Page 63 of Evil at the Essex House
There was a beat of silence. Then?—
“Why?” Crispin wanted to know, apprehensively.
“We have to try to look natural in case anyone’s watching. That was the idea we came up with.”
“Just two lovebirds looking for a spot of privacy for some slap and tickle,” Christopher said cheerfully. “Don’t say I never gave you anything, Crispin.”
“Yes,” Crispin said, sounding murderous, “I’ll definitely remember this.”
I sniffed. “So sorry to put you out, St George. Just close your eyes and think of Lady Laetitia.”
“While you close yours and imagine the handsome Count, I assume?”
He slapped a hand over mine on his arm, and pulled me alongside him towards the remains of the church. Behind us, everything was quiet as Christopher settled into the H6.
“Stop manhandling me, you brute,” I told him, and dragged my feet as best I could to slow him down. “The last thing I need is bruises.”
He scoffed. “You’re the one holding on to me, Darling. If anyone’s going to end up with bruises, I’m the one.”
I scoffed back. “Don’t be ridiculous, St George. I’m only holding on so tight because you’re dragging me along too fast for me to keep up. Eager, are you?”
That, as I had surmised, slowed him down. And while it was hard to tell in the dark, I think his cheekbones might have darkened a bit, too.
“That’s preposterous, Darling.”
I sniggered. “Oh, is it?”
He shot me a look. “It’s not as if anything is actually going to happen, is it?”
It didn’t sound like a question, more like a challenge, and I snorted. “Of course not.”
“So what would I be eager for, precisely? The pleasure of your company?”
I smirked. “Now, now, St George. Don’t you like me?”
He made a little noise that might have been irritation or perhaps exasperation. Or perhaps it was simple amusement. “About as much as you like me, Darling.”
The church tower loomed ahead, and I pointed to it. “In there.”
Crispin glanced around, surreptitiously, before he ducked through the door and pulled me in after him. I giggled a little, since—if someone were in hearing distance—they might expect that.
Of course, if someone was in hearing distance, they would have heard the rest of the conversation, too.
Then again, everyone was forever accusing us of flirting, so maybe it wouldn’t matter.
“Over there,” I pointed, before my eyes had adjusted to the gloom inside the windowless tower. “Stairs going up.”
He pulled me after him across the floor until we practically ran into the bottom step. The floor was more uneven than I had realized when I’d been able to see it. “Oops.” Crispin sniggered and regained his balance by holding on to me. “Up you go, Darling.”
I started up, and heard him stumble along behind me. After a few steps, the gloom lifted as the ambient light from above bled down the stairs. By the time we reached the top, I felt like I could breathe again.
I could also look around the platform and see that we were alone. The kidnappers had not decided to take a leaf out of our book, it seemed, and hide themselves at the top of the tower until the ransom was paid. It had crossed my mind that they might. I might have, had it been me. But we were alone on the tower, peering past the balustrade at the bricks of Tower Bridge in one direction, and the lights of the north embankment on the other.
“Nice,” Crispin commented, for once not sounding like he was being snide or sarcastic or anything else.
I nodded. It was nice. Romantic, even. The moon was a waxing crescent, a thin scythe low in the sky, and the lighted windows across the Thames reflected in the ripples of water. In the dark, we couldn’t tell that the river was murky and disgusting. The scene looked beautiful and peaceful as I leaned on the balustrade and enjoyed the view.
Of course, that was only until Crispin came up behind me and slid an arm around me to prop himself against the balustrade, in a way that left me boxed in, with his body on one side of me and his arm on the other.
