Page 42 of Miss Dignified
All week, all month… He’d put herin commandof this undertaking and a little bit in command of him.
Gracious heavens. “You are mine to kiss?” she asked, needing to hear the words.
“At least that, provided you have a care for my dignity. No accosting me on the street, if you please, or bragging of your conquest to the other ladies.”
“I understand dignity, Captain.” She drew the curtains closed and moved the parlor door so it was ajar only a few inches. “I am not sure I understand exactly how to proceed with you, but I know you will be patient with me.”
“With you, I will become the patron saint of patience.” He was too expert at speaking dispassionately while imbuing his words with all manner of implications. Intriguing implications, about self-restraint, a lady’s pleasure, and a gentleman’s ability to delay his own satisfaction.
Lydia stepped close enough to run her hand over his lapel. “When you are not pressed for time, we must have a discussion.”
“Regarding?”
“That time when I decided to not be a paragon.” Thatothertime. “Might I kiss you, Captain?”
“Dylan.” He looped his arms around her shoulders. “If you are broaching the topic of kisses, you will please use my name.”
Lydia wasn’t certain who kissed whom first, but the result was lovely. Dylan did not plunder so much as he explored with his kisses, and with his hands. He was a toucher, much to her delight. All that starch and dispatch he exhibited in the normal course went straight into the dustbin when he held her.
He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks and brow, and she wanted to push into his caresses like a greedy cat. All the while, he sipped and teased at her mouth, until Lydia had him by the hair and was demanding less delicacy and more passion.
He laughed and tucked her close. “Have mercy, madam. I am to go forth into the world, and I must be able to walk upright when I do so.”
“You will smile when you go forth. I delight in the notion that I’ve made you smile for a change.”
“You will smile, too, and I will not be on hand to see it. Expect me back in time for supper, and then perhaps you will join me in the library this evening for a game of chess.”
He would remember that. He’d probably remember every word to ever come out of her mouth. “I will look forward to besting you.”
And maybe over the chessboard, she could gently, gently probe him for how to find Marcus. Not by name, not with specifics, but in the general case. That Lydia was embarking on both a flirtation and a deception bothered her—sorely—but she had been honest with Dylan that her sojourn in London was temporary and motivated by family business.
Or it had been. Lydia wasn’t sure where her path would take her once Marcus had been found, but that was a complication for another day.
She stole one more moment in the captain’s arms. “Where will you go this afternoon?”
“Back to the stews. I have the map in my head now, and I won’t get lost, but neither will I tarry past sunset. If William Brook has left London, somebody might know why and where he went.”
Had Marcus left London? Though where better to hide than the metropolis? If he was still alive. Another call on the solicitors was in order, and Lydia’s next half day came tomorrow.
She walked with the captain to the back door, reluctant to see him go, but needing time to consider what had just passed between them.
“You will eschew your greatcoat?”
“It’s warm enough to do without if I keep moving, and some brisk air will aid me to regain my composure.” He took a slightly worn hat down from a peg and took up a brass-handled walking stick with a few nicks on its shaft. “Think of me as you polish my candlesticks, Lydia.”
Dylan kissed her cheek, opened the door, and crouched down. “Somebody has left you a token.”
He rose, holding a bouquet of forget-me-nots tied with a blue ribbon. “I am apparently not your only admirer.”
Lydia took the flowers, though they made her slightly uneasy. “One of the men, I suppose. Though if a fellow down on his luck has coin to buy posies, he ought not to be wasting it on silly gestures.”
“There’s a note among the flowers.”
Lydia’s foreboding increased, because many of Dylan’s former subordinates were illiterate, and her presence in London was supposed to be kept secret from any man who knew her. She extracted the little slip of paper.
“Somebody offers thanks for sustenance given when needed.” The note did nothing of the sort and wasn’t even in English. “I should put these flowers in water, and you should be on your way.”
The captain saluted and winked—the rascal—and marched off down the garden path. Lydia was still watching his departure when he stopped before the gate and blew her a kiss.
