Georgina paused, her breath tight in her lungs. Luke had leaned across the narrow table, his eyes on her lips and her most copious wish in that moment was that he’d kiss her. Repercussions or ramifications beyond that singular idea escaped better sense. How would his mouth feel against hers? She still burned with memory of her body atop his. How would intentional touching feel? The only kiss she’d received made her want to scrub her mouth afterward, but she slammed the door on that unwanted memory faster than it could materialize, disallowing it to intrude and ruin the moment.
Luke’s kiss promised unfathomable pleasure. Of that she was certain.
Now, his eyes glinted silver, daring her in a dozen wicked ways, suggesting things and evoking desire with nothing more than a glance. His lashes, long and dark, lowered as if he considered the exact same idea.
Absorbed in the frisson of energy that ricocheted between them, she didn’t notice Biscuit’s howling protest and the scratch of his frantic bid to enter until Luke pulled back and cleared his throat.
‘Oh, Biscuit.’ She gave a vigorous shake of the head as if that alone would dispatch the romantic haze from her brain as she hurried to the back door. By the time she’d filled the pug’s water bowl and he lapped at his refreshment, Luke appeared ready to take his leave.
‘Thank you, Georgina.’
She startled the smallest degree, hearing her name in his voice. ‘My apologies again on behalf of my dog.’ She eyed the pug, who now reclined in a sated, furry heap on the kitchen floor. ‘I can only surmise he feared for my safety.’
‘Foolish, that. Let’s not dwell on it.’ He smiled, that dimple at work to weaken her knees. ‘Before I leave, perhaps you can recommend a restaurant for my dinner this evening. The inn doesn’t have a formal dining room and I do my best healing on a full stomach.’ His eyes twinkled with the reference to the bite wound.
‘There’s only one pub aside from the teahouse. Sadly, the food there is not very good. I’ve taken to teaching myself to cook. The market has an excellent assortment of meat and produce and the butcher has a mind to save the finer cuts for me. Tonight, I’m preparing partridge with blackberry sauce and fresh artichokes.’ She hiked her chin higher, proud of her accomplishment in conquering the detailed recipes in the culinary volume she’d purchased at the bookstore. Life in Coventry had necessitated she develop a more domestic side to her repertoire of skills.
‘Thank you, I accept.’ He smiled, wider this time and she couldn’t help but feel she may have been bamboozled, made victim by a sharper and his shrewd swindle. ‘What time shall I return?’
She couldn’t in good conscience refuse him. Her dog had bitten his arm, and too, Coventry’s sole restaurant was dreadful. And while she guarded her privacy, one dinner could not hurt, could it? A ridiculous swirl of anticipation tingled down her spine and she moved to open the door and expend the invigorating energy. ‘Six o’clock will do nicely.’
Luke walked towards town with an amused smile despite his arm throbbed from Biscuit’s attack. He refused to feel one iota of guilt at having duped the beguiling governess into preparing his dinner. It offered yet another opportunity to convince her she needed to accompany him to London and at the same time lead him to discover if she smelled like apricots everywhere.
He’d spend the time in between writing a message to Cole in which he explained beyond the curt sentences he’d offered his partners before leaving for Coventry, to warn against a chance of repercussions. An appraisal of Dursley’s reaction to the theft was in order if word circulated, for the man dared frequent The Underworld. In all circumstances, information was scarce.
Luke had hired investigators in the past but mayhap Georgina’s idea held worth. It couldn’t hurt to approach a private runner to poke around in things now he possessed Dursley’s journal. If only he’d known about the book months ago. He would stop at nothing until he recovered Nathaniel. For the life of him he couldn’t imagine what Dursley meant to gain.
Thinking back at the confrontation immediately after the day Nate was taken, his half-brother’s behaviour proved disdainful, argumentative and imperious. Had Luke not been beside himself with broken emotion, he might have beaten Dursley to a pulp for no other reason than to expend his enraged helplessness. Dursley denied any involvement, quick to suggest Luke had become negligent or worse, had tired of fatherhood and, anxious to rid himself of the burden, engaged in suspicious methods.
The young girl Luke had paid to watch over Nate identified Dursley without a doubt, but when Luke visited her home the following afternoon, the maid had vanished, disappeared into London’s population, another frightened runaway. Another Smith. Whether she fled of her own volition or was encouraged, threatened by Dursley, Luke would never know and it no longer mattered. Recovering his son consumed his purpose.
Since that time he’d worked at the hell, continued on with life, even entertained a lady or two, but his heart and soul remained in a vault, devoted to his son until the day he brought Nate home again. Everything else served as perfunctory repetition and mere distraction.
This afternoon he would take Snake Eyes for a run and expend their redundant restlessness before he bathed and dressed for dinner. Should he bring a gift to the lovely governess? Flowers or sweets? Something clever to curry her compliance. He had no idea what she favoured but he’d soon find out.
Dinner smelled divine. The table was set with neatly pressed linen, the curtains drawn and Biscuit well fed, shut away in another room to guarantee he would not cause another troubling episode. Earlier, when Georgina had examined her wardrobe and chosen the amber gown, the best she owned here in Coventry, she’d almost decided to leave her hair down, her tresses often regarded by her friends as her loveliest feature. But in a belated judgement, she’d arranged the thick lengths into an attractive twist and pinned it up in keeping with her portrayal of a prim governess. This wasn’t a romantic liaison by any means, not a suitor come to call. It was an act of hospitality and gesture of kindness, and she’d be smart to remember Mr Reese, Luke, had one goal in mind.
Chastising herself for the romantic inclination, she recalled the contents of the letter to her parents she’d written earlier, the note long overdue. In two paragraphs, she assured them of her safety while concealing her location. She’d held back from writing sooner, afraid she’d weaken and return home, but now, distanced from the devastating emotions of that fateful day, she believed her decision for the best.
Coventry offered privacy and the quietude needed to sort out her future. She couldn’t go to London. London would be the cause of heartache and shame. Someday she’d return. She loved her family too much not to see them again, but at the present, someday offered the ideal amount of vagueness her spirit required.
Recalling London brought with it the stricture of society so unlike Coventry. Her parents held tight to public opinion and tradition. She’d be ruined were it discovered she’d cooked a meal and entertained a bachelor unchaperoned in her home. A clever bachelor gaming-hell proprietor, no less.
Still, a now-familiar pattern of guilt and remorse demanded she acknowledge the lifestyle she’d abandoned, her mind all too quick to flutter through a series of memories, whether elegant evening dinner parties or afternoon social calls. Her parents relished their social status afforded by relation to a peer of the realm. This truth in large part had fomented her decision to flee London and preserve their pristine reputation.
As if in challenge to her woolgathering, a sturdy knock sounded at the door. She glanced at the wood box clock on the sideboard table. Luke was punctual if nothing else. Coasting her palms over her gown, she touched a hand to her hair to summon composure and opened the door to greet him.
‘Hello.’ A bubble of anticipation danced in her chest. Forget punctual, Luke was devastatingly handsome. Framed within the threshold, the sun fading at his back, he depicted a sinful rogue, his face shadowed into sharp angles and lean lines. Black hair, glossed by reflected light, was combed away from his face to fall in a too-long lock on one side. His grey eyes