Page 24 of A Flaming Lady's Secret Valentine
“You say that now. When I close my eyes, I see visions of a bloated Jane bobbing down the Thames.”
“Open your eyes and be quiet.” He faced the window again.
It was the middle of the afternoon, and Bond Street was absurdly busy. Clemens was driving at a snail’s pace, in part so they could check for Jane, in part because he had to avoid running shoppers over. Raphael grunted as the carriage slowed even more. He knocked on the roof, opening the door before Clemens had even stopped.
“What are you doing? Mr Travers?”
He ducked back into the carriage long enough to say, “Finding your maid. You can accompany me, or have Clemens drive you home.”
Raphael did not have to look behind him to know that Cecilia would be following him.
The heel of her shoe did not clear the step as she exited the carriage. Raphael darted forward to steady her. He released her just as quickly, looking over her head across the buzzing street, wondering whether her clumsiness was a gambit.
“It is like a menagerie…” He sucked in a breath and looked at Cecilia. “Where is Jane likely to have gone? What would have tempted her?”
Cecilia shrugged weakly. “I have not the faintest clue what she enjoys.”
Raphael scowled and began walking, his hand hovering behind Cecilia’s back as they wound through the crowd. “Is she not your lady’s maid?”
“Good man, there are quicker ways to tell me I am a snob—”
“That is not—” Raphael tutted as a gentleman pushed through them. His heart raced as he considered their predicament. This was no place for a lady: busy Bond Street, by his side. “It is too dangerous for you. Head back to the carriage and I will look for Jane on my own.”
She dragged her heels. “No, Mr Travers.”
“No, Lady Cecilia?”
“I am not leaving you. The sooner you make your peace with it, the sooner we will find Jane.” She gestured for them to keep walking, then stormed ahead. “Shall we?”
It seemed Raphael did not have a choice. They walked the length of Bond Street, surveying the stalls and peering into shop windows. But there was no sign of Jane. By the time they had made their first round, the bulk of the crowd had moved on, and Raphael felt he could breathe again. He led Cecilia to the other side of the road, where it was quieter. She hopped atop the pavement like a deer, and he smiled.
Everything she did either enchanted him or infuriated him.
She said nothing as they searched, but her worry and scorn were written over her face. He would apologise for his bad manners and prejudice later.
Drumming her gloved fingers against her lips, Cecilia walked ahead of him. She glanced through the windows of the shops: ‘La Douceur’ sweetshop, its shopfront decorated with gleaming marionettes and sweetmeats; ‘Wood’s Cobbler’, from which emanated the smell of freshly worked leather. She paused before the third, which was a small tea shop, the blue weather-beaten sign for which read ‘Miss Segdwick’s Teahouse & Co.’.
Suddenly, Cecilia hopped back, her eyes flashing open. “Merciful heavens!”
Raphael rushed to her side, peering through the shop window. Behind the glare, he espied Jane at a table. The maid was leisurely sipping at a cup of tea, divested of her bonnet, laughing at something the man sitting opposite her had said.
“She is with a friend,” Cecilia stammered beside him.
“Not a friend.” Raphael smirked. “Our Jane works fast.”
“Should we not go in and help her? What if that gentleman has accosted her?”
Jane giggled soundlessly again. Her companion was decently dressed, and he could only have been a year or two older than her. Their chemistry was natural, the type of rapport two people build over years. Or over weeks, as Cecilia and Raphael had proven. He tried not to dwell on that fact overlong.
“She does not look like a woman accosted,” Raphael said.
Cecilia groaned. “Women are the most natural actresses. Her smile could be a cry for help! That laugh could be a signal for us to come and save her!”
Raphael was taking too much pleasure in Cecilia’s discomfort. He turned from the window to look at her. “You smile and laugh a great deal around me. Is it a cry for help when you do it?”
She started and blushed, but quickly resumed her grumbling. “One would think it was. Oh, but never mind that! Tease me to your heart’s content, I am not leaving until I know that Jane is safe.”
As tempting as her offer was, Raphael had a book waiting for him—and a bigoted, short-tempered lord to avoid antagonizing. Smoothing out his jacket, he turned for the tea shop’s door.
