“I could say the same for you.”
Swearing, the man loped off in the opposite direction. At least the children had a head start now, Lucien thought. During that brief exchange, the vast city had swallowed them up.
“One would almost think you did that on purpose,” Grace said. She was looking at him with an expression far too wise.
“And risk a nasty scuff on my boot? I don’t think so. I’ll have to make a trip to Hoby’s to replace it.” Lucien discreetly sniffed his sleeve to distract her.
“What is it?” Grace inquired.
Lucien grimaced. “The distinct smell of a chamber pot. My valet will be aghast. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
She stepped in front of him, so close he could see the tiny wisps of curls that had escaped when she tugged off her ribbon. She straightened his cravat in a wifely gesture, her fingers brushing his throat. The intimacy stirred his desire. When had anyone touched him so easily?
After a moment, she examined the knot she had wrought, then frowned. Rising on tiptoe, she pressed her nose into the nook beneath his jaw, her warm breath tickling his neck.
His muscles tightened in response, desire spearing through him. For a moment, he forgot the crowd around them and felt the impulse to pull her into his arms, kiss those pink lips that were curled in approval.
“You still smell of bay rum and shaving soap,” she said, breathing him in.
Perhaps the risk of a flea bite or two was a small price to pay to see her eyes shine up at him. “Where are Mother and Lady Elliot? You were supposed to be ordering gowns, not wandering out here alone minding some stranger’s children.”
“There was some rather startling news. I needed a moment to—to sort through my feelings. I couldn’t help but stop when I saw the children in trouble. Not when Sibby Rose and Scrap remind me of Avery and Bennet.” She gave one last adjustment to hiscravat, adding, “Thank you for sending them home with meat pies. They were so small and thin.”
Lucien hoped the little ones might get to eat after all, since he’d intercepted the man in the cap who had tried to follow them. Had Grace realized what the man was doing? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t fathom how she had seen the distressed children in this crowd in the first place.
But then, Grace saw—truly saw—the people around her, their faces, their feelings. He’d spent years looking through them. No, that was not true. Lookingawaybecause he knew how families shattered.
He fingered the betrothal ring she wore, shoving back the emotions that scratched at the gates he’d slammed down.
“Grace,” he warned softly, “you cannot save them all.”
“I know.” Her poignant smile slayed him. “But someone should.”
CHAPTER 17
People were staring. Grace had noticed such curiosity before, in truth, ever since the viscount’s party had arrived in London. But she had never felt the scrutiny more intensely than she did as they arrived at Gunter’s Confectionary. Patrons peeped from beneath the brims of their high-crown beavers or around the rim of their bonnets, whispering as if she and Lucien were exotic animals caught in the throes of a mating ritual. And the reason for their fascination sat beside her, totally oblivious to the attention.
Even in his rumpled coat, Lucien, the Elusive Viscount of scandal sheet fame, drew every eye, men envying the aura of power he exuded, women hoping to spark passion in his penetrating gaze.
A blonde, over-generous-with-the-rouge-pot, attempted to catch Lucien’s eye by licking the creamy dessert from her spoon as if promising him far more carnal delights. Grace felt an uncharacteristic sting of jealousy, adding to her already strained nerves.
She couldn’t help but be grateful when one of her stepmother’s friends beckoned. “Can you forgive me for stealingdear Helen away?” the woman asked Grace, clasping Helen’s hand. “I have missed her so!”
Helen’s eyes lit up and Grace could have kissed the woman when she insisted the countess join them, too.
Even Lucien seemed uncharacteristically quiet as the ices were served at their separate table, as if he was still mulling over the tumult in St. James’s Square.
Hoping to escape for a walk alone to sort through her conflicted feelings, Grace ate her ice as fast as she was able—a fine idea until too much cold made her feel as though someone was driving an ice pick through her eye. She massaged her temple, stifling a groan as a portly man with a florid face planted himself in front of Lucien.
“By Jove, look at you, Everdene! Emerald waistcoat and all!” The stranger twirled his silver-headed cane with such exuberance he nearly knocked crystal dishes from a server’s hand.
Lucien eyed the cane in a way that left no doubt as to his disdain for such excessive displays. “I can’t imagine why the color of my waistcoat should be a topic of concern to anyone but my valet.”
“It’s proof that Chuffy was right! Itwasyou we saw earlier, pulling that street urchin off of the statue! And then tangling with some nasty character moments later.”
She could see Lucien’s hand tighten on the base of his crystal ice dish, but the stranger rushed on, undaunted.
“Chuffy said it looked like you, but I wagered a crown that Viscount Everdene was thelastperson in all England who would soil his gloves in such an endeavor! Yet now that I see your waistcoat and your lovely companion’s blue gown, there can be little doubt!”
