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“Forgive me. I merely mean to say, I was not counting on any income from my aunt, and this whole situation does not sit well with me. Aunt Iris was a generous woman both with her time and wealth, and to leave it all to Foster does not ring true.”
“You loved her very much,” Demeter said softly.
He shrugged. Aunt Iris had been the one bright patch in his life as a youth and he still felt the empty thud in his heart when he thought of never speaking with the witty, wonderful woman again. But none of that mattered now.
“I want you at that meeting, Demeter,” he said. “Dressed like this because God knows, you cannot go looking all pretty and with all that...” He waved a hand. “With all that…”
“All that what?”
“Hair,” he finished firmly.
A dark brow arched. “I-I did not know my hair was such a problem.”
“It is. Trust me.”
Confusion marred her expression but thankfully she didn’t ask what sort of a problem it was because at the moment, he kept picturing it draped over his bare chest or down his thighs.
“And when you discover he is doing nothing wrong?” she pressed.
“He is doing something wrong. I can feel it—”
“In your gut, yes.” She shook her head with a smile. “I know.”
Chapter Eleven
The carriage jolted before Demeter could form another sentence. Not that she quite knew what else to say.
Demeter spilled forward and Blake’s hands flew immediately to her arms. He held her in place for a few moments while the driver cursed at someone. Blake grimaced then glanced at where his hands met her jacket.
Heat flowed from where he touched her, despite the thick wool and layers of clothing. Parting her lips to draw in a deep breath, she met his gaze. Creases appeared between his brows, and his gaze darted down to her mouth then back to her eyes. She could have sworn his eyes darkened, his pupils widening, but it was hard to tell in the dim light. The air of the carriage felt thick and her head swam as a dizzying jolt darted down to her stomach.
Wonderful.
He dropped his hands, gave a rueful smile, and apologized for his driver’s colorful language.
She still felt the touch of his fingers. She looked to the floor of the carriage where their boots nearly touched, his beautifully polished ones catching in the lamplight.
She closed her eyes briefly. It was a mere touch—a gentlemanly act on his behalf. Simply because he was a rake did not mean he could not behave gentlemanly. He would have done it for anyone and she very much doubted he found himself excited by touching her skinny arms. Whatever she did, she must not get carried away or reveal her feelings for him. It would be utter humiliation and about the most foolish thing she had done since falling in love with him in the first place.
“Do you mind if we stop somewhere to discuss this matter properly?” He gestured up and down her. “You are dressed for the occasion after all.” His lips slanted.
She nodded eagerly. Maybe if they left the confines of the carriage, her skin would cease heating to boiling point.
Blake swished the curtains back efficiently, leaned his head out of the window and ordered a stop at the nearest inn. After safely tucking her hair away, they found themselves outside a ramshackle inn tucked between newer houses of cream stone. The uneven walls housed equally wonky windows, all framed by dark wood and stone painted white. Lanterns burned either side of the door and shadows darted past the warmly lit windows.
She glanced at the small sign, wavering uncomfortably on a thin strip of curled iron. The Rose and Crown. Did Blake know this inn or were they merely visiting out of convenience? She swung a look sideways at his confident gait and mimicked it, drawing her head high and shoving her shoulders back. She’d seen her sisters walk similarly yet never found herself capable of adopting such a stance. In men’s clothing, however, it was much, much easier. After all, a scrawny boy was hardly likely to draw attention.
Inside, the inn offered a warm retreat against the cool spring night with a modest fire lit in a fireplace large enough to stand in. Blake strode over to a table farthest away from the rest of the patrons, tucked into a dark corner as though placed specifically for secret meetings. She swallowed. If anyone caught them, there would be scandal. If anyone figured out she was a boy, it would be unforgettable.
It was exciting.
Too exciting. Clearing her throat, she sat quickly then gave Blake an imploring look as he remained standing for a moment, observing the etiquette of society.
“Sorry. I forgot you were...” He motioned to her. “As you are now.”
“At least you did not pull out my chair for me.”
He chuckled then lifted a hand, motioning with two fingers. She glanced past him to see a serving maid scurry away to the taproom. To be able to command someone with a mere two fingers—how envious she was of that. She certainly had privileges as a woman of rank but she could not recall anyone jumping into action with a simple gesture.
