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“Anyone else?” he asked.
Finally, he had her attention. “Are you jealous, Mr. DeWitt?”
“Be dreadful for me to be chatting with some fellow, and the whole time he knows he has kissed you and I do not. I did you the courtesy of telling you about my liaisons.”
“That was a courtesy, was it?” she muttered, and stood before the small mirror to check her hair. “No one else. Except Hugh Hopefield, but I was only fifteen and he kissed everybody.”
She looked at him then, and the entrance hall filled up with everything that lay between them: Her longing—His desire—Their new camaraderie—Her secrets—Their kiss. She had that look on her face, the one she got before she made an impossible request. He had to stop it now.
“Right, I’ve wasted enough time today.” He clapped his hands once. “I have work to do.”
Success! She did that trick again: She pasted a polite smile over whatever she had been about to say. He had seen her use politeness as a sword and as a warship; now she used it as a wall, and if he was shut out, it was all his fault.
“Quite,” she said.
And as if he were already gone, she started shuffling through the cards and letters on the salver, sorting them into two piles. She paused at an unsealed note, unfolded it, and began to read.
“Right,” he said again.
She did not look up, so he turned and headed for his study. But after only three steps—
“Joshua!”
He spun around. “Yes?”
“This note is from Sir Gordon Bell. He says he will learn what he can about Lord Bolderwood’s case and call on us here tomorrow.”
“You already wrote to him?”
She held out the piece of paper. “Before I went to the warehouse.”
He ignored the note. “Before you asked me.”
“I should not want to waste time,” she said, an edge to her voice. “After all, you are always so busy.”
She tossed the note onto one of the piles. It tumbled straight off but she ignored it. Instead, she picked up the other, smaller pile and brushed past him for the stairs.
Joshua stood where he was until her skirts had disappeared from view. Right. His study was straight down the hallway, with all the work that awaited him.
Yet somehow his legs took him up the stairs too.
* * *
Joshua lookedabout the drawing room with mild curiosity. As he had no need for drawing rooms, he had never entered this room; Cosway had overseen its furnishings. Airy—Feminine—Blue walls and carpets—Useless ornaments—Pianoforte. Ah, so that’s where the music came from.
It also had a writing desk, where Cassandra now stood, going through her correspondence.
“I thought you had work to do,” she said.
“I do. Important decisions to make. That’s what I do, you know. I make decisions all day.”
Not that he could think of a single thing right now, but he had lists on his desk and Das would show up sooner or later. He crossed to the window, inspected the street and the park on its other side, and when he found nothing to complain about, turned back to face her.
Cassandra still stood expectantly, politely, letter in hand.
“So you’ve only ever kissed two men in your life,” he said.
She dropped the letter onto the desk. “Three. I kissed you last night.”
