Chapter 11 #2
(Even years later, I do not retract that statement. It has proved true time and again.)
But Harden let out a long breath and sat back, looking more thoughtful than anything else.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He shook his head and considered his mug, which appeared to be empty. “I’m Harren, through and through. I forget not everyone loves this city as I do.”
“It has its qualities,” I assuaged. “There is a reason I chose to stay here, temporary though it is. Old Harrow is beautiful.”
A smile touched the corner of his mouth. It revealed a dimple in his left cheek, startlingly boyish.
“I’ll say no more on the Common Force,” he said. “You know my mind and I know yours now. We’ll let it be.”
I nodded, grateful, and lifted my mug in a salute.
“You and Lewis must be close to leaving, though,” he said.
I nodded again. “I believe so.”
“Then you’d better have me while you can,” Harden said, waving down the serving girl again. He spoke so nonchalantly, so practically, it took me a moment to understand. “Limited opportunity, Miss Fleet.”
I startled, very nearly offended, but the look he cast me out of the corner of his eye smothered the feeling before it could root. His grin was crooked and wry, that dimple on display again, and his posture easy, without threat. Any tension from our conversation lost its edge.
I found myself choking on a laugh, and was still smiling when the girl refilled our mugs. I was not blushing; the heat in my cheeks was certainly from the alcohol, and nothing else.
We spoke of lighter things then, and time began to slip past me. We fell into commentary on the other patrons, some of which Harden knew and could effectively gossip over. This carried us through another drink before I recalled my pocket watch and realized the lateness of the hour.
The heat in my cheeks faltered with a wash of cold reality.
Mr. Wake. Mr. Wake was waiting for me, and I was horrifically late.
I rose, concealing my haste. “I should go, Mr. Harden. Thank you for a diverting evening.”
“I’ll take you home,” Harden said, picking up his jacket, which he had discarded over the back of his chair.
“That is not necessary,” I chided, digging in my pocket for a few coins, which I cast on the table to pay for my drinks.
He frowned at the coins, then me. “Said something wrong, did I?”
I shook my head, more sincerely than I intended. My tongue, however, was quick to lie, “No, no. I really must be getting home. My… ah, cat, you see. I must let him in. The neighbor has been threatening to toss him off the roof if he howls at her window one more night.”
“I’ll walk you,” he restated, his voice firm. “Where do you live?”
I relented, ostensibly to speed the matter along, but if I was frank with myself, I did not want to be alone. Not in the dark streets. And not with Wake lying in wait.
I pondered the latter as we set off and I directed Harden over the bridge to New Harrow.
I even parted my lips to tell Harden about Wake, to tell him everything, as the dark water swept below us and the wind tugged at my hair.
His presence beside me was a comfort I had not known I needed, and yet his company had opened a well of loneliness that left me more vulnerable than ever.
My rational self, however, shook into wakefulness before we reached Mr. Stoke’s office. I was tired, and lonely, and therefore subject to fleeting fits of emotion. It could mean nothing.
I stopped outside Mr. Stoke’s office door.
“You live here?” Harden questioned, dubious.
“In the apartments above,” I lied. “It is very convenient.”
He made a noncommittal sound, but seemed to believe me. “Can I see you again? Tomorrow? Overmorrow?”
My heart had a traitorous little fit. “Both are rather soon.”
“Take advantage of me while you can, Miss Fleet. As I said.”
“That is not precisely what you said,” I reminded him, but my gaze had strayed to his mouth. My nerves were fraught, imagining Wake on the other side of that door. Between my anxiety and my fatigue, I was unhinged—that is my excuse for what I did next.
I reached up and, putting a cool hand around the back of his head, pulled him down for a kiss.
I made it a good kiss. I had little practical experience with such things, but I had studied my salacious novels quite devotedly, and the gentle press, pause and linger of the act felt quite natural. It was pleasant.
My calculated intentions, however, fled as soon as he kissed me back.
His hands cupped my head in turn, a quick, hungry movement that pulled my chest flush to his and drew me right up onto my toes.
He took my lower lip between his with a brush of tongue, then delivered softer, subtler kisses to the corner of my mouth, my upper lip, back to my lower.
I staggered a little as he released me. His hand dropped to my upper arm, steadying, and I blinked at him in a haze.
My blood raced for an entirely new reason, and I found myself oddly tremulous, too hot and too close to him and yet not close enough.
My imagination, such a helpful instrument, produced several vivid images of what we might do next, and it was all I could do not to reach for him again.
I had not thought of Lewis during that kiss. I was now, obviously, but only to reflect on his absence.
It was eminently freeing. Intoxicatingly freeing.
Harden broke me from my rambling thoughts to point at the door beside us. “I’ll be here, eight o’clock.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow night. I am taking you out,” he stated, grinning broadly. There was something behind his eyes though, a rawness that had not been there before. Something hesitant. Something that was not sure how I would react to this little encounter, despite his bravado.
I composed myself, though my insides felt rather gelatinous, and my knees were not doing their part in stabilizing me.
“Very well,” I consented.
He touched his hat and left, glancing back once as the sound of the door opening drifted down the street. He slowed, I noted from the corner of my eye, and watched discreetly until I closed the door and he was blocked from sight.
In the darkness on the other side, I threw the bolt and put my back to the door.
I had one moment, one breath in the dark, to shove aside my thoughts of Harden and the kiss and Lewis, and to ram steel into my knees.
“Mr. Wake?” I called. “I have arrived.”