Page 87 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
“Yet you want me to accompany you to Canada. I’ll be the first to acknowledge that there is some danger in my participating in this investigation, even with you there to protect me. But I’ll warrant the risk is comparable to that ocean crossing.”
Michael gazed at her, struggling to summon up a counterargument. In truth, she was probably right.
“And then,” Anne continued, “once we reach Canada, there are a host of potential dangers. Disease. Frostbite. Why, I’m given to understand there’s a rather spectacular story of you being charged by a bear that I’m yet to hear.”
“I can protect you from bears.”
“You cannot be with me every second of the day. Nor can you wrap me up in cotton gauze and put me on a high shelf for safekeeping.”
“I wish I could,” he grumbled.
She squeezed his waist. “I know you do. But I refuse to hide in my parlor all day drinking tea and embroidering flowers. You have accepted the risks inherent in bringing me to Canada because your work there is important. It’s the same for me. I have accepted a small degree of risk in order to run my society. Because the work I’m doing is important, too.”
She leaned back to look up at him. “I know you don’t mean badly. But you have to find a way to get past this. It’s important. For us. Because this is every bit as big an obstacle to our having a future together as figuring out where we’re going to live.”
Michael bowed his head. “It’s hard for me, Anne. But”—he swallowed—“if this is truly what you want—”
“It is.”
He peered down at her. “And there is no possibility you could want something else?”
“Absolutely none.”
He sighed. “I had the feeling that was the case. I will try, Anne.”
“Thank you for that. And look at the situation I find myself in tonight. I’ve got to go to Lambeth and search for Nick, but I’ll be honest—I don’t want to do it alone.” She looped her arms around his neck. “You’re the only one who can help me. Won’t you please do this, Michael?” She looked up at him beseechingly. “For me?”
In an instant he was defeated. Routed by a pair of gorgeous brown eyes.
That didn’t mean he had to like it. “That’s—that’s not fair!”
“Does that mean it’s working?” she asked brightly.
“You know full well it is,” he grumbled. “I would have thought such techniques were beneath you. Where did you learn to manipulate a man like this, anyways?”
“From my mother. She does it to my father all the time.”
“Dear God, you learned from the master.”
She twined her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Come now, don’t look so grumpy about it. After all, if you help me, I’m bound to be feeling very grateful when we get back home.”
This got his attention. “Grateful, you say? Just how grateful do you think you’ll be?”
She smiled as she leaned forward, pressing her breasts into his chest. “Very, very, extremely grateful. So grateful that I will doubtless be searching for some appropriate means through which to express my gratitude.”
“I’ll have some suggestions, should you require them,” he said before he captured her lips with his own.
Chapter 32
A half hour later they alighted from a hackney carriage on the east bank of Westminster Bridge.
Michael felt a trickle of hope as they approached a smart building with four columns, each topped with a statue in the classical style. The words “Coade and Sealy’s” were carved into the stone facade. Although the windows were darkened at this hour, the neighborhood was clearly a respectable one. “Is this it, then?” he whispered to Anne.
She shook her head. “That’s the gallery. The kiln is five hundred yards downriver.”
He grunted. Of course it was. Knowing his luck, it was probably between a row of basement gin shops and a cockfighting ring.
Once they cleared the handful of houses near the bridge, the landscape opened up. Truth be told, it wasn’t as bad as Michael had feared. It was industrial, to be sure, but not especially seedy, with deserted timber yards to their left and open fields to their right.
