it is?”
She moved into the room, hips performing an effortless sashay like they were created for no other purpose. She wore a fitted dress of red that should have clashed with her magenta-dyed hair, but somehow, by some feminine sorcery beyond Nigel’s scope, didn’t. Her long lashes lowered in an expression that might have been demure on any other face, but on hers was primed to set the blood aboil. “Well, well,” she cooed, pressingher full lips into a delightful pout. “The girls told me there was a fella waitin’ for me in the parlor. They didn’t breathe a word as to who it might be!”
With an effort of supreme will, Nigel resisted the urge to pull at his collar. “Miss Braithwait,” he managed. “And, erm, how are you this fine evening?”
“Better and better, Mr. Grimm. Better and better.” She reached out and took hold of his arm in a proprietary manner. He felt the heat of her fingers right through his linen sleeve. “Now, what was it Luna thinks I’ll love?”
Nigel turned just in time to see Luna slip from the room in a final whisper of green satin. His heart plummeted. He wished he could pry free of Bryony’s grasp and run after her, calling her name, but . . . well, he’d come to Mrs. Boggs’s Boardinghouse for Young Women of Good Character with a single purpose in mind. He would see it through.
Sidestepping to the armchair, Nigel swept up the marigolds. “These, actually,” he said, presenting them to their intended recipient with a half-bow.
Bryony gaped. “Why, Mr. Grimm! Flowers?” She took the little bouquet and lifted them to her nose, inhaling deeply. “Most lads don’t bother with flowers anymore, you know. The cheapskates! And these aresucha pretty color.”
“They seemed vibrant. Like yourself, Miss Braithwait.”
“Vibrant,am I? I like that.” She moved in close to him again, worrying her plump lower lip with her teeth. “So, what’s it to be, Mr. Grimm?” she asked, flicking a glance up at him from beneath exaggerated lashes.
“Erm, well, I was thinking dinner, perhaps?”
“Dinner?” Her eyebrows rose. “As in,dinnerdinner? Food and drink and the like?”
Nigel nodded. “The King’s Crown. Tomorrow night. If you’re not busy, that is.”
“The King’s Crown?”Bryony’s face dropped its coyness for a moment in an expression of pure surprise. “Are you pulling my leg, Mr. Grimm?”
“No, I wouldn’t—”
“Nofellow has ever takenmeto The King’s Crown. Coo, you make me feel like a real lady!”
“Would you like to go then?”
“Would I ever!” Bryony smelled her flowers. Then, placing one hand on Nigel’s shoulder, she stood up on tiptoe, and whispered in his ear. “Tell you what. You take me to The King’s Crown tomorrow night, and I’ll make you feel a proper royal before the evening is through. You get me?”
With those words, she nibbled his lobe.
Nigel’s stomach turned over several times before dropping into the pool of lava which rushed straight to his center. He gulped. Audibly.
But this was good. This was very good. Right? This was what he needed. Just the thing to redirect his thoughts, his energies. To drag his feelings back from where they didn’t belong and put them under regulation once more.
“Tomorrow night, Miss Braithwait,” he said, a little hoarsely.
“You got it, Grimmsy.” Bryony backed away a step and winked. “Pick me up at seven. Don’t be late, mind!”
