Victoria released his arm and stepped to the opposite side of the study door. He opened and closed his hand, flexing his forearm, the ghost of her touch branding him and applying a spark to the tinder of attraction simmering between them. As usual, he ignored it.
Victoria smiled. Not a polite, simpering smile. He wasn’t sure she even had the skill for such. Her smile was one of such warmth and energy that blood hummed through Garrick as if he’d downed a carafe of Arabian coffee.
Had Garrick ever seen Sir Hawkins smile out of simple happiness? He stifled a guffaw at the thought. Sir Hawkins was not a sunny, happy man. And neither was Garrick. He didn’t have the luxury of happiness. Life was a struggle and mostly unfair, and nothing in his recent experience had contradicted that theory.
Yet Victoria’s mere existence proved there was light and goodness and beauty in the world. How some London dandy hadn’t snapped her off the marriage mart was a great mystery of the universe.
He resumed his stance of casual alertness, and she mimicked him, propping her shoulder against the wall and crossing her arms. His gaze dipped to her décolletage, which her arms framed rather deliciously even though her bodice was modest. He snapped his attention back to her face.
“Thomas.” No one called him Thomas but her. “You were lurking.”
Her voice held a sultry, husky quality that hinted at a passion barely constrained by her innocence. How he envied the man who would have the honor of unleashing her ardor and nurturing her natural curiosity. The intimacy should not be allowed, yet he did nothing to correct her.
“I apologize for frightening you.” He kept his voice low and soothing. “However, I wasn’t lurking. I was standing here clear as day, but you were woolgathering.”
“I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings. Father would be disappointed in me.” The look she cast him through her lashes was unintentionally flirtatious. Or was it intentional? His ruminations on the possibility were interrupted when she asked, “Has Father tasked you with holding up the wall for the duration of the day?”
“I shall endeavor to keep it from toppling upon your head.”
“That seems like a waste of your considerable talents.” Her gaze flicked across his shoulders and chest, and his muscles tensed in response. “But I imagine you will do an admirable job.”
What did the gleam in her eyes mean? Was she comparing him to the foppish men who came to call on her in their tailored frock coats? Most of them had never known a day of real labor. How did he measure up against the gentlemen of her acquaintance?
In his line of work, brawn was an asset, and while Garrick hadn’t been gifted with breeding or luck, he had brawn in spades. He was taller than most men, many inches taller than Victoria, and held no illusions as to his looks. His nose had been broken his first day in the orphanage as a welcome from the older boys. Every time he stared into the looking glass, the crook was a reminder of how quickly happiness could be snatched away.
Unlike some of his comrades, he would never be called upon to don proper attire and pass for a gentleman. He was known as Hawk, the silent protector.
“Is Father working at the house today?” Victoria tucked a springy curl behind her ear.
“He is in his study,” Garrick said vaguely. Sir Hawkins was secretive and tight-lipped, and even Garrick never knew what to expect from day to day. He’d learned to think on his feet and be prepared for anything.
“I suppose you know we have been invited to a yuletide house party by Mr. and Mrs. Barclay at their manor in Bedfordshire. Will you be accompanying us?”
“I should think not.” While he’d spent years in Hawkins’s household, he wasn’t part of the family. Yet he wasn’t a servant either. Much like his old tutor, Garrick was caught between worlds.
Sir Hawkins had made sure Garrick’s education was well-rounded and in depth, covering mathematics, history, and weaponry. Not altruistically, of course. Sir Hawkins had reaped the rewards of Garrick’s skills many times over since war with France had broken out.
A crinkle appeared between Victoria’s eyes. “Please tell me Father is not sending you off somewhere distant and dangerous.”
“I don’t believe so, but…” Garrick shrugged. If Sir Hawkins had plans for him, he wasn’t aware of them.
“I worry one day you won’t come home.” Victoria bit the fullness of her lower lip and met his gaze squarely.
It wasn’t unusual for Garrick to return from missions a bit bruised and the worse for wear, but he hadn’t known Victoria noticed. A vulnerability and awareness of their difference in station hit him like a punch to the chest. “This isn’t my home.”
A puzzled look crossed her face. Of course Victoria was aware he’d been orphaned, but he’d never discussed his parents. His life was defined as before and after the tragedy, and even though years had gone by, the loss had the ability to eviscerate his lungs and make it difficult to draw a steady breath.
“But where will you spend the yuletide?”
“I expect I’ll remain in London.”
“Have you… friends in town to make merry with?” The slight hitch in her voice was a chink in her usual confidence.
“Of course.” Lies. He couldn’t name a single person he would feel comfortable calling upon socially. Agents of the Crown made for terrible friends. None of them trusted one another. It was difficult to make merry when constantly on guard against a double cross.
“I see.” Her gaze skated away from him.
What did she see? He wanted to take her by the shoulders and force her to look at him, to strip away the polite, slightly distant facade they’d erected two years ago. Ever since— No, he couldn’t allow himself to revisit their brief moment of madness.
At least not while standing within arm’s length of her. The temptation to engage in another bout of madness was all too strong. He would only allow himself to relive every glorious, agonizing second at night in bed. Alone.
He couldn’t afford entanglements of any kind. His solitary existence was a necessary part of his job. Emotional ties could be manipulated and twisted until desperate choices were forced to be made.
By comparison, Victoria’s social circle was extensive. All manner of ladies came to call in the afternoons, young and old, peeresses and cits. Victoria was the sun, drawing others into her orbit like planets. She could converse on fashion and politics with equal insight. Ladies tripped over themselves to have her ear. It was unfortunate Sir Hawkins didn’t possess his daughter’s charm to coax secrets directly from their sources.
“I’m looking forward to leaving London for the country air. I’m tired of choking on coal smoke,” Victoria said, her own tone turning as brisk and cool as the winter’s wind.
“Won’t you miss the merriments of town?”
A shadow darkened her features before her lips quirked in a small, wry smile. “I will welcome the change in scenery and hopefully find some peace. I confess, even in December, I find London exhausting.”
The hairs on his nape wavered. His natural instincts had been honed by years of confronting subterfuge. What—or who—was she looking to escape? “Is there something amiss?”
“Of course not.” Once more, she avoided meeting his eyes.