She scrunched her nose playfully. “Nah, not really. I’m bein’ polite, seein’ that you’re one of them, and I’ve roughed you up well enough.”
A gruff laugh escaped his lips. “Rest assured, I am quite used to it,” he remarked, still intimately holding her gaze. “I’ve already endured more than my share of elbowing from the public given that I’m British. Too many Americans still remember the burning of Washington, but I swear to you I didn’t do it.”
Georgia burst into laughter, smitten with his marvelously wry humor. “Ah, now, can you readily blame them? You Brits are nothin’ but gadflies cloaked in a fancy accent.”
He paused and leaned in, heatedly searching her face without any further attempt to mask his unabashed interest. “Might I cease being polite for one brief moment and ask whether you would like to join me for coffee over at my hotel? It’s been quite some time since I have allowed myself a moment of leisure. Honor me.”
The wistful intensity lingering within that taut face was so galvanizing, it sent a tremor through her body. Though tempted to glimpse how the other half lived over the rim of a porcelain cup, she knew better than to involve herself with a man who wore silver buttons. It would never last beyond the toss of her skirts and a single night.
She eyed the people weaving past. “I don’t mean to be rude, sir, given that you’ve been nothin’ but kind, but I really ought to go. I’ve a long day ahead of me.” She gestured toward the pavement as if that explained everything.
His hopeful expression melted to disappointment. “I understand and will detain you no more.” He inclined his head, touching the tips of his gloved fingers to the satin rim of his hat. “I bid you a very good day, madam.”
By all that was blue, his manners were as divine as the rest of him. “And a very good day to you, as well, sir. I appreciate the unexpected service you rendered my bonnet.”
His mouth quirked. “It was an honor to be of service. Good day.” Stepping back, he eased his large frame around a passing couple. Glancing back at her one last time, he smiled and disappeared into the surrounding wall of bodies.
Georgia eased out a wistful breath knowing she had just glimpsed life as it might have been had she been born a genteel lady of high society. Ah, money. If only it could also buy a woman true love and happiness, she would be the first to dash into the local bank and point a pistol at every clerk, demanding tens and twenties.
Swiveling toward the opposite direction, Georgia resumed her steady march home, which was still a good forty-minute walk. Why couldn’t such refined gentlemen exist in her part of town? It wasn’t in the least bit fair that her only selection of men smacked the bottoms of passing women and whistled through crooked, unchalked teeth. Not for long, though. She was only six dollars short of moving west and couldn’t wait to climb into that stagecoach and leave her piss of a life behind.
A towering, broad frame suddenly appeared beside her and veered in, startling her. “Madam.”
Her eyes widened. Upon her soul, it was her Brit. Slowing her step, she offered a quick, “Yes?”
He swung toward her, trotting backward in an effort to face her before jumping into her path and coming to an abrupt halt.
Georgia squeaked and skid to prevent herself from dashing herself against him.
He leaned toward her. “I can only apologize for being so uncommonly bold, but I must have your name.”
She glanced up in astonishment. “And what do you intend to do with my name, sir?”
He lifted a dark brow. “Perhaps you and I can discuss that over coffee? Couldn’t you make time for one small cup? Just one? My nickel.”
What was he thinking? Did she really look the sort? “I appreciate the offer, sir, but I don’t drink coffee. Or men. I’m swearin’ off both until I move west.”
His eyes darkened. “I am not asking you to drink me.”
Despite the warmth of the day, another shiver of awareness grazed the length of her body, knowing full well what the man meant. “Not yet you aren’t, but you’re invitin’ me to join you for coffee at your hotel. I may be third-generation Irish, but that doesn’t make me stupid.”
He lowered his chin. “Coffee was merely a suggestion.”
“Oh, I know full well what you’re suggestin’, and I suggest you leave off. Do I look desperate for a toss or coffee?”
A smile ruffled his lips. “Have mercy upon a smitten man. What is your name?”
It was times like these that she hated her life. Such an attractive man graced with wealth and status would only ever view her as a one-night commodity. Although she knew better than to want more for herself, given that she was nothing but a Five Points widow, her dear Raymond had taught her she had a right to want the universe, and by God, she was going to get it.
There was only one way to go about protecting what little honor she had. She’d give him the name of the best prostitute in the ward. That way, everyone would benefit from her cleverness should he decide to hunt the name down. “The name is Mrs. Elizabeth Heyer, sir. Emphasis on the Mrs. Sorry I can’t join you. My husband wouldn’t be pleased.” She quickly rounded him. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”
He stepped before her, blocking her from moving any farther. “I ask that you provide your real name.”
“I just did.”
He shook his head from side to side, never once breaking their gaze. “It took a few breaths too long for you to answer and you didn’t even look at me when you said it. Why? Do I unnerve you?”
She glared up at him. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m tryin’ to take my leave.”
“If you were married, you would have mentioned it earlier.” He leveled her with a reprimanding stare. “Do you mean to say that you are the sort of woman who enjoys bantering with men whilst her husband isn’t about? Shame on you if that is true, and shame on you if it isn’t. Either way, the lady appears to be a liar.”
Curse him for honing in on the details.
He leaned in. “Don’t deny that you are blatantly flirting with me in the same manner I am blatantly flirting with you.”
Her eyes widened. She stepped back. “If I were flirtin’, you’d know it, because I’d be draggin’ you straight home instead of takin’ up coffee. I’m not one to play games, sir. I either do somethin’ or I don’t.”
“Then do something.” His jaw tightened, his expression stilling. “I’m not married. An afternoon of conversation is all I ask.” He met her gaze. “For now.”
The smooth but predatory way he said it caused her to instinctively step back. Regardless of the fact that she was no longer married, it was obvious the sanctity of matrimony meant nothing to him. “And what shall I tell my husband, sir, should he ask how I spent my afternoon?”
His eyes clung to hers as if methodically gauging her reaction. “If you are indeed married, I will not only desist, but run. I am not interested in creating a mess for you or myself. I was merely looking to get to know a woman who genuinely piqued my
