As he guided the gig down the lane toward their destination, he glanced at her hands, which were folded in her lap. No gloves. “Where are your gloves?” he asked, already knowing. The ache for her nearly choked his ability to speak.
“What concern is it of yours?” she demanded.
“It’s rather foolish,” he said, making his tone purposely chiding, “to go about without gloves on a cold night. I didn’t take you as someone to show such carelessness.”
She turned toward him, glaring. “I am not careless! I’ve one pair of gloves, and I purposely did not wear them to keep them decent. No one where we are going will give a farthing if I have gloves on or not, so it is you who is the fool!”
She was quite right. He’d left her seven years ago knowing how desperate things were for her, and he’d selfishly never looked back because he feared his inability to control himself and not betray Owen. Yet, in the process, he had betrayed her. He had to make it right, even if she never knew it.
“I suppose you are correct that no one will care. Still, if you had planned to play a woman of the night—asuccessful one—I would have thought you might wear your best cloak and slippers.” He noted the hole in the toe of her slippers, which made him want to take her directly to the shoemaker and have a dozen pairs of shoes made for her so that she never had to wear such shoddy slippers again.
When she did not respond to his prodding, except for her glare becoming more pronounced, he pressed further. “You look like a street urchin, not a sought-after courtesan. I doubt they’ll let you in the door.”
“You insufferable beast!” she hissed. “How dare you! I’ll show you when we are there. I’ll show you that whatever fool of a man is at the door won’t even notice my worn slippers and cloak. He will be looking at my br—”
Nash’s gaze fell to her chest as silence descended. He could well imagine that no man would notice anything she had on; she was so very beautiful that she could wear a sack and still devastate one’s senses. He was so busy thinking about it, that he almost ran off the lane before the turn toward the Orcus Society. He had to jerk the gig back onto the road.
“Ha! My point exactly!” she cried out, smugness in her tone.
Nash jerked his gaze to her face, and she smirked at him. He was, he felt, very nearly at the answer he sought. “I suppose you are correct,” he said, ensuring his voice belied the fact that he really believed it to be so.
“What do you mean,you suppose?” she demanded with righteous anger.
He had to clench his teeth to keep from smiling. God, he’d missed this. Lilias had been the only woman he’d ever shared such easy banter with. This true back-and-forth of opinions clashing and trying to make the other person see one’s side. She used her wits, whereas other women had either readily agreed with him all his life, even when he knew they could not possibly, or tried to use their wiles to convince him. He maneuvered the gig to the alley entrance of the Orcus Society where workers and any courtesans entered. Tonight he, too, would enter there to escort Lilias, his supposed courtesan, into the club.
He slowed the horse to a stop, then turned his full attention to her. “I mean, you do havesomecharms in your favor, but the smartest thing to have done would have been to truly dress the part of a successful courtesan and to have brought your coachman with you. Of course, these are all details I suppose only a man would think of. You ladies don’t usually consider near as much as we men do.”
That ought to do the trick.
He honestly wanted to chuckle at his brilliant word choice.
He was so busy congratulating himself for his superb acting that he did not see her punch coming. She whacked him right in the arm. He was surprised but immensely pleased she had a nice, solid punch. Though it would not stop a man built like him, it could make him question proceeding if he intended her harm. That moment of questioning could give her time to escape if she needed it. Not that she ever would. He was going to see to that. Somehow.
“For your information,” she snapped while rubbing the hand she’d used to punch him, “I can assure you we ladies think just as well—no, better—than any man! I thought of everything you just mentioned, you insufferably arrogant man. Thesearemy best slippers!” She lifted her foot, showing a sinfully enticing ankle and pointing at her foot. He could see her toes wiggling back and forth. She slammed her foot down.
On top of his.
“Damnation!” he let slip. “That hurt.”
She smirked at him. “It was intended to. I could see the punch did not meet its mark. Your arms are entirely too muscled.”
She thought him muscled? He could not stop the grin from spreading across his face, to which she rolled her eyes and then leveled him with a glare that would have shrunk a lesser man’s ballocks.
“And this is my best cloak by far!” She eyed him with haughty disdain, but he knew it was only because he’d angered her. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and assure her it would be all right. That he would provide for her. Protect her.
Her sharp inhalation alerted him that she was not done with her dressing down that he richly deserved. “I would have brought a coachman, if I had one, but we are not all blessed with wealth like you,Your Grace.”
“What of your stable master? Why could he not have stood in as your coachman?”
“We no longer have one of those, either. You really should not speak of things until you are certain you have all the information, and if you cannot, keep your opinion to yourself.”
It was the most blistering reprimand he’d ever received, and he loved it. He adored that she spoke her mind. His mother never did so, not directly. A murmur here. A look there. A total withdrawing of her love ever since Thomas had died. He loved that Lilias was so impassioned and not cold. He wanted to kiss her. Instead, he went in for the coup de grâce. “Your mother is shameful to pay so little attention to you and her household that both are in shambles.”
Her eyes widened, her lips parted, and she reared back and slapped him. He saw it coming. He could have stopped her, but if it helped her keep her pride, he’d let her slap him a million times over. His cheek stung for it, but the sting made him ridiculously happy.
“My mother,” she said, her voice quivering, “is worth a thousand of yours.”
He didn’t doubt it. He would have said so, but he needed Lilias to finish, to reveal the truth.
