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‘Do you think so? I am not so certain. You certainly won the battle to distract me from that charlatan’s mummy unwrapping. I was far more engrossed in thoughts of unwrapping you.’
Sam laughed, but her cheeks flushed sunset red. ‘Those are very sacrilegious thoughts in such a solemn setting, my lord.’
‘Since your posterior is as close to divine perfection as I can imagine, calling my thoughts sacrilegious is sacrilegious in itself. Ah, thank God.’
‘Thank God?’
‘We’ve finally reached Sinclair House. First thing tomorrow I will ask the lawyers to begin searching for a house for us to lease. No, buy. Even with your brother in Yorkshire, there is something daunting about making love to my wife in the afternoon in his house.’
‘Is that...is that what you are about to do?’
‘That is what we are about to do. Since you set this in motion I expect you to accept your share of the responsibility for our breach of etiquette.’
Her smile kept growing. Any moment she’d start shimmering like an approaching star. It felt good. Yesterday he’d been afraid she’d never smile at him again, that he’d ruined what had barely begun. He looked out the window, waiting out this bout of pressure somewhere between his stomach and his chest. She was becoming too important too fast, pulling him along. He felt like a fool placed backwards on a horse, unsure where to grasp to stop himself from being thrown. A horse’s ass. Sam would probably like the image.
‘What is so funny?’ Sam plucked at his sleeve and he rested his hand on hers.
‘Nothing. We’re here. Come and finish what you started.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘And, most importantly, do not walk along the river after dark, boy,’ the Jackal warned.
Gabriel hesitated mid-step. ‘There are crocodiles?’
‘No. Worse. Others of your kind. They might actually wish to talk.’
—Captives of the Hidden City,
Desert Boy Book Four
Lincoln Inn’s Fields was dark, but beyond a clump of trees the windows of a rather dull row of houses sparkled invitingly. They didn’t look like they might harbour anyone connected to Edge’s secretive brother, but the message they received from Oswald only an hour ago had been quite clear. A Miss Cleopatra Osbourne, daughter of and sister to noted explorers John Osbourne and Dashford Osbourne, had recently been engaged as companion to Mrs Phillips, a relative of the illustrious Mr John Soane and currently residing at his home.
It was a quiet area of town, both simpler and more dignified than Curzon Street. They left the carriage at Holborn and it was a strange and pleasant sensation to walk arm in arm with Edge through the evening darkness. So very...normal.
By the frown on his brow she doubted Edge was similarly appreciative of the experience.
‘Which house is it?’
‘That one.’ Edge pointed to the most brightly lit house with a classically pale façade between more stoic dark brick buildings. Three tall arched windows were separated only by gilded column capitals that seemed to hover unsupported by anything but air. It was a peculiar touch and she rather liked it.
‘I didn’t realise this was a dangerous part of town,’ she said.
‘It isn’t, there are too many solicitors about. Why?’
‘Someone stole his columns,’ she whispered and Edge shook his head.
‘Behave yourself in there.’
‘I shall do my best.’ She watched a carriage pull up in front of the entrance and Edge tensed, but a footman jumped down from the perch behind and helped out two elderly couples. Edge whistled under his breath. ‘What is it, Edge?’
‘That was Viscount Gordon of the Society of Antiquaries, and I think the other man is Mr Planta from the British Museum. Blast, Soane must be entertaining.’
‘Perhaps we should have sent word.’
‘No, I didn’t want to alert them if there was anything at all peculiar...’
Another carriage pulled up, depositing three middle-aged men.
‘What shall we do? Should we return tomorrow?’
‘No. I came here with Poppy years ago and I doubt I shall be turned away if I come presenting his compliments.’
‘You? What of me? Shall I hide out here among the trees while you enjoy yourself drinking port and discussing antiquities?’
‘Don’t be foolish, Sam. But do try not to frighten them off with your Sinclair sense of humour.’
‘Better than putting him to sleep with the Greybourne version, my lord. Oomph... Edge, put me down!’
‘Do I put you to sleep, you aggravating little mountain goat?’
‘Only in the best possible way, Bunny. Careful of that branch, I cannot go in there covered in moss...’
