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Chapter 15
It was not as if the pink notepaper could burn his fingers though the truth was it felt exactly that as Hamish carefully placed the invitation onto his writing desk and leaned back in his chair.
The brazenness.
The boldness.
It shocked him.
Fascinated and called to him.
She’d asked him to meet her at her lodgings at 3 p.m.
An invitation for tea, she said. There were matters to discuss.
Hamish picked up the paper once more and studied the elegant, looped handwriting.
Had she written it herself? Could she really write with such finesse, or had she farmed this out to someone who could?
Closing his eyes, the blood roared in his mind as he pictured her limpid blue eyes assessing him. Travelling over his body, considering him.
For what?
A means to an end? Or was he too inclined to judge harshly? The last visit had battered his defences like no other. She’d seemed so real. A lady with a very natural hope that he’d regretfully said he was unable to fulfil.
But a palpable sexual tension had swirled between them. Hamish felt his throat swell just to recall the way she had stood across from him, the graceful incline of her head as her beautiful eyes had said so much more than her soft, pouting lips had.
Archie thought him a fool for turning her down when she’d come to the newspaper office requesting his assistance in the matter of publicity.
But now Hamish wondered if he’d be a fool if he declined her invitation to tea.
It was undecorous and unladylike to request a gentleman call on her. She must know her behaviour invited the danger of being misinterpreted, and that he might prove himself a man who took advantage where he saw it.
Uncomfortably he shifted in his chair, glancing through the window at the busy street below and worrying the paper between his fingertips.
She’d not asked for an answer, and he’d not given an RSVP. She’d merely said she hoped he might find himself free at 3 p.m., and if he were so inclined, she would like the opportunity to discuss any differences between them that may have occurred earlier.
In the privacy of her sitting room at ….
St John’s Wood was not so very far out of his way. A quick cup of tea and a polite discussion would reset matters between them, for he feared he had come across as overbearing and priggish, as he was wont to do when confronted by beautiful, desirable women.
He stood up, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket, making for the stairs, determined now.
“Miniver, I’m going out,” he said to the clerk working at a desk by the door as he put on his hat and coat.
“And where shall I say, sir, if Mr McTavish senior wishes to know?”
Although this was less likely these days with the old man increasingly incapacitated, a surprise visit was not impossible. And always his father wanted a thorough accounting of Hamish’s movements if he was not at his office.
“I’m seeing Sir Lionel at his club.”
“Ah yes, his redemption story.”
“That’s right, Miniver. Now that he’s retired from the Ministry, he is keen to…reminisce.”
“Very good of you to indulge him, sir. The public likes a tale of bad come good and just rewards. Send my regards, if you will.”
“Of course.”
