Page 51 of The Lady Plays with Fire

The next afternoon, Friday, she was settling Mrs. Hayes for her afternoon nap as usual, when a rap sounded at the front door. She heard Daniel open it, the muffled exchange of masculine voices. In another moment, the boy appeared on the threshold.

“There’s a gentleman downstairs, asking for you.”

“For me?”

“Yes, miss. A Scotsman, with the grandest rig I ever saw!”

Her heart had already begun to pound, even before he’d added those unmistakable details. Slipping past Daniel, she hurried down the stairs, then paused at the landing to collect herself.

Lord Dunstane stood, hat in hand, his tall, lean frame almost filling the narrow hall. “Today’s rehearsal has been canceled. I thought you should know.”

“Thank you.” She dipped into a curtsy, in part to hide her bafflement. “But you hardly needed to come all this way. You might simply have sent word.”

“Aye,” he agreed.

“I wrote out those revisions I suggested yesterday,” she began.

“Later.” He waved her words away. “Since we’re free, I thought we might go for that drive.” His expression—she hardly knew how to read it.

Or perhaps she knew exactly how to read it. She’d seen it in his eyes before. The intensity of his gray-green gaze drove away every thought of the play, the magazine, Aunt Mildred’s caution that she must be discreet.

She could only recall how it felt to be close to him.

His as-yet-unfulfilled promise of satisfaction.

She nodded. “Just let me get my things.”

Chapter 16

Beyond Clapham Common, Graham gave the horses their heads. Findlay and Fallon knew the way well enough by now. They’d made the trip to Brereton Cottage half a dozen times since Tetley had given him the key.

Beside him, Julia gasped. The wind whipped the rose-colored ribbons of her bonnet. One small hand slipped from beneath the heavy woolen lap blanket he’d tucked around her, protection against the bite of the November air. For a moment, it seemed as if she meant to urge him to slow down. He considered telling her she was in no danger.

But that wouldn’t entirely be true.

Her gloved fingertips settled lightly on his forearm, tracing the subtle movement of his bones and sinews, as if seeking a share of the power that flowed up through the reins.

He recalled their conversation about racing curricles the first time he’d driven her. She had come today of her own free will.

Perhaps she didn’t want to be perfectly safe.

Shifting the reins into his left hand, he wrapped his right arm around her shoulders, snugging their bodies closer still. Curving his fingers over hers, he pressed the reins into her hands. “Take them.”

She glanced up at his face. Astonishment flared in her eyes. But she didn’t refuse.

Once her grip was secure, he released her hands, though he kept his arm around her. Sensing the change in command, the horses shifted their pace. The reins slackened in her grasp.

“Oh,” she breathed, the sound hardly audible above the clatter of hooves and the rattle of wheels. But he’d heard that soft gasp of disappointment before, on the night they had met.

And he never wanted to hear it again.

“Did you wish them to run away with you?” he teased.

“Yes, please.”

Despite the chill wind, heat surged through him. “Then hold tight.”

With the toe of his boot, he rattled the whip, still in its socket on the dash. Fallon started, Findlay leaned into the bit, and the pair were off, running against nothing but the cloud-lowered sky.