She didn’t know what was driving her, knew only that she wasn’t where she wanted to be. Dashing through the front parlor, where low light greeted her, she rushed into her bedchamber and came to a stop at the window, the draperies falling on either side of it.

Warmth, joy, and relief swamped her at the sight of Mr. Sommersby standing with his arms upstretched and spread wide, his hands pressing against the window casings. In spite of the late hour, he was still awake, looking out, the unbuttoned cuffs causing his sleeves to have slipped down to his elbows, his throat visible because of his disheveled state, and she wondered if he’d been waiting for her return. Placing her forehead to the cool glass, she feared he’d think her forward if she were to knock on his door at this late hour. It was ridiculous how much she longed to speak with him, to tell him of her night.

Then he was gone.

But still she stood there, waiting for him to douse the light before crawling into bed. Was any man with whom she’d danced thinking of her at the moment? Did they wonder if she’d gone to her slumber, if she’d carried them into her dreams? She wouldn’t. Not a single one. But Mr. Sommersby—

A looming shadow caught her attention, charging through the mews with a purpose to his stride. It sent her heart into a gallop, a pace that only quickened when she heard the pounding on the back door that led into the storeroom. Delivery men used that entrance so as not to disturb any customers. But for a gent who lived around the corner, it was the most direct route to her shop.

She rushed from her rooms and down the stairs, the litany “I’m coming, I’m coming,” reverberating through her mind until she reached the wide portal, shoved back the bolt, and swung it open. The light from the streets barely reached here, and she hadn’t thought to turn up the gaslights, so he was almost lost to the shadows, and yet still she felt she saw him clearly.

“I wanted to ensure you were all right.” His voice came out strained, as though he’d been in fear of her life, as though she’d gone on safari and spent the evening facing wild animals that were intent on devouring her. Perhaps she had.

“I survived and am none the worse for wear.” She stepped back. “Do come in. The fog is making it chilly out there.” It wasn’t yet so thick as to make it difficult to see, but wisps of it were floating in.