Page 58 of A Match of Misfortune

Cecily’s gaze slid from the meowing cat to Nash. “Impressive. You know your animals and your colors?”

“Go ahead and laugh, but after the incident of my stepping under that ladder followed too soon by the axle breaking, I mean to adhere to Lady Bridget’s warnings, and she told me to not let a black cat cross my path. She said they’re terribly unlucky.”

“Yes. It is positively terrifying to consider the calamity such a small, unthreatening creature might precipitate.” Sarcasm saturated Cecily’s words. She took a few steps, leaning over and holding out a hand. “Here, cat.”

“What are you doing?”

Cecily apparently found Nash’s concern humorous, and she giggled. “Befriending it so it needn’t curse you.”

“Perhaps we should just leave it alone.” Nash angled his body toward the street, taking sideways steps to where Cecily was to ensure the cat would not cross in front of him if it were to take off running. But instead of scampering off at Cecily’s approach, it came toward her, rubbing along the iron railings as it did.

When it neared, the cat pressed against her outstretched hand, purring loudly as she petted it. Cecily bent farther down. “How could such a sweet animal cause bad luck?”

It did seem a rather nonsensical notion—a cat causing someone’s misfortune. Cautiously, Nash crouched next to Cecily and slowly put out a hand. The cat seemed to consider him a moment before walking toward Nash.

“See there,” Cecily said, glancing at him with a smile. “He likes you.”

Nash ran his hand along the shiny black coat and then up its tail. How ridiculous he was, thinking a cat could have anything to do with his luck. Besides, he had his lucky coin now to ward off any misfortune. Not that it had prevented the axle breaking. Perhaps he needed to spit on it, as Lady Bridget mentioned her uncle did.

The sound of a window slamming shut brought Cecily’s and Nash’s attention to the townhouse nearest them, but the cat darted away—directly in front of Nash.

Cecily’s gaze shot to him, her lips parted. “It does not mean anything.”

An unsettling feeling crept over him, and he stood, offering a hand to help Cecily to her feet. “Of course not.”

But as if the universe wished to suggest otherwise, a droplet of water splattered on his forehead. Nash looked upward at the leaden sky, and another drop hit his face, then another.

“It’s only a little rain.” Cecily’s voice sounded less sure now, as if she were trying to convince herself the cat had nothing to do with it.

“Regardless, we had best be on our way.”

She gave a nod, and he was relieved when he took hold of her hand and she did not pull it from his grasp. Instead, she tightened her grip on him as the rain came down harder.

Perhaps his luck wasn’t all bad.

Chapter Eighteen

Rain dumped from the skies, but there was nowhere to take cover. The doorsteps of some of the townhouses they passed had small overhangs, but nothing was large enough for both Cecily and Nash to find shelter under. Their best option was to continue to the Markhams’.

Cecily’s skirts were soaked through, and water had saturated her walking boots, but thankfully, Nash had insisted she take his coat when the rain had first begun to fall. Between that and her bonnet, the top half of her was still warm and dry. As they made their way through the streets of Marylebone, she kept her head down, allowing Nash to pull her along.

“Let’s turn here.” Nash led her onto the lane of mews behind his parents’ townhouse. “It will be quicker, and we can go in through the back.”

Cecily’s breaths were coming fast and hard, and her legs were protesting with each step. Nash’s stride was twice what hers was, and the hurried pace was becoming near impossible to maintain. By the time they reached the Markhams’ back garden, Cecily felt as though she might be sick. “Can we take a moment to catch our breaths before going in?” she asked, her chest heaving and her throat tight.

Nash guided her beneath the portico at the rear of the house, and Cecily leaned against one of the columns for support. She closed her eyes, tilting her head upwards to better draw in air. Despite the chill and the way her hands and feet were numb with cold, the rest of her was eager for a respite from the heat that the thick wool coat and strenuous pace had caused, and she allowed Nash’s coat to fall open. When her breaths were coming more easily and her head had stopped spinning, she opened her eyes.

Nash stood before her, his beaver beneath his arm and his gaze locked on her. Droplets of water dripped from the ends of his hair and down his face and neck, and it was only then she realized how thoroughly drenched he was. His shirtsleeves clung to his skin, and his breeches were a far darker shade than they had been a quarter of an hour ago.

“You are completely soaked through,” she said, straightening to remove his coat so that she might return it to him.

He took a step closer, stopping her. “I am fine. Keep it until we go inside.”

She gave a timid nod, her heart rate once again increasing, but this time because of how close he stood and the curious expression he wore. “What are you thinking about?” she asked, hardly certain she wished to know.

“My luck.”

She tucked her hands behind her, gripping the column to ground herself. “What about it?”