Bertie grimaced and raised his own cup of tea. “I cannot think how you can enjoy such a concoction so early in the morning. Too sweet by half for me.”

“I like it. Have you heard anything?” She could not ascertain whether he knew about the kiss or not. His face had given nothing away—not last night, nor this morning.

That kiss. Her first ever. She resisted touching her lips.

Daniel Swann had kissed her.

And she had kissed him right back.

Oh, she knew he had only been thinking of avoiding detection by Mr. Beck. There had been nothing but professional expediency behind the kiss, and yet …

Even now her pulse fluttered and her skin felt too tight. She could not stop thinking about the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the slight rasp of his skin where his beard came through, the feel of his hands in her hair. He had been solid and shielding and strong, his arms sheltering her, his body protecting her. Though she had taken a knock to the head, it was his nearness—and the wonderfulness of his kiss—that had made her knees turn to putty and her wits fly away.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” Bertie tapped the folded newspaper beside his plate.

She stirred, chocolate tipping over the edge of her cup onto her saucer. “My apologies. I was woolgathering. As you say, it was a late night.”

“You asked if there was news, and there is indeed, if you are ready to pay attention.” A dent formed between his brows as he studied her, and she straightened her shoulders and tried to appear bright and attentive.

“The raid on the warehouse made the papers. What hasn’t hit the presses yet is that there is a warrant out for Jasper Finch’s arrest, and word has it that a cache of explosives and a plot to blow up another factory have been uncovered.”

“How do you know all this? It’s barely past sunup.”

“Our network never sleeps. Haverly has been keeping his eye on developments and apprising me of what I need to know. He’ll be expecting your report later today when he calls by.”

A report. What should she say? She could give her impressions of the event, the way Mr. Finch had roused the crowd to a fever pitch. And she would have to explain how she escaped the building.

But she wouldn’t have to mention the kiss, would she?