Harry situated himself, setting his hat down beside him, and a bare moment later, Mrs. Vining entered with a tray. She set it on a table next to Miss Whitford’s chair. There were three glasses of some liquid and a plate of biscuits. He removed his gloves in anticipation of partaking and put them atop his hat.
“Thank you, Mrs. Vining, that will be all.” Miss Whitford picked up one of the glasses and handed it to Harry. “Lemonade?”
He didn’t particularly want any, but he also didn’t wish to be rude. “Thank you.” He took the glass and held on to it. “Where is Lady Gresham?”
“She had an errand to run, but I expect her back shortly.” Picking up a biscuit, Miss Whitford took a nibble as she contemplated Harry. Harry sipped his lemonade and nearly spit it out. It was the worst lemonade he’d ever tasted.
“What brings you here, Mr. Sheffield? I wasn’t aware you knew where we lived. But I suppose you would since your parents know our direction.”
“Just so,” he said, transferring the lemonade to his other hand when he really wanted to toss it into the hearth. “I came to invite Lady Gresham—and you, of course—to Spring Hollow. It’s a pleasure garden in Clerkenwell.”
“Why are you inviting her? And when? I mean, will we go in the afternoon or in the evening?”
“I thought the evening so we could see the fireworks. And I’m inviting both of you. Because I’d like to help you see London.”
Miss Whitford narrowed her eyes slightly, and they took on a sheen of steel, making her look older than Harry had thought her to be. “You came to invite Selina and are including me because you must. I am not a fool, Mr. Sheffield. You like my sister.”
Hell, if his family was frightening in their desire to match Harry, Selina’s was equally so in her desire to… investigate. Harry knew that when he saw it. But was she hoping for a match as his sisters were?
“I do,” he said cautiously. “I also like you.”
“It would probably be better if one of your sisters and her husband came along—for appearances. Perhaps Rachel and her husband wouldn’t mind joining us?”
Bloody hell. If Rachel came along, her efforts to push Harry and Selina together would be doubled. At least. And Harry didn’t need her. He wanted Selina.
On the other hand, if Rachel and Nathaniel were to come, Harry could find himself alone with Selina—they could chaperone Miss Whitford. Which meant…
Harry looked sharply at Miss Whitford. “It seems Lady Gresham’s family is as keen to play matchmaker as mine.” He laughed softly and nearly took another sip of lemonade before recalling it tasted like the Thames.
The steel returned to Miss Whitford’s gaze along with a chill. “My sister isn’t looking for a match, and I certainly wouldn’t presume to know her mind better than she. You would do well to remember that, Mr. Sheffield.” She finished her biscuit while continuing to pin him with her unsettling stare.
Harry received her message clearly—not only was Selina not interested in marriage, her sister would defend her in whatever way necessary. He inclined his head and reached for a biscuit, then thought better of it, returning his hand to his side.
Footsteps drew Harry to turn his head toward the doorway. Selina stepped inside, a vision of smart loveliness in a bold yellow walking dress trimmed in black and red.
Harry got to his feet, setting the lemonade back on the tray with no intention to retrieve it. “Good afternoon, Lady Gresham.”
“Mr. Sheffield, what a surprise to see you here.” She came farther into the room and glanced toward her sister, who rose from her seat.
“He came to invite us to Spring Hollow,” Miss Whitford said. “I’ll leave you to settle the details.” She gave Harry a charming smile that was completely at odds with the brusque young woman he’d just glimpsed. So much so that he wondered if he’d imagined her earlier coolness.
After she was gone, Selina moved toward the window. She turned to face him. “Spring Hollow? This is a purely social invitation?” She sounded a bit surprised—and perhaps flattered.
Harry told her the truth. “Not purely, but I need to pay a visit to Spring Hollow. Since you’ve offered to help with my investigation regarding the Vicar, I thought you would want to come along,” he said.
She took a step toward him. “Why do you need to go there?”
“An informer has asked to meet me there. He has information about the fire.”
“Indeed? That’s wonderful.”
He could see her enthusiasm and suppressed a smile. “Don’t feel too encouraged. Most information I receive is useless, but I shall hope this will be one time it is not.”
She clasped her hands in front of her. “How can I help?”
“I’m not sure. If nothing else, I just thought it would be nice to escort you—and Miss Whitford. I’ve heard it’s the nicest garden in Clerkenwell, that it’s been recently refurbished. There’s a new building with supper boxes and an orchestra. Fireworks too.”
“It sounds lovely. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Your sister suggested I invite Rachel and her husband to come along with us. For appearances.”
She gave him an arch look. “Do you have something planned?”
Harry walked slowly toward her. A dark heat sparked in her eyes that fueled his sudden desire. “Nothing specific. Perhaps we can strategize my investigation into the fire. I plan to conduct some interviews with witnesses and neighbors.” He stopped before he touched her, but only barely.
“That seems an excellent notion. Your commitment to solving this is commendable,” she added softly.
Was she pressing him or was his conscience doing so? He’d studied the law and moved to become a constable because he believed in truth and justice. And perhaps he had been blinded by emotion four years ago—and ever since.
“I lost someone in that fire,” he whispered.
Surprised flickered in the depths of her eyes. “Did you?” A moment passed before she said, “You won’t find them now.”
The frustration from earlier with Madame Sybila mixed with the old sensation of loss and anger. He had been a hermit. “I’m not looking for her.”
Harry’s body thrummed with the need to touch her. He lifted his hand to caress her cheek, but she tipped her head to the side, a spark flashing in her eyes.
“What are you looking for, Mr. Sheffield?”
“You.”
She took his hand—the one that remained at his side—entwining her fingers through his. Straightening, she closed the bare distance between them and pressed her lips to his.
He put his hand on her then, cupping her neck as he claimed her mouth. He was looking for her. He wanted her. Desperately. As the bloody fortune-teller’s words echoed in his mind, he clasped Selina to him and pushed the barriers around him away.
Selina’s hand curled around his neck, her fingers digging into his nape, as she kissed him back. Or he kissed her back—she’d started this.
Had she? He didn’t know. There didn’t seem to be a beginning. There would, however, be an end.
Harry pulled away, his breath coming fast.
“I’d be delighted to assist you in your investigation, Mr. Sheffield,” she said somewhat huskily. “My ‘associate’ skills are at your disposal.”