Louisa stood very still for a long time. Surely it was not the same woman she had seen last night in Arden Square. One black cloak looked very much like any other black cloak. Still, she could not shake the thought that the streetwalking widow had followed her today.
When her pulse had settled back to a pace that felt relatively normal, she left the sanctuary of the trees, retraced her steps to the path, and started once more toward Arden Square.
She had gone only a few yards when she saw another figure coalescing out of the fog. A man this time, dressed in a dark gray overcoat.
“Lady Ashton said that you would likely be returning along the path through the park,” Anthony said, walking toward her. “Thought I’d come ahead and meet you.”
A wave of relief washed over her, quickly followed by a sweeping rush of euphoria. He looked so reassuringly strong and solid, and powerful, her elegant wolf. She longed to hurl herself into his arms.
“Good heavens, sir, you gave me a start,” she said, reining in her strong emotions.
He halted in front of her, brows lifting. “My apologies. You do look a little flustered. Something wrong?”
“No.” She looked back over her shoulder. There was no sign of the cloaked figure. “I saw a woman a moment ago, but she’s gone now. Never mind, it’s not important.”
“Allow me to carry that for you.” Anthony took the parcel she had tucked under her arm. “Lady Ashton said that you had gone shopping. I see you purchased a book.”
“Yes.”
“A sensation novel teeming with illicit trysts and the like?”
“No.” Annoyed by his teasing, she glowered. “What are you doing here?”
He took her arm. “A man who does not call upon the lady the morning after cannot call himself a gentleman.”
“The morning after what?” she asked, her mind still on the cloaked woman.
His mouth twisted ruefully. “I am crushed, Louisa. Surely you cannot have forgotten our interlude in the Lorrington conservatory so soon?”
Her breath caught in her throat. She could feel the heat flooding her cheeks.
“Oh, that,” she said in a half-strangled voice.
“Continue on in that fashion, my sweet, and I will sink straight into the ground under the burden of my humiliation.”
“For goodness’ sake, sir—”
“Last night you called me Anthony. I rather liked that.”
“I think we should change the subject.”
“I assure you, if it is your aim to make me feel the full weight of my abject failure last night there is no need to say another word. I am already keenly aware of how badly I blundered. I came here today in part to beg your forgiveness.”
“You must not blame yourself, sir,” she said briskly. “I have done a great deal of thinking about the incident, and I see now that I must bear the majority of the blame.”
“Because you did not warn me that you lacked experience in that particular enterprise?”
She glowered. “No, for expecting too much from the business itself. I fear I placed too much credence in the glowing descriptions of the novelists and the sensation plays. All that lovely nonsense about exquisite rapture and transcendent passion. I should have known that the reality would fall somewhat short.”
“In my opinion, you would do well to withhold judgment on the matter until you have conducted a few more experiments.”
“Hmm.”
He tightened his grip on her arm. “And I must insist that those experiments be conducted with me.”
For some reason the ominous tone of his voice elevated her spirits. Was he just a bit jealous?
“Why?” she asked lightly. “Surely it would be more scientific to experiment with a variety of gentlemen.”
He halted, forcing Louisa to stop, too.
“You are teasing me,” Anthony said evenly.
“Yes, of course I am.”
“Don’t. Not when it comes to that subject.”
“Very well.” She smiled a little.
“Correct me if I am wrong, but I was under the impression last night that you did not object to my kisses.”
She blushed. “No. That aspect of the business was quite gratifying.”
“I am relieved to hear that.”
He slid his warm, powerful hand around the nape of her neck, pulled her close very deliberately and kissed her. His mouth was a slow, seductive drug on her senses. Heat and excitement ignited within her. She put her free arm around his neck and abandoned herself to the tantalizing sensations that were igniting her senses. She could easily become addicted to Anthony’s kisses.
When he freed her a moment later, she was feeling breathless again, but not from fear this time.
“I must say, the novelists may have got things wrong when it comes to the denouement of the thing,” she announced, vastly pleased. “But they are quite correct when they write about the pleasures of illicit kisses.”
Anthony gave her his mysterious smile. “I shall take that as a sign of progress.” He took her arm and propelled her swiftly along the path. “But future experiments must wait. We have a more pressing problem.”
“Our investigation?”
“That, too. I now have a strong reason to believe that Hastings did not murder Thurlow, by the way.”
“What?”
“He set a man to watch Thurlow. I don’t think he would have done that if he intended to kill him.”
“Good heavens. That means that either Thurlow really did take his own life or—”
“Or someone else murdered him. For the moment, I’m assuming the latter, but first we must deal with an invitation.”
She made an impatient little sound. “Another boring society affair?”
“No. I cannot guarantee that you will enjoy this particular event, but I can promise that it will not be dull.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“My mother has invited you to tea tomorrow afternoon.”
She stopped short, utterly aghast. “Your mother. She cannot possibly want to meet me.”
“It was inevitable. She has heard the gossip about us.”
“But we are having an illicit affair. Mothers never want to entertain the women with whom their sons are conducting illicit liaisons.”
“You don’t know my mother.”
27
Anthony waited until the only other customer in Digby’s Bookshop had left before he put down the novel he had been pretending to examine and went to the counter.
Digby was seated at his desk. He did not look up from a catalog of rare books.
“What do you want?” he growled.
“I wish to purchase a book for a good friend who shops here,” Anthony said. “It is to be a surprise for a special occasion. My friend is very knowledgeable about rare volumes, but I lack expertise in the field. I thought perhaps you could assist me in selecting something that she will truly appreciate.”
Digby snorted and turned the page. “What’s the name of your friend?”
“Mrs. Bryce.”
Digby reluctantly put down the catalog and heaved an exasperated sigh. “No offense, sir, but the lady is a bloody nuisance.”
“In what way?”
Digby flung a hand wide, taking in the shelves of books. “Nothing in my shop is good enough for her. She only reads sensation novels. I don’t carry that sort of thing. I am a dealer in rare volumes.”
“I thought she came here specifically to purchase rare books.”
“There are only two such books that are important to her. Both exceedingly difficult to obtain,” Digby said grimly. “She’s very choosy. Very demanding. Not just any first editions, but specific first editions. Neither one was in my shop.”
“I understand you had some luck. She showed me the copy of a book on Aristotle that you located for her.”
Digby’s whiskers twitched in an irritated manner. “The only reason I was able to persuade the new owner to sell it to me was because he has no interest in rare books. Didn’t know the value of what he had. I haven’t been so fortunate with the owner of the Milton. Even if he could be convinced to sell, he made it clear the price would be far beyond Mrs. Bryce’s reach.”