Clara smiled. Never had she known anyone to rush toward a problem and find a solution with such ease. A man so eager to help everyone he could without ulterior motives. His fingers wouldn’t pinch so much as a single coin from that cap. Not one. For Mr. Theodore was not only strapping, amiable, and charming. He was also kind, selfless, and noble.
Why would such a fine man ever bother with her?
As if hearing her thoughts, Mr. Theodore met her gaze. Raising a mischievous brow, he dispensed with the distance between them and drew her toward the merriment on the street.
Twirling her three times over, he took Clara into his arms and broke into a spirited dance. She struggled to follow his lead, bumping into him one moment, turning the wrong way the next, but when that lopsided grin shone her way, her missteps hardly seemed to matter. Mr. Theodore simply drew her back when she strayed. Held on when she faltered. She didn’t have to keep time. She didn’t have to fret about where they were going or manage the manner in which they arrived. All she had to do was follow Mr. Theodore, and somehow, that made the sun seem brighter. The music jauntier. The dance twice as exhilarating.
Clara stumbled over a raised cobble and trod on Mr. Theodore’s leather boot.
He winced. “Now who’s stepping on toes, Miss Stanton?”
She chuckled. “I ought to have warned you. I’m a dreadful dancer.”
“Indubitably, but frank self-assessment is fair compensation for lack of grace.”
She punched the hobgoblin’s shoulder. “The impudence!”
“Exclaims the woman who leaves questions unanswered and carries on as though they were never asked.”
The accordion concluded “Sir Roger de Coverley” with a flourish, and cheerful applause broke out on the street. Mr. Theodore brought their dance to an end, knocking Clara off-kilter with the sudden stillness that intensified the effects of their proximity. The warmth of the hand holding her right glove. The strength of the arm encircling her waist. Neither of which seemed inclined to let go. “You never did answer my inquiry last night, Miss Stanton.”
Utterly breathless, Clara grasped for words. “In my defense, I was rather busy evading the police and an irate priest spewing hellfire. Safety is a lady’s priority in such situations.”
The accordion struck up a romantic French folk song with a narrative of gallant knights defending damsels fair. Mr. Theodore drew Clara even closer, swaying back and forth as the music flitted on a spring breeze. He pressed his cheek to hers. “You’re safe now.”
Clara’s heart swelled. Indeed, she’d not felt this safe in a very long time. Yet could it last? Mr. Theodore might be the very best of men, but he was still a man and love still fraught with the risk of being hurt.
“May I, Clara? May I call on you when we return to London?”
Oh, Theodore.She pursed her lips. How was she to respond when her heart and mind were so conflicted? As they swayed to the music, her gaze wandered the street, searching for an answer amid the cobbles. A flash of yellow in the distance raised gooseflesh.
“You’re trembling.” Mr. Theodore held her at arm’s length and searched her face, brows drawn. “What’s wrong?”
He was back. Why did the man keep coming back? Clara swallowed but was unable to dislodge the dread constricting her throat. Unable to voice her former fiancé’s name, she made a discreet gesture toward the garish yellow waistcoat lurking beneath a lamppost on the street corner. Toward the man watching them with unnerving intent.
Mr. Theodore’s fingers tightened around her arms. His voice edged the closest it had ever come to fierce. “This ends now.” He bolted down the street, and in turn, Rupert Forrester fled like the yellow-bellied coward she knew him to be.
Clara grasped the dented compass on her chatelaine. Why couldn’t Mr. Forrester just leave her be? Hadn’t he doneenough damage? Caused enough heartache?God, I cannot bear any more heartache.
Mum.
She must take Mum to their room and lock the door.
Turning on a heel, Clara faced Mum just as a mammoth man broke a teapot over her head. Stunned by the violent commotion, the accordion player fainted dead away.
As Mum crumpled to the ground, a canvas bag slammed over Clara’s head, muffling the sound of her cries.
CHAPTER
30
Where had that yellow-toothed rat skittered off to? Theodore skidded to a halt at an intersection, keen to pounce on any flash of yellow. One that was not to be found. Rust and rot.
His fingers curled into fists, knuckles cracking.I know vengeance belongs to you, Lord, but this once, couldn’t you have used me as yourwilling vessel? Did you have to let the vermin escape?
Better question: Why did Rupert the Rat Forrester have to appear at that precise moment? Right when Miss Stanton was comfortably nestled in his arms, considering his plea to remain with him forever. All right, so he hadn’t mentionedforeverexactly. That was going to be a secondary conversation, assuming his request of courtship was accepted. But it was what he wanted. More than anything, he wanted to marry Miss Stanton and give her the life she deserved. In that precise moment, when she’d looked at him with gleaming silver eyes—as if he were worthy of that honor—he’d begun to believe such a thing might be possible.
That she just might have him.
