His mouth twitched. She was almost certain of it. It was barely there; the faintest suggestion of something that might, in a different light, be construed as wanting to become a smile, and it was gone before she could point to it with any confidence.
He was also standing too close. She had not moved, and neither had he. Somewhere in the course of the past couple of minutes, the distance between them had contracted into something thatwould have been entirely unremarkable in a ballroom—one could scarcely avoid proximity in a crush.
But here… it was considerably more noticeable.
Here, she could see the faint, wind-raised color along his jaw. She could see that he was scrutinizing every inch of her face with an intensity she had never seen before.
“How are you getting home?” he said at last.
“There is a carriage waiting.”
“Where?” He asked.
The confidence in his tone was another annoyance that lent an edge to her tone when she replied with, “Nearby.”
“Where.” It was not a question now; he was demanding.
She exhaled through her nose. “Two streets east. Exactly where you suggested it would be, which I notice you have not gloated about.”
“The night is young.” He stepped back, and the air between them returned to its ordinary character. “I’ll walk you to it.”
Caroline did not like the way her pulse skipped at his suggestion. She really did not want to spend any more time in his presence.
“That is entirely unnecessary.”
“Undoubtedly.” He gestured, briefly, toward the far end of the alley. “Shall we?”
“I said?—”
“Lady Caroline,” he uttered, more persistently this time.
He looked at her, and there was something so completely settled in his expression, so entirely absent from negotiation, and she understood.
She could argue until the Thames froze, and he would simply continue to stand there waiting to escort her, on and on into eternity, with that aggravating, immovable patience of his.
She made a sound that was not quite a groan and put her hat back on. She tucked her hair up beneath it, jabbing the last loose strand under the brim with perhaps more force than was strictly required, and walked.
He followed, at what she was forced to concede was a discreet distance—five paces back, far enough to avoid any suggestion of accompaniment to any passing observer.
He is very good at this.
At the whole exercise of it. The management of appearances, the calibrated distance, the practiced invisibility. She supposed it was a skill one developed if they spent enough evenings in districts they were not supposed to be in.
She found the carriage without mishap.
Laura’s face appeared the moment she pulled the door open, white, relieved, and verging on the kind of panic that had already done all its work and was now tidying up after itself.
“You’re all right,” Laura breathed. “I could not leave without you. Even though you told me to go, I knew I should not leave you behind. Get in, get in?—”
Caroline did as was requested. The carriage lurched forward the moment the door latched, and she sensibly did not look out the window as they pulled away from the curb.
Until she could not resist chancing a glance over her shoulder.
There he was, standing where she’d left him, a still figure against the dark street, hands in his coat pockets, watching the carriage go.
He didn’t raise his hand. He didn’t do anything at all. He simply watched, and then the carriage turned the corner, and he was gone.
“What did he say?” Laura demanded.