He tipped his head. “However you wish to describe our habitual sparring, I know that he wishes the same for me.”
Therese recalled their earlier exchange. “You truly are like brothers.”
Child lightly shrugged. “I’m closer to him than to my brother, and he’s closer to me than to his. It’s our similar ages and, I suspect, similar characters and dispositions, and naturally, that combination also engenders a certain competitiveness. And of course, if I see an opportunity to tweak his tail, I will.” He grinned. “Truth be told, as between us, he’s usually the leader, the latter is rarely difficult.”
Trying to mute her smile, she humphed in mock disapproval, and he laughed.
They were approaching the corner, and Therese waved down the minor street. “My carriage is waiting along there.”
As she looked back at Child, she noticed a gentleman descending from a hackney on the opposite side of the Strand. She halted, and her beaming smile rebloomed. “Look! It’s Devlin.”
Child obediently stopped and looked. “So it is.”
There was too much traffic streaming along the Strand to hail Devlin, and indeed, he’d already turned away and started walking up Southampton Street, toward Covent Garden and the flower market.
Buoyed on her newfound feelings, heightened by sighting the object of her love, impulsively, Therese drew her arm from Child’s. “I’m going to go after him.” The notion of stealing an unexpected hour or two with Devlin—or learning more about his business interests—was a potent temptation, one she saw no reason to resist. Out of habit, by way of excuse, she offered, “The house could do with some fresh flowers.”
The look Child threw her stated he wasn’t fooled by her sudden interest in blooms, but he closed his hand around her wrist and drawled, “I suppose I’d better come with you. Allow me to escort you across.”
Therese suspected that, quite aside from his innate chivalry, Child had an interest in seeing if the situation gave him an opportunity to, as he’d put it, tweak Devlin’s tail.
She didn’t care; Devlin was more than a match for Child and his machinations, and she was sincerely grateful for Child’s assistance in crossing the bustling thoroughfare.
By the time they’d gained the opposite pavement and started up Southampton Street, Devlin was some way ahead.
“Come on!” Once more on Child’s arm, Therese stepped out briskly. Without argument, Child kept pace.
Ahead, Devlin reached the end of Southampton Street. The market with its long rows of stalls and barrows lay directly in front of him and stretched away to his right.
Without pause, Devlin turned left. Away from the market.
Beside Therese, Child slowed.
Curiosity stirring, Therese drew her hand from Child’s arm and forged on. “I wonder where he’s going?”
Child drew level but, with his gaze fixed on the end of the street, insisted on walking more slowly. “He must be off to some business meeting. I suspect we shouldn’t interrupt.”
Considering that, Therese slowed for a moment, then frowned. “It’s an odd place for a business meeting.” She glanced back toward the Strand. “But he dismissed the hackney, so presumably he intends to call at some address around here.” She faced forward and walked on.
They’d nearly reached the end of the street. She glanced at Child, but his expression had blanked.
Abruptly, he halted. Reaching out, he caught her arm. “Therese, I really think we should leave Devlin to…whatever business he’s engaged in. He won’t expect to see us, and in business, one can never tell how such an unexpected surprise will play out.”
Gently but insistently, he tugged to draw her back.
Therese sighed and rotated her arm, deftly breaking his hold. “Very well—we won’t go any farther than the corner. But I would like to see where he goes.” Rapidly, she took three quick steps and halted in the shadow cast by the building to her left and looked down the street in the direction Devlin had gone.
The famous Inigo Jones Church of St. Paul lay across the street, facing the market stalls. Unsurprisingly, Devlin hadn’t stopped there. He’d walked farther along the street and had crossed to the north side, where, beyond the rear of the church, a long row of old town houses stood.
As Therese watched, Devlin paused outside one such house, then trod up the three steps to the narrow porch and, raising his cane, beat a tattoo on the door.
He stepped back, straightened his coat, and waited.
Child plucked at her sleeve. “Therese—”
“In a minute. I want to see—”
The door opened. A beautiful black-haired woman appeared, her face lighting in welcome.
