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Elisabeth scooted back to her seat, a lovely, dishevelled mess of untucked shirt and tousled hair. His erection strained uncomfortably against the fall of his trousers like a dog wanting to be let off the leash.
Dashiell cleared his throat and found his voice, trying to play the unaroused gentleman.
‘If you give me the address, I can have you delivered to the very doorstep of your destination.’
‘Sir Richard Ogilvy’s town house on Front Street. It’s not far.’
A man’s house. A shaft of jealousy knifed through him. His Elisabeth was going to a man’s home, alone, in the dark of night. True, it was only nine o’clock. By London standards it was early. Most balls hadn’t even gotten underway. ‘Is he expecting you?’ Dashiell enquired in the most nonchalant tones he could muster.
Before she could answer, the driver called down they’d arrived at the address. They went through the little rituals of parting; Elisabeth reached for her satchel. He jumped to the ground and pulled down the steps for her but it seemed surreal. He didn’t want to say goodbye, not when he’d just found her.
Dashiell caught her arm as she stepped down. ‘Elisabeth, don’t go. Stay with me, we can go somewhere.’
She gave him a half smile, her head tilted teasingly to the side. ‘Is this another proposition?’
‘Would you accept it if it was?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I have to see Sir Richard. If I don’t see him now, it will be too late. I’m sorry, I have to go.’
‘Will I see you again?’ He sounded almost desperate. It was not well done of him. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been desperate over a woman, or the last time a woman had left him straining in his trousers.
‘It would be best if you didn’t.’
‘Did you steal something from that house tonight? Perhaps something for this Sir Richard?’ He asked point-blank. The idea that she could be in jeopardy sat poorly with him.
If she was in trouble he wanted to know. He would protect her.
‘No!’ Her chagrin was genuine as was her exasperation. Behind those cognac eyes of hers she seemed to decide something. ‘If you must know, I’m here about the comet.’
‘The comet?’ He’d heard of the comet of course. One couldn’t be in London this year and not be aware of it. Halley’s Comet it was called or some such. But it had not held his interest.
He’d been too absorbed in the drama unfolding in his own life to pay much attention. But Elisabeth had. She’d climbed out of a window for it and ventured into the night. It made her all the more intriguing and brought him full circle, back to the question that had prompted his offer in the first place. If she wasn’t a thief, who was she?
Dashiell kept a grip on her arm. ‘I’ll walk you to the door.’ But he knew he wasn’t going to leave it at that. He’d follow her in and he’d stay as long as needed to figure out who she was.
Chapter Four
Elisabeth cast a worried glance skyward. This adventure wasn’t going as planned and not all of her minded, especially the part of her that had enjoyed the kissing in the carriage interlude. That part didn’t mind at all. The more practical side of her did. She didn’t need the enigmatic Dashiell attached to her side. She had work to do and she needed to maintain her anonymity for this mad dash to Greenwich to work. Whoever Dashiell was, he might recognize her later. If he had enough clout to make her mother’s guest list, he ran in her family’s circles, or at least their periphery.
Her unlooked for companion wasn’t the only thing not going as planned. The weather wasn’t cooperating, either. The moment she’d stepped foot outside the carriage she’d noticed the gathering fog. A quick study of the sky confirmed her fears. The comet was up there somewhere but they would be hard pressed to see it even with Sir Richard’s advanced telescopic equipment.
Elisabeth knocked on the door. She was answered immediately by a wild, white-haired man who wore an air of distraction like most men wore clothes. Dashiell shot her a look of disbelief: they’d driven all this way to meet a madman? She offered an apologetic shrug. She probably should have explained Sir Richard. But that would have required so many other explanations.
‘Elisabeth! You came. Come in, come in, and your friend, too.’ Sir Richard ushered them inside briskly but not unkindly. ‘Are you an astronomer, too?’ He threw the words over his shoulder, hurrying ahead of them up the stairs.
‘No,’ Elisabeth answered for Dashiell, nearly running up the stairs to keep up with Sir Richard’s fast pace. They were headed to the third floor where he’d converted the attics into his personal observatory since the Royal Observatory had long since tired of his eccentric vigils. ‘This is Dashiell. He’s the transportation.’ Elisabeth cringed; not a great choice of words. In the carriage, he’d been much more than just the transportation. She shot Dashiell an apologetic look.
