Page 138 of The Siren of Sussex

Ahmad followed after her, shutting the door behind him. “Mira? Becky?”

No one answered.

Evelyn waited, hands clasped tight in front of her, as he disappeared into the adjoining rooms. Her gaze drifted over the sitting room. The curtains and carpets were as faded as the furnishings, but the room was as neat as a pin. Neat and rather welcoming. The cushions on the sofa were plumped invitingly, and books, magazines, and sketch pads were piled on every available surface.

“They’re not here,” Ahmad said when he reemerged. “They must have gone out to get something to eat. There’s a bakery in the next street.”

“I suppose they’ll be back soon?”

“At any moment, I expect. Perhaps we should . . .” But he didn’t say what he thought they should do. He only looked at her, frowning, as if he’d lost his train of thought.

“There’s no harm waiting, is there?” she asked. “So long as we’re already here.”

His frown deepened. He took a step toward her only to stop again. There was an expression in his eyes that was hard to read. “Why are you here? You said you didn’t even know where you were—”

“I didn’t.”

“Then how—”

“I was out for a drive,” she said. “With, ah, Stephen Connaught, actually.” She considered how best to relate the incident that had brought her to King William Street. But there was no way to sugarcoat it. As usual, the truth would have to do.

As she told it to him, Ahmad’s face darkened like a thundercloud. “He what?”

Evelyn took an unconscious step back. Her skirts brushed the wall behind her. “He’s an idiot.”

Ahmad closed the distance between them. “Why did you go with him?”

“He said he wanted to talk about Fenny and his brother. I thought he might have had news of them. I never expected him to make advances. I didn’t even realize he thought of me in that way.”

“He didn’t hurt you?”

“No. It was only an insult. I’ll soon recover. One day, I shall laugh about it.”

He loomed over her. “You’re trembling.”

She was, rather. An unnerving sensation. Her back found the wall behind her, relying on it to hold her upright. “I—I didn’t anticipate seeing you.”

His brows lowered. “You haven’t been to the shop in a fortnight.”

“You told me not to come.”

“I said not to come without a chaperone. I didn’t tell you not to come at all.”

“What excuse would I have? You’ve finished all of my dresses. And I haven’t the funds to keep ordering more. Besides,” she added, “I have my pride.”

“What has pride to do with it?”

“If you don’t want me—”

He muttered a blistering oath. “You think I don’t want you?”

Before Evelyn could formulate a reply, he was upon her, his legs crushing her skirts between them. His large hands came to frame her face.

And she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. She could only stare up at him, transfixed, her heart pounding like Hephaestus’s hooves, thundering down the hard-packed surface of Rotten Row.

He bent his head to hers, his voice rough with barely suppressed emotion. “What I feel for you is so powerful, it would destroy us both, given the chance.”

She thought he might kiss her then. She wanted him to. But in that fraught moment, it seemed more likely that he would let her go.