His hand dropped from her face, and he began tugging on his gloves. “It’s late. We should probably be off.”

Just like that, whatever magic spell they’d woven around each other was broken. Probably for the best.

He stood, reached down for her hand, and tugged her to her feet. They carried on as though the night had been nothing more than an outing between friends. But at least it seemed they were at last friends.

Without much bother, they found a hansom cab. Sitting practically snuggled against him seemed the most natural thing in the world.

When they arrived at her shop, she unlocked the door and smiled up at him. “Thank you for sharing my adventure, Mr. Sommersby.”

“It was my pleasure, Miss Trewlove.”

Once inside, she locked the door, leaned against it, and waited for the echo of his retreating footsteps. It seemed to take forever for them to sound. When they finally did, she rather wished that instead she’d heard a knock. For a chance to visit with him some more, she would have welcomed him in, even as she knew it would serve no good purpose.

Chapter 7

It was nearly two in the morning when Matthew let himself into his massive London residence. Having left the heavy mahogany door open so the light from the lamps lining the drive could at least chase back the shadows a bit so he could make out the shapes, he crossed over to a table, struck a match, and lit the waiting oil lamp. The residence had been built nearly a century and half earlier, so it didn’t have the convenience of gas lighting, which his terrace on Ettie Lane did. However, his terrace could easily fit into the foyer and front parlor while still leaving space for walking around their edges.

After closing the door, he lifted the lamp higher and glanced into the parlor. All the furniture, portraits, paintings, and statuettes were shrouded in white, giving the residence a ghostly feel that suited his mood. He didn’t want to see the portrait of Elise hanging over the fireplace or his ancestors looking judgmentally down on him as he began his journey along the hallway.

Ever since Elise had taken ill, sleep had been an elusive mistress, seldom on hand to give a man satisfaction. This night was no exception, but it was made worse by the fact that when it came to Miss Trewlove, he’d begun to feel like a royal arse. It was quite possible he’d misjudged her when it came to how she might endeavor to gain a husband. The more time he spent with her, the more she contradicted his notions about her.