“That was absolutely wonderful,” Miss Faulkner said, her enthusiastic voice breaking through his thoughts and effectively scattering them.
He smiled at her, his heart more at peace than ever before now that he’d come to terms with his feelings and made a decision. He’d court her. With only four days left until her departure, he’d pull out all the stops and romance her until she was giddy. Because it was what she deserved but also because he knew time was of the essence.
The spectacle at Vauxhall had been as impressive as the garden itself. And then there was Mr. Donahue. After their distasteful encounter with Lady Katherine and Viscount Grafton, he’d showered her with attention, going so far as to purchase a red carnation for her.
“As lovely as the lady herself,” he’d murmured when he’d given it to her, his gaze meeting hers in a way that made her stomach turn cartwheels.
Now, seated in his carriage as they rode back to the hotel, she tried to muddle through his flirtatious manner, which had included the occasional touch of his hand against her elbow or lower back whenever they stopped to admire a statue or one of the fireworks bursting with bright light above their heads.
It was different from when they’d played billiards and even from when they’d skipped stones – more subtle somehow and less forceful. In fact, she considered his manner gently coaxing, as though she were a timid creature he hoped to lure, though not in a seductive way. And yet, it felt as if he wished to move beyond the bounds of friendship.
Baffled due to her inexperience with such matters, she wasn’t sure how to respond. With Grafton things had been clear – he’d wanted to get her into his bed. But with Mr. Donahue she sensed a different desire though she struggled to figure out what it might be.
“Thank you for a delightful evening,” he told her after walking her to her door a short while later.
Calista gazed at him, that edge she’d thought of earlier somehow closer than before. She stepped toward it and paused as fear overtook her. She could not afford to jump or to let herself fall. “Thank you, Mr. Donahue, for showing me some of London’s splendor and for saving me from that awful viscount.”
She added a smile for the sake of lightening the statement, but Mr. Donahue didn’t respond with humor. Instead his eyes darkened a fraction. He reached for her hand and raised her knuckles to his lips for a kiss while holding her captive with his gaze.
“I will always be ready to come to your rescue.”
Everything inside her stilled in response to his softly spoken words. It sounded like a promise, but how could he possibly make such a commitment when there would soon be an ocean between them? It made little sense and yet, because of the fierceness she saw in his eyes or perhaps because she’d already been leaning over that edge since the moment they met, Calista fell, utterly and completely.
21
After breakfast the next morning, Steven went back to his office. He’d slipped a note under Miss Faulkner’s door on his way downstairs, inviting her to join him once she was ready. His intention today was to make up for yesterday’s failed attempt at showing her the Hunterian. After the museum, he would take her to Gunther’s for an ice and then tonight, they’d visit the theatre.
It was, he admitted, a lot to squeeze into one single day, but there was so much he wanted to do with her, so much to share, and not nearly as much time as he wished in which to accomplish it all.
“How are the spectacles working for you?” he asked Pontoppidan when he joined Steven for their customary morning meeting.
“Very well, thank you.” The manager looked contrite as he faced Steven from the opposite side of the desk. “I’m terribly sorry about the trouble I’ve caused you. It ought not have happened.”
“No,” Steven agreed. “You should have said something to me. Please make sure to do so in the future.”
Relief captured Pontoppidan’s features, leading Steven to believe he’d feared getting sacked. “Of course, Mr. Donahue. I’ll never keep anything from you again.”
Satisfied with his response and assured of his loyalty, Steven went over some pertinent details with him, like the fact that it might be time to bump up the salaries, and how he hoped Pontoppidan would be able to take on more tasks in the future.
“I’ll want to be as hands-on with the final stages of construction in Bath as I was here,” he said, not mentioning another reason why he might soon have to be absent. “There’s a standard that must be kept – a reputation to be preserved. I trust I can count on you to do so when the time comes?”
“Of course, Mr. Donahue.”
A knock at the door interrupted the meeting and Steven’s pulse leapt in expectation of Miss Faulkner’s arrival.
Instead, a footman appeared. “There’s a Mr. Nigel Donahue to see you, sir.”
Steven clenched his jaw while absorbing that piece of unwelcome news. Nigel wasn’t supposed to arrive for several days yet. Instead, he’d shown up to interfere in what precious time Steven had left with Miss Faulkner.
Irritated, he told the footman to show his brother in, then returned his attention to his manager. “I believe we’ve covered everything of immediate importance. If you could please make sure an appropriate room is prepared for my brother? I believe he’ll be staying with us a few days.”
“Of course.” Mr. Pontoppidan stood and took his leave just as Nigel entered the room.
“Brother,” Nigel said, his smile as warm and wide as always. “It is so good to see you again.”
Having risen from his seat, Steven rounded his desk and extended his hand, which Nigel heartily shook. “Likewise. You look well.”
“Oh, indeed.” Nigel beamed with that same joie de vivre attitude he’d always managed to exude no matter how poorly things were actually going. Made it deuced hard to get an accurate read on him. “I’ve been looking forward to visiting you and to finally seeing how you decided to spend your inheritance. Must say, it’s rather showy, this hotel of yours. Then again, you always were more concerned for other people’s opinions than Edward and I, so it does make sense that you’d build to impress. Well, congratulations, Stevie. You’ve clearly outdone me again.”
Biting back an answering series of veiled insults, Steven forced a smile which strained his facial muscles due to its tightness. “Let’s have some coffee and then I’ll give you a tour.”
“A tour?” Nigel grinned as he dropped into the same chair Pontoppidan occupied earlier. “I hardly see the need for that, Stevie.”
“Would you please stop calling me that?” Nigel was the only person who’d ever used the diminutive version of Steven’s name, and somehow, because of his inflection, it always managed to make Steven feel like a sniveling infant.
Nigel tilted his head. “Just as somber as always, eh?”
Steven closed his eyes briefly and prayed he’d resist the temptation to strangle his brother before he departed once more. Which prompted another important question. “How long will you be staying?”
“Not long,” Nigel assured him. “Perhaps three days? You know I favor Leeds to London.”