Page 13 of The Return of the Rake

“He mentioned going to Whitstable to visit an old friend,” she said reluctantly. “If that’s the case, I’d expect him home by the weekend.”

King digested this, resigning himself to at least three more days in Little Valentine. “Thank you, Miss Marwick. You’ve been most helpful.”

She nodded, looking rather irked by the notion, which amused him.

“Are you on your way to the hotel for the musical recital?” he asked.

Miss Marwick stared at him in surprise.

“I’m staying there. Mrs Adamson mentioned there was an event on today. I’m to stay clear of the dining room,” he explained, enjoying wrong-footing her once more. She really did not seem to know what to make of him, but he doubted any of her conclusions would be favourable, and rightly so.

“It’s The Venturesome Ladies Club,” she said, watching his expression closely. “And yes, I am.”

“Then I shall walk with you, if you will permit me.”

“I don’t see that I have much choice,” she remarked dryly, but strode along the cobbled street as King noted the shops they passed.

Mr and Mrs Doomsday’s haberdashers was still going strong. Bagot the butcher, the baker’s shop, the cheese shop, all was as before, except for one thing.

“That’s new,” he observed. “Since when has there been such a smart dress shop in Little Valentine?”

“I do not know. Since I’ve been here anyway,” she replied. “You know this place? Alfie never told me that.”

King grinned, holding open the door to the hotel. “Born and bred, and Alfie didn’t know,” he told her with a wink, before following her in.

The sound of women’s voices reached him, and he peered towards the dining room with interest.

“Well, this is where I leave you. Good day to you, Mr King,” she said, looking relieved.

“Miss Marwick,” he replied, inclining his head slightly.

“Mr King, was there something you wanted?”

King turned, his day becoming markedly better as he took in the sight of Mrs Adamson.

She was dressed superbly in a gown of fine white cambric, heavily trimmed with Vandyke lace, the quality of which King was quite aware, having done more than a little trade in smuggled French fabric over the years. Three bands of embroidered cambric pulled in the full sleeves at intervals, and a muslin sash, prettily arranged beneath her bust, drew attention to a splendid décolletage. She looked like a sweet confection made of meringue and whipped cream and his mouth fairly watered at the sight of her.

“The temptation to reply to that question honestly is almost more than I can bear,” he replied, his voice low so only she could hear, as his gaze travelled slowly over her.

A hectic blush stained her fair skin, and he wondered how often she cursed her propensity to colour, for her complexion was the snowy white of a true redhead. A faint sprinkling of freckles danced whimsically over her nose like a scattering of tiny stars, a detail he found ridiculously charming.

“Then I must be grateful for your restraint,” she replied coolly, her green eyes flashing. “Ring the bell if you require anything reasonable. Mr Cogger will see to you.”

“Cogger, of course.” King grinned. “I meant to ask you how my old friend fared since you stole him away from me?”

“Stole him?” she replied indignantly. “I think not. I believe he ran as fast as his legs could carry him.”

King chuckled, delighted by her. “Did he, indeed? And little wonder. The filth of the rookeries is no match for a cosy place like this with such splendid company. I’m tempted to stay myself.”

“I cannot tell you how gratified I am to hear my hotel meets with your approval,” she said, and with such insincerity he had to fight not to laugh. “Now, if you would excuse me. I have business to attend to.”

She left him, with a swish of skirts and a rustle of lace and petticoats.

“Glorious,” King murmured under his breath, wondering when he’d ever been so captivated by a woman.

That she was a lady was beyond doubt. Her bearing was that of a duchess, her accent the real thing, not carefully sculpted by years of endeavour, and yet she was here running a hotel. He wondered what the staid ladies of the town made of her and hoped they were not unkind, though he knew well enough how anyone who did not conform to certain standards would be crucified by their tattling tongues.

Somehow, though, he thought Mrs Adamson was up to their weight. Certainly she was still here, and making a grand success of her business too, by the looks of things. Admiration for her flamed to life inside him, making him wish to know more about the woman Mrs Fairway had begged him to help that night. Much more. Just how bold was she, he wondered, a smile curving his lips as he realised spending another few days in Little Valentine might not be such a hardship after all.