The landlady retreated down the hallway, and Lillian shut the door behind her, locking it. She moved the tray to the desk, then sat on the bed. And then, because why not and because she missed him, she laid down, rolling her face into the pillow. She inhaled deeply. He had beenherelast night.
Damn him! Why had he not been with her?
He wanted Frederick’s more than he wanted her, that’s why.
She could not blame him. He’d wanted the coffeehouse for years. It was not just who he was, but who he wished to be, and she understood that desire all too well. One could not simply stop chasing it. She had been chasing two things she desired, and she could not imagine giving up on either. She’d recently tried and failed to do so. So, she pulled her knees up to her chest, closed her eyes, and waited for the one she’d found she could not give up, to return.
* * *
Devon stood at a crossroads. One direction led him to his brother’s home and his wife, and the other led him to his one-room apartment. To some, the choice posed no indecision. Palatial luxury and a finely scented woman in a warm bed or starkness and solitude? Even he knew which one he should choose.
But the apartment washis. After a morning’s work in which he’d earned fewer shillings than he wished, or even thought fair, the apartment provided a welcome reminder that he was his own man and a replacement for no one.
His brother’s mansion was more comfortable, but his own apartment was closer, and his very bones were exhausted.
He trudged into the building and up the stairs, but before he could reach the second floor, Mrs. Matlock’s stout voice called him back down. He turned and trudged back down as if he were caught in mud, his legs so heavy it felt like they would tumble him downstairs if he lost control.
“You are well paid for the month, Mrs. Matlock? I distinctly remember—”
“Oh, yes. Got no complaints. You always pay on time. I just couldn’t let you escape without giving you a wink and a good word.” Her hips shook side to side, jingling the ever-present keys at her waist.
Devon was in no mood for flirtation, but he kept his smile. No good upsetting the landlady.
“You got yourself a pretty gal,” Mrs. Matlock said. “You should get her a proper home instead of hanging on to this place. Mr. Matlock’s got some interesting properties if you’d care to view them.”
Devon’s brain perked up but not quick enough to fully grasp Mrs. Matlock’s full meaning. “You met Lady Pennworthy?” How could she have?
“Mm-hm. Your wife.”
The shaking at Mrs. Matlock’s hips transferred to Devon’s head. “Where?”
“Right here, of course, ya great big nodcock.” Her hip shaking stopped, and she became steely once more. She glanced up to the second floor. “Haven’t heard a peep or step. Must be asleep.”
Finally, everything clicked into place. Lillian washere. Not in a luxurious bed in his brother’s house, but likely, hopefully, on the narrow mattress upstairs.
“Thank you for the compliments and the advice, Mrs. Matlock.” Devon winked and sprinted up the stairs, feeling a surge of energy, despite his bone-weariness. “I'll speak with my wife about those properties!” He raised his voice so she could hear him, but he was too far up the stairs to understand her mumbled response.
The doorknob to his apartment trembled beneath his fingers, but he clasped it with a steadier hand and pushed through. Then he stopped, held his breath, and eased the door shut as quietly as possible, clicking the lock into place. Because there on the bed, sleeping like a cursed princess, lay Lillian. Wake her or let her rest?
No. There was a better third option. He crept on quiet feet to the bedside and knelt beside her. He smoothed a lock of hair out of her face and kissed her on the lips. Like the blasted fairy-tale princess he’d just compared her to, her eyes fluttered open, then her lips curved into something sleepy and delicious and just for him. Then the dreamy look melted away, and she squirmed—ever so slightly—her hand hovering up toward her earlobe.
He stopped her hand with his and thread their fingers together.
“Are you angry with me?”
Even though her curls no longer obscured her vision or her features, he still stroked them away from her temple. “What for Lil Bean?”
“You clearly did not want me here, and yet—”
“Here you are.”
She nodded. “Here I am. Will you boot me out the door?”
He hadn’t wanted her here. Why? He felt no anger seeing her here now, merely curiosity. “How’d you find me?”
She blushed. “A footman.”
“Had me followed, did you? Well, I wasn’t talking. What other choice did you have?”
