“She has rallied a little,” I said, forcing myself to focus. “Dr. McLeod is taking good care of her, as is Miss Grant.”

“We must find them a safe haven,” he said.

“I have written to Lady Davenport,” I said, and told him my plan to take them to Charlotte’s estate. “It is, I think, the best way forward for the moment, and she is the model of discretion.”

“Thank you for taking so much care of Hester and hiding her from our brother. I cannot tell you…” He ducked his head, the relief, I think, overcoming him for a moment. When he looked up, he was smiling again. “Well, I can tell you it is greatly appreciated.” He took in my disguise. “So, I take it you are not Mr. Anderson this time.”

I had been Mr. Anderson on one of our other adventures, but he had been a man of means, unlike my current pretense. “Jessup, at your service,” I said, bowing. “And you?”

“I like to stay with the classics—Lennox.”

I touched the side-whiskers I had glued upon my face. Still intact. We were a suitably scruffy pair for the task ahead.

He cocked his head. “You seem a little perturbed.”

“Just the excitement of it.” I was not about to explain what I had just seen, or the unseemly agitation it had prompted. “What is the plan?”

“We are to be foxed fellows tonight, sharing a quart,” he said, giving the cheap earthenware flagon a shake. “I hope you do not mind sharing?”

“Not at all,” I said, although the only shared vessel I ever drank from was the Holy Communion chalice. An experience that, for me, no longer held any intimacy with community or God. This sharing, however, already felt intimate: to be drinking from the same vessel, my lips touching the place where his had been. My lips pressed upon his: I blinked at the sudden memory of our kiss outside the asylum after we had rescued his sister.

“Here.” He offered the flagon.

I grasped the handle. Our fingertips touched, the connection jolting through me as if electrified. He must have experienced the same, for he snatched back his hand with a low, surprised laugh that made me want to take a step closer.

Dear God. Was this going to happen every time we touched?

He clenched the offending hand as if trying to stop the sensation. We both stood, motionless, still caught in that heart-stopping moment.

Finally he drew in a breath and said softly, “I would very much like to kiss you now.”

I swayed closer, my eyes upon his lips. But no. I pulled back. “Probably not the best time for Mr. Jessup and Mr. Lennox to be kissing,” I said. “In the street.”

“No.” Our eyes met in regret, the kiss still within them.