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‘He might not have returned to London after Cumbria.’
‘True. However, he will have left a trail. Everyone does, even the best of us. Leave the matter with me.’
‘I cannot sit and do nothing,’ Edge objected.
‘Naturally not. Surely you have other matters to attend to after so many years abroad?’
Sir Oswald’s gaze rested briefly on Sam and Edge’s jaw clenched at the subtle emphasis, but he refused to be manipulated.
‘Nothing more immediately pressing than finding my brother.’
‘Commendable, I am sure. However, I prefer you grant me a day or so to do just that before you muddy the water. I will be leaving for Paris by the end of the week so make use of my resources while you can. Come, Lord Edward... Edge, you are by nature a patient man. If I cannot secure any information in two days, you may rampage through town like a stuck bull if you wish. Meanwhile there is surely something you can think of doing in this great city?’
Sam smiled, assessing Edge.
‘Yes, there is. I have an errand to run.’
Chapter Eleven
‘Open it,’ Leila said.
Gabriel obeyed, a little wary. Opening strange boxes led to peculiar outcomes in the Hidden City.
This one didn’t suck him into Jephteh’s dungeons, but into another world and for a brief, beautiful moment he was home.
—Treasures of Siwa,
Desert Boy Book Five
‘I keep forgetting how noisy London is,’ Edge said as he helped Sam descend from the carriage into the orderly chaos of Piccadilly. ‘I think I’ve missed it. A little.’
Sam’s hand tightened on his arm and he looked down. Her eyes were smiling and with a peculiar pang he realised he’d spent far too much of their short married life avoiding her, chasing his brother, or sulking. That time could have been spent so much more enjoyably. Once they ran this errand he would start rectifying matters—first by taking her back to that wonderfully soft bed so he could unfurl her hair into a dark, fragrant waterfall over her body...
Not suitable thoughts while standing in the middle of Piccadilly.
‘We had best get this over with. What is this errand, anyway?’
‘I need a new wardrobe and you shall help me choose fabrics.’
His horror must have shown on his face because she burst out laughing.
‘You look like a toddler being dragged to have a tooth pulled. This is Hatchard’s, silly, not Madame Fanchot’s. I need a new set of Desert Boy books. I usually read the manuscripts Mr Durham sends me and rarely read them after they are published, because I am too scared to discover that my illustrations are all wrong for the final version, so when my copy of The Treasures of Siwa arrived I gave it to Ellie before I even read it. But now it is officially published I do wish to have a copy, especially since the manuscript Mr Durham originally sent me wasn’t complete.’ Her hand tightened a little on his arm as she stared at the damp pavement. ‘I tried to visit Mr Durham to ask him if he knows whether Mr Bunny is writing a new book, but he is in Boston commissioning new authors. His son is at the helm during his absence and I did not stay to speak with him—he is rather an unctuous young man, not at all like his father. I hate not knowing. I always worry I shall learn that something happened to Mr Bunny or perhaps...perhaps he no longer needs my illustrations.’
Edge was also a little worried. More than a little. After a particularly memorable occasion of childish evasion years ago, Janet had pointed out lies by omission can be just as poisonous as lies by commission. How had he managed to forget this issue still lay between them? How had he not admitted to Sam that he was Mr Bunny, as she insisted on calling the author of the Desert Boy books?
‘Sam...’
‘Oh, no, it is beginning to rain. Hurry, there is no escape now.’
No escape.
Edge followed her inside, his mind tossing arguments back and forth as they were swept into a kaleidoscope of pelisses and bonnets and the rumble of the street was replaced by the buzz of people.
Edge clenched his teeth. This was neither the time nor the place for a crisis of conscience. He would consider the issue later when he could think it through carefully. Perhaps if he told her while they were more...intimate...it might be less of a shock. He could have told her last night while she was lying half on him, with her leg over his, her hand stroking his chest while his shaped that wonderful curve of her hip, up and over...
‘Edge?’
He breathed in, taking his time.
‘Let’s buy those books and leave. This place sounds like the camel market at Imbaba and with all these perfumes it smells almost as bad.’
She laughed and stroked his arm. A woman with a bonnet three times the size of her head managed to both glare at them and look away in disgust. Sam immediately dropped his arm, surprising him. He glanced down at her.
