Page 106 of The Siren of Sussex

Behind them, the back entrance to her uncle’s town house receded into the billowing fog.

“Did you have any trouble getting away?” he asked.

She pushed back the hood of her cloak. Her hair was arranged in a neat coil of plaits, bound in a simple chignon at her nape. “I had to tell Agnes I was leaving. She’d have raised the alarm otherwise. And I suspect Mrs. Quick knows. She knows everything that happens in my uncle’s house.”

“Will she tell him?”

“I doubt it.”

It was half past ten. Still early by the standards of London high society, but late enough for their purposes. Darkness had settled over the city, broken only by a scattering of gas street lamps and the lights of passing vehicles.

“I’ve never ridden in a brougham before,” she said. “Did you hire it for the evening?”

He nodded. It was less cumbersome than a two-horse carriage, and more private than a hansom. Unlike the latter, the brougham’s cab was fully enclosed. “Where we’re going, we’ll need to move quickly. And you won’t wish to be seen.”

“You must tell me how much I owe you for the expense,” she said.

“It doesn’t signify.”

“Yes, it does. I won’t have you out of pocket on my account.”

A prickle of irritation took him unawares.

Stupid.

He should be thankful she took note of such things. Lord knew he couldn’t afford to squander his funds. And Evelyn didn’t seem inclined to allow him to. Not on her behalf.

She’d already settled several of her dressmaking bills. A rarity among fashionable ladies, to be so prompt in paying for what one had ordered.

It had been a reminder that their relationship was purely transactional.

A reminder he hadn’t liked. Hadn’t wanted.

After paying Mira’s and Becky’s wages, he’d taken the rest of the money and folded it back into his business. Using it to buy the fabric and trimmings for her next ball gown, and for the evening dresses she’d soon require.

He needed her custom. But taking payment for it hadn’t seemed right. Not given the way he felt about her.

“We can settle afterward if we must,” he said stiffly.

She didn’t press the matter. Straightening her skirts, she made herself more comfortable in the cab.

Several minutes passed, the brougham rattling steadily through the streets of London. The silence between them grew larger and more oppressive.

Evelyn attempted to fill it. “I haven’t told you about Lady Arundell’s ball.”

He gave her a dark look. The last thing he wanted to think about at the moment was her dancing with an endless queue of well-to-do Englishmen. “You were a great success, I assume.”

“Not in the way you might imagine,” she said. “Your dress was widely admired, of course. Many ladies inquired after its design. But my own triumph wasn’t in the ballroom.” The corner of her mouth tipped up. “It’s a rather amusing story, actually.”

His brows lifted.

“Lady Arundell invited a famous crystal gazer to the ball,” she explained. “A man called Zadkiel. Lady Anne and I were obliged to be present during the performance he gave for Lady Arundell and my uncle.”

Ahmad listened as Evelyn told him about her experience with the crystal gazer. About how this Zadkiel character had claimed she had extraordinarily strong psychic energy.

“As a result, Lady Arundell expects me to attend even more of her spiritualist functions. I’ve already accepted invitations to a dance and fireworks at Cremorne Garden, a dinner with the Antiquarian Society, and several other functions besides.”

The brougham bounced over a pothole, jostling them against each other. Ahmad braced his arm across the back of the seat.