She tittered. “Oh, dear. Your news is always that bad?”
He dipped his head. “Only the invoices,” he admitted. “Which are the majority of what is delivered these days, I fear.”
They stared at one another for a time before he asked, “Did you come here by way of your own equipage, or…?”
“My town coach is parked out in front of the shop,” she said. “And you?”
“Mine is out there… somewhere…” he hedged. “Hopefully my driver has found someplace to stay dry.”
“Mine as well,” she murmured.
“May I take you for an ice at Gunter’s? Tomorrow afternoon? At say… two o’clock?” he asked suddenly.
Catherine blinked several times before she winced. “I’d like that very much,” she said. “But I cannot, at least, not in the afternoon. I work every day but Sunday.”
He displayed a grimace. “Tomorrow evening, then?”
Surprised he would be so quick to offer an alternative time, she straightened in her chair. “All right,” she agreed. “Perhaps it won’t rain.”
“Oh, it won’t,” he stated. “It will probably snow, though.”
She tittered. “You seem terribly sure.”
“Well, I am. There were no bubbles in the puddles out there,” he said, motioning toward the front of the shop.
“I hadn’t noticed,” she replied, amused he would believe the old wives’ tale that claimed bubbles in puddles foretold of more rain the following day.
“I’ll come to the Temple at seven o’clock tomorrow evening,” he offered before straightening from the chair. He turned and offered his hand. “We can ride together to Berkeley Square, and I can see to escorting you to your home afterward?”
“The Temple of the Muses,” she agreed. Better he not come to Kingston House. She wasn’t ready for him to meet her father.
Aware he was staring at her, she wondered what he was thinking. Wondered if he was considering kissing her cheek. She inhaled softly at the thought of feeling his firm lips pressed to hers.
Any part of her.
A shiver shook her entire body, leaving behind a sensation of very welcome warmth.
When it felt as if he were about to kiss her lips, the sound of the bell at the front door had them both giving a start. “I… I should probably leave first,” she stammered.
“Of course,” he agreed. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, never taking his eyes off hers.
“I look forward to tomorrow evening,” she whispered before she managed a quick curtsy.
Hurrying out of the reading room, Catherine made her way down the right aisle and to the door, remembering at the last minute to grab her umbrella and pull on her gloves. She was barely out the door when she noticed her driver hurry up from a neighboring coffee shop to open the coach door for her.
Gathering her skirts, she bounded into the coach and quickly settled into the squabs. Despite the drizzle beyond the coach windows, she felt the oddest sensation.
Elation.
Chapter Thirteen
Two Points of View, One Compromise
The following day, the Lyon’s Den
Titan watched asseveral bleary-eyed patrons made their way out of the front door of the Lyon’s Den, their slurred speech giving away their drunkenness. Considering Mrs. Dove-Lyon saw to it that her establishment served the very best liquors, he was a frequent witness to the scene before him. None of the gentlemen seemed to notice snow was falling.
They had been playing cards since nine o’clock the night before, and despite the number of games each one of them had won, they were all leaving with far less blunt than what they had possessed when they arrived.
