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“You, my lady. We don’t wish to see you in trouble.”
This time, relief that stole Clara’s breath.
“You’re a loyal lot,” she whispered gratefully. “I don’t wish to be in trouble, either. Perhaps what I’m doing is foolish, Molly; I don’t know. But doing it, I am. I must.”
She could see her maid doing her best to be understanding.
The moment was heavy; grave consequences for her life and the LLS would ensue if her household spread the gossip. Despite that—perhaps because of it—nervous laughter bubbled in Clara.
“These visits to Mr. Robertson are like an early wedding present—to myself!”
Her laughter was indelicate, and Molly’s eyes widened for a moment.
The indentations on either side of her mouth eased; a small smile flickered.
Clara turned back to the mirror, and Molly retrieved the brush from her.
While Molly dressed her hair with care, she closed her eyes and sorted through her reactions to what she’d learned.
Embarrassment oozed. She’d thought herself so clever with the lending library and cab tricks!
Her anger flared. For once, she was doing something for herself. Her servants’ opinions be damned!
Perhaps James was right about learning not to care.
A sense of gratitude grew. Maybe some were judging her, but she trusted Molly was genuine in her concerns about Clara’s well-being. Molly and the others wanted to protect her—otherwise, her brother would already know about the goings-on here.
Later, when she said goodnight to Molly before leaving, she placed a hand on the woman’s thin shoulder. “Thank you—for everything.”
“Don’t mention it, my lady.”
Once she was tucked into her comfortable carriage, anticipation pushed away the worries. Their imaginary world always took over as soon as she embarked on her journey to James.
Swathed in dusk’s protective veil, Clara’s carriage stopped in the mews behind his house. She hadn’t waited for total darkness before leaving, and when she exited the carriage, the white stucco of James’s mansion reflected the twilight.
It was bright enough that she waved away the servant who stepped forward with a lantern. She strained to see the rear entrance for any sign of James—often he awaited her there—and gasped, frightened, when hands closed on her waist.
James!It was James with the lantern!
Her laughter was breathy with relief.
She launched herself at him at the same time as he crushed her to him with one arm, the other holding the lantern at a safe distance.
“Welcome back to London,” she greeted after their prolonged kiss.
“Welcome back to my lair. I’ll do my best to be as diverting as a play.”
She groaned, sliding deeper into his embrace.
She didn’t say what she was thinking—that there was nowhere else she’d rather be.
“Return tomorrow night as well? As we planned?”
The words were spoken against her neck, in the quiet, deep voice that made her heart race.
She nodded.
