Page 64 of Evil at the Essex House
I stiffened—who wouldn’t?—and he leaned closer and put his mouth close to my ear. “Relax, Darling. We want to look authentic, don’t we? In case someone’s watching.”
“No one is watching us from this direction,” I pointed out. There was nothing down below but wharfs and warehouses and the water. It was the other side of the church tower, with the street, and the train station, not to mention the bridge, where there would be people possibly watching.
Where Hiram Schlomsky would arrive to drop off the ransom, and where the kidnappers, presumably, would arrive to pick it up.
“But a pair of turtledoves,” Crispin said smoothly, “would be looking this way, admiring the ripples on the water. Romantic, isn’t it?”
His arm tightened on my waist, and his breath tickled the hair at my ear. I shivered and nudged him back a step with my elbow. “Stop breathing on me.”
“That’s going to be difficult when I’m supposed to look like I’m making love to you, Darling.” His voice was amused.
I rolled my eyes. “There’s nobody up here. You don’t have to pretend.”
“Perhaps I enjoy pretending.”
Perhaps he did. Or perhaps he just liked to see how far he could push me before I snapped. If that was the case, I had better nip this in the bud before it went any further.
“I mean it, St George,” I said, “you had better not think you can take advantage of the situation to?—”
He rolled his eyes. “We have an hour to kill before anything is likely to happen downstairs, Darling. How do you suggest we spend the time?”
“Not by you breathing on me and making suggestive remarks,” I said.
He huffed. “What’s it going to be, then? A game of pinochle, perhaps? Did you bring a deck of cards?”
“Of course I didn’t,” I said. “I was on a date when you picked me up, wasn’t I?”
“Of course you were.” His tone was sour. “And I’m sure His Highness kept you well occupied, didn’t he?”
“He certainly did,” I said pleasantly. “He told me all about his bragging scar and where he got it, for one thing. They’re a sign of bravery, you know.”
My tone indicated, as best I could, that he wouldn’t know bravery if he fell over it.
He rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. Skirmish in the trenches? Saving fair maidens from fleeing bandits? Jealous husband?”
I snorted. “Hardly. Just a standard Mensur duel at Heidelberg.”
“Probably leaned into it,” Crispin said, “just so he could brag about having it later.”
Quite so. “He’s not such a bad bloke, you know.”
“I’m certain he’s perfectly lovely,” Crispin said, “and we’d be fast friends and drinking companions in other circumstances. But as it is…”
“Which circumstances are those?”
He glanced at me, and I continued. “Under which circumstances would you be fast friends and drinking companions? Or rather, which are the circumstances under which you can’t?”
“He’s either trying to get under your skirt, or trying to take you back to Germany with him,” Crispin said. “You can’t imagine that any of us are all right with that.”
“He’s made no move to get under my skirt. And he hasn’t proposed, either.”
Hehadsuggested that I pay Germany a visit, and that I stay with him at Schloss Natterdorff when I did, but it would perhaps be better if I didn’t mention that right now.
“Biding his time,” Crispin said. “Besides, it’s hard to get under someone’s skirt in the Savoy dining room.”
“I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you?”
“Don’t be insulting, Darling.” He grinned. “I’m far too well bred to try that sort of thing in that sort of setting. That’s what grotty nightclubs in Soho are for.”
