“His words.”
“I assure you. My eyes are quite trustworthy, as is the rest of me. Now please let me in.”
“No.”
Rowan must give Brick a raise. Made of stout stuff he was. Few men could resist asidheoutright like that. But what was happening now? Miss Crewe had no new arguments? Too much silence around that corner.
But then the shuffle of feet scattered that silence, a grunt, and then a squeal.
“Set me down, you brute!” Miss Crewe cried. “Set me down!”
Time to intervene. Rowan rounded the corner. “Put her down, Brick.”
The footman plopped Miss Crewe on her feet, and she glared up at him as she straightened her bonnet. And then, as if only just realizing they weren't alone, raked her scowl slowly over to Rowan.
“You.” She marched toward him, arm and finger outstretched, a witch ready to curse him. “Tell that brute to let me inside.”
Rowan leaned a shoulder on the wall and crossed his legs at his ankles. “I told you what would happen, Miss Crewe. I am a man of my word.”
She clasped her hands before her chest as if in prayer. “Please. There’s something I need inside.”
“You should have collected all your belongings before leaving the other day.”
“I did not know I had a belonging to collect. I know now. Let me in.”
“Tell me what it is, and I'll have Mrs. Smith retrieve it.”
“I can't.”
“Nonsense. You won't.”
“Ican't,” she insisted.
He could be stubborn, too, likely better than she could. “Tell me what it is.”
She glued her teeth together. And it made her lips pout, pretty, kissable.
“You know what you must do to gain entry to Hestia,” he said.
She unclenched her teeth and tipped her face to the sky as if to ask the heavens for advice. When she dropped her chin back toward her chest, she did so with a determined sigh. “I will do what I must.”
Some fierce emotion surged through him, the heady electricity of a victory. “Follow me. We leave now.” He led her to the coach waiting in the mews. “Tom, there's been a change of plans. Miss Crewe is going to go with me instead of Miss Hinks.”
“You already have someone?” Miss Crewe hissed. “I see no reason I must go, then.” She turned to leave, and he snapped his hand out, grabbed her by the wrist, catching her without even looking because his hand knew where hers would be, his body knew the space hers occupied in relation to his own. He held her tight to the spot, the heat of her glare on the back of his neck as the coach door opened and Miss Hinks peeked out.
“Are you sure, Mr. Trent?” the maid asked. Was that hesitation in her voice? Reluctance? Or… hope?
“I’m quite sure. Resume your usual duties.”
She hopped out of the coach as if it was on fire and bolted past Miss Crewe with a hearty, “Good luck, miss,” tossed over her shoulder.
Hope, then, not hesitation.
Hesitation held no sway over Rowan, either. He tugged Miss Crewe toward the coach.
She yanked her arm out of his hold. “I can do it myself.” And she did, climbing up into the coach and sitting in the far corner, pulling back the curtain and finding some shadow in the dark mews to occupy her attention. He sat across from her, and the coach shook as Tom sat on the bench outside and readied the horses. Soon they were rolling out of the mews and onto the London streets, headed north.
He leaned over and snapped the curtain shut. She scowled. He lifted his brows, challenging her. She must have decided she did not wish to take up the challenge because she sat, quiet and still for, according to his watch, five entire minutes before the heel of her foot began to shake. Then her fingers drummed a rhythm on the seat. Not two minutes after that, she began to bite at her bottom lip, left and right, center, the entire damn thing disappearing between her even,white teeth. Each nibble left that poor besieged lip redder than before, more swollen.
