“May I ask you something personal?” she asked. “Very personal and intimate.”
“Yes, although I’m surprised you’re interested in my personal, intimate life.”
“I am since your proposal.”
He cast her a glance before checking under the shelf. “Ask away.”
“I heard gossip of you meeting your mistress in a flat close to Chelsea.”
He flashed a crooked smile. “A mistress. Interesting. Gossip is only that—hearing something you like about someone you don’t like.”
She waited for him to add something else, but he didn’t. So which part of the gossip was fabricated? The mistress, the flat in Chelsea, or everything?
“I do like you,” she said.
He spun towards her with such speed she feared he might have pulled a muscle. “Do you now?”
“Yes, but let’s get back to the question. What do you mean?” she said.
“That you shouldn’t listen to gossip. It never gets anything right. I don’t have a mistress.”
That was a relief and yet another proof of how unreliable gossip was. She’d scolded Jane for listening to gossip, but she’d done the same.
“Please don’t believe everything you hear about me.” He opened and closed his fist. The skin on the knuckles was cracked, and a joint was swollen.
“What happened to your hand?”
“Boxing.”
“Don’t you use gloves?”
He pointed at a corner. “He’s over there,” he whispered. “He isn’t moving. I think he’s run out of steam.”
She followed his gaze. Kettle was perched over a copy ofThe Nine Lives of a Cat: A Tale of Wonderby Charles Bennett.
They both laughed.
