Page 52 of Lady Gambit
“So are you, sir. This mutual appreciation makes it hard to concentrate.” She accepted his proffered hand and almost lost her footing when she struggled to tear her gaze from his fingers.
“What is it?”
She gave a coy shrug. “Every time you touch me, something magical happens. It’s quite baffling.”
“It’s not baffling at all.” He made sure her feet were firmly on the pavement before releasing her. “Our need for each other is like a feral beast. Now it’s been awakened, it won’t rest until it’s sated.”
Sparks of desire ignited a fire in her belly. “Perhaps we should do something about it before it becomes too difficult to focus on the case.”
“I thought we agreed there was nothing to be done.” He noticed Gibbs glaring at them and lowered his voice. “We’ll have this conversation once we’re alone. I need to fetch a few things from upstairs. We can talk then.”
Something in his eyes said they would do more than talk.
He turned to Gibbs. “We’ll be an hour at most. You might question the shopkeepers. Attempt to get a description of the man who lay in wait for me last week. He may have pestered them for information.”
Gibbs had other ideas. “I’ll search the tavern and wait inside. I’ve orders to protect Miss Chance. There’s no telling who’s lurking there.”
Mr Flynn tutted. “I can protect Miss Chance.”
“I don’t see how. Your eyes never leave her lips.”
Mr Gibbs marched into the premises but stopped to hold the door open for her. That’s when someone called Mr Flynn’s given name. When he froze in the doorway, dread marring his rugged features.
“Dorian!” came the stern voice again.
A tall, broad man stood on the pavement, the breeze ruffling his swathe of grey hair. From the impeccable cut of his coat and the elegant equipage parked in the lane, this overbearing fellow was the Earl of Retford.
Mr Flynn did not turn around or attempt to introduce her. He touched her waist lightly and whispered, “Wait for me inside the tavern. Tell the landlord you’re my guest. Go now. I shall join you in a moment.”
Before she could offer comforting words or place a calming hand on his chest, he ushered her over the threshold and closed the tavern door.
Noticing she looked lost, and unlike his usual clientele, the landlord rounded the counter. “Can I help you, miss? If you’relooking for Mrs Pinkerton’s shop, it’s at the end of the lane. Folk say she has the prettiest ribbons this side of the Thames.”
She glanced out the leaded window to where the earl stood, his hands braced on his hips. “I’m here with Mr Flynn. He asked me to wait inside.”
The landlord followed her gaze. “Ah! I see. The earl came looking for him earlier. Sent his groom in again twenty minutes ago. Happen he’s determined to talk to Mr Flynn today.” He gestured to the circular table near the window. “That’s his usual seat. Why don’t you wait there? I’ll fetch you a small mug of ale.”
“Thank you.” She took a seat, removed her bonnet and placed it on the table.
She saw Mr Gibbs, busy checking every nook and cranny. He studied the men huddled around a table, taking turns to flick a coin into a narrow pot.
Nerves had her wringing her hands. It didn’t help that the window was open or that sitting at Mr Flynn’s table gave her a perfect view of the street. She could hear every cross word spoken, see the lines of frustration etched on the earl’s brow.
“Who is she?” The earl jabbed his finger at the tavern door.
“A client,” Mr Flynn said bluntly. He pulled back his shoulders and straightened to his full height, a defence against a titan. “I’m investigating a case of attempted murder.”
The earl scoffed. “It’s obvious she’s more than a client. It’s bad enough you’re peddling your services like a common hawker. If you must bring these street girls home, for God’s sake, do so after dark.”
“Or I could buy her a cottage and visit her there.”
The earl’s face twisted into an ugly mask of outrage. “Yes, if you must, but don’t fornicate in the street like an animal.”
“Fornicate?” Mr Flynn hardened his tone. “I handed the lady down from a carriage. Since when is that considered disreputable?”
“Lady, begad? Only a harlot accompanies a man into a tavern.”
The words sliced through her with sabre-sharp precision. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. The truth was hard to hear, but she was not ashamed of her friendship with Mr Flynn. Kissing him felt like the most natural thing in the world.
