But the woman standing before him was slender, and the tendrils of hair that peeked out of her bonnet appeared to be fair—white gold. While there was no denying that she’d broken into his building, she smelled like the earth and wildflowers and springtime.

In a tone that brooked no argument, he said, “Do not move.”

He strode to the large picture window at the front of the building and yanked open the heavy, mite-filled drapes, bathing the room in pale moonlight. When he faced the intruder again, she gazed at him warily and clutched a pink reticule tightly in one hand. The gown she wore was the color of freshly sprouted grass, and the soft muslin clung to her willowy frame.

“What are you doing here in my building?” he asked, fairly certain that a lie was about to spout forth from her mouth.

She licked her lips nervously. “Actually, I wasn’t intending to come inside. I only wanted to peer in the window.”

Reese narrowed his eyes and let his gaze travel slowly around the room. “You were window shopping,” he said, not bothering to mask his skepticism. “Simply strolling down an alley late at night, looking for a new waistcoat? Maybe a cravat or two?”

“No,” she said, frowning. “Of course not. I’d heard that the shop was vacant and thought it might make a suitable location for my … that is, I…” She clamped her mouth shut before taking a breath and starting again—with more confidence. “I thought I might rent the space.”

He arched a brow, intrigued—and, perhaps, secretly pleased that she’d managed to surprise him.

“I’m Miss Kendall,” she said, thrusting a gloved hand toward him. “You must be Mr. Peabody.”

Reese kept his face impassive and reached for her hand. Curled his fingers around her palm. Held on a bit longer than was strictly necessary. “A pleasure,” he growled, not bothering to tell her that Mr. Peabody, the elderly tailor, had turned up his toes over a year ago.

“Are you a shop owner, Miss Kendall?” He walked to the smooth, old oak counter and lit the lamp there.

She hesitated. “No.”

When she didn’t elaborate, he sank into one of a pair of large leather armchairs and waved a hand at the other. “Care to sit?”

She gulped and hazarded a look at the worn seat before perching on the edge. “I must apologize for intruding. I didn’t expect the door to be unlocked, and when it swung open, I…”

“Decided to give yourself a tour?” he provided.

“Something like that.”

He reached for the snifter on the table next to him and took a swallow of brandy before offering the glass to her. “Care for a drink?”

She recoiled as if he’d offered a vial of venom. “No, thank you.”