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Chapter Twenty-One

Throughout four removes and two rounds of sweets—because as the duchess blithely informed the table, in her husband’s absence, she had ordered twice the normal number of desserts, most of them chocolate—Cleo kept going over the moment when she had touched Jake’s leg.

Temporary insanity was the only explanation.

She touched his thigh!

True, he had assented, but his jaw had tightened.

More to the point, ladies didn’t do that. Ever. Not even her mother. She thought about it and changed her mind. Julia probably did grab men’s legs under the tablecloth.

The idea made her queasy.

“I’m for my bed,” her grandfather said, coming to his feet. She hurried to his side, but Byng was there already.

“Of course, you must stay for tea,” her grandfather ordered. “Addison!”

Jake was standing, talking to Merry.

“Yes, sir,” he said, turning to bow.

“See my granddaughter safely home, won’t you?” the viscount said.

Did Falconer have any idea that Jake was staying in the same hotel as she? Surely not. Her grandfather was tottering toward their hostess. Cleo narrowed her eyes. Falconer had a way of suddenly appearing frail when he wished.

She was getting the distinct impression that her mother had learned her uncanny ability to get her way at her father’s knee.

“Certainly,” Jake said. “Good night, sir.” He bowed again and turned to Cleo. “May I escort you to the drawing room, Miss Lewis?”

It was a good hour before tea was consumed and Cleo found herself seated opposite Jake in the carriage. “This is a different vehicle than you had the other night,” she said, patting the blue velvet that lined the walls. She was trying to avoid his eyes, so she didn’t embarrass herself by flinging herself into his arms.

“Just delivered,” Jake said. “I needed my own carriage. I wouldn’t have chosen blue velvet myself, but I didn’t want to wait for a design to my own specifications. This conveyance was ordered by a nobleman who couldn’t afford his own good taste.”

“The lampshades are silk in the same shade of blue,” Cleo observed, trying to make polite conversation.

“The vehicle cost four hundred and fifty pounds.”

“Robbery!” Cleo cried. “The price was due to your American accent. Though I might mention that it’s considered uncouth to share the cost of purchases.”

“We’ll have to keep a running total of uncivilized gestures,” Jake said, grinning at her. He began ticking off on his fingers. “Which is the most egregious? Informing you of the price of a carriage, putting one’s elbows on the table at breakfast, discussing water closets, snorting—”

“You, not me!” Cleo cried.

He shook his head. “You, Miss Cleopatra Lewis. You snorted at me, and while I might have deserved it, the gesture definitely goes on the list. Not to mention the fact that during the meal we just shared, you—”

“I apologize,” Cleo interrupted.

His mouth curled into a smile. “Best thing that’s happened to me in days.”

“Oh.” The vehicle swayed as they rounded a corner. “Your vehicle’s undercarriage is very smooth.”

His eyes glinted with amusement, but he followed her lead. “Would you like to see some of the more creative aspects of this overpriced vehicle?”

Cleo nodded.

Jake flipped up the seat next to him. She might have expected to see a few blankets, or a bag of sand for the wheels, perhaps some tools. Instead, he pulled a lever, and a silver platter slowly emerged, holding several empty glass decanters and some crystal glasses.

“My traveling wagon has something quite different,” Cleo said. She glanced at the seat beside her.