thirty paces by another road. The faded and flaking sign read Litchfield Terrace. She turned right.
‘Where are you taking me, by the by?’ he asked. It was a reasonable question, since Litchfield Terrace looked like a particularly unwelcoming street. It was narrow and unpaved, and the mean houses that lined it seemed to be deserted—or they would, anyway, if not for the high-pitched cry of a baby that carried from a broken window and the rat that skulked along the edge of the road, sniffing for scraps.
‘I’m not taking you anywhere. You’re following me, and I can go the rest of the way myself.’
‘Out of the question.’
And she knew that he meant it. Her footsteps were already beginning to drag with apprehension. Josiah Fairly’s disreputable premises would appear at any second and, oh, the embarrassment…
At the same time, though, she could admit to herself that she was glad William Stanton had insisted on coming. She’d be terrified right now if he hadn’t.
‘So…’ he said, looking at her curiously, ‘I’ve revealed that I was just passing through…what are you doing in this godforsaken area?’
‘Picking daffodils, obviously.’
That comment got her a burst of laughter. Warm, genuine laughter, and she felt a smile tugging at her own lips, even though she really didn’t want to start enjoying his company. But she managed to suppress it, which wasn’t so hard because they’d reached her destination.
Number 16 waited for her at the end of the road, set apart from the terraced houses that lined the sides of the street. Like the dilapidated buildings around it, it had been built right up against the road, without a front garden to soften its appearance. The word ‘Pawnbroker’ had been painted messily over the door, and two dusty bow windows advertised the faded delights inside: some battered books, a garish, plumed hat, old boots and a pair of candlesticks, their silver plating worn thin to reveal the base metal beneath.
Isabelle stopped walking and wondered if it wasn’t too late to change her mind. Perhaps she could say she’d lost her way and that she’d decided to go home after all. She could come back tomorrow without him…
He noticed her hesitate and gently touched her arm. ‘Miss Thomas, what’s wrong?’
She ignored the unfamiliar shiver his touch produced. Red shame was creeping up her neck and her lip was threatening to tremble. But she wouldn’t allow herself to be such a coward, so she forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘I…I thank you again for your company. I will be all right from here.’
He looked dubiously at the shop. ‘What—is this where we’re going?’
She pretended she hadn’t heard the note of disdain in his voice. ‘My bag, please.’
There was understanding in his green eyes—sympathy, too—and that made it even worse. ‘You’ve no need to feel embarrassed, you know. You’re not the first person who’s had to—’
‘My bag, sir.’She held out her hand, waiting impatiently.
He seemed reluctant to give it to her. ‘I doubt he’ll give you an honest price.’
‘Probably not, but that is my affair.’
Finally, he handed it to her. ‘I’ll wait for you.’
She’d expected him to say that, and frankly she didn’t want him to leave. She just didn’t want him to know how scared she was. ‘I cannot stop you.’
And then she straightened her back like a fire poker and walked alone the rest of the way to the shop and up its crooked stone steps. She took a deep breath and opened the heavy, groaning door.
When she emerged four minutes later, her bag was no lighter. As feared, Josiah Fairly had offered insultingly low prices for her belongings, but she was too despondent to feel angry. She was tired and hungry, and she simply wanted to give up.
She immediately began searching the street, looking for him. She didn’t see him anywhere, and it was clear to her that he’d abandoned her. She couldn’t blame him, and she should have felt relieved, but instead she felt even worse. She sank down on to the steps, placing her bag beside her. Then she crossed her arms over her knees and buried her head inside them. She hadn’t cried in years. She’d been through worse humiliations. But right now—
‘Miss Thomas? What’s wrong?’
She raised her head slowly. He’d returned, and he stood right in front of her, looking so handsome…and she knew her eyes were red and her lips swollen.
‘Nothing,’ she said quietly, wiping away a tear.
‘Please don’t cry.’
‘I’m not.’
He mounted the steps and sat next to her. Not indecently close, but close enough that she forgot about the horrible man in the shop, and began to worry instead about his proximity.
‘I’d just walked down the road a bit,’he said. ‘I’m sorry—I expected you to be inside longer. He wasn’t helpful?’
She shook her head, waiting to hear him say he told her so.
But he didn’t. ‘So what’s it to be now? Would an ice cream cheer you up?’
She shook her head again.
‘No? Um…some proper food, then? How about a very large glass of brandy?’
She looked at him sideways, but she couldn’t help smiling this time. It had been so long since someone had been kind to her or cared if she was happy. ‘You’re absurd.’
The warmth in his green eyes made her catch her breath. ‘If it makes you smile. May I look in your bag?’
‘No.’
‘Please? Perhaps I can suggest something.’
Why not? she thought. She didn’t have the energy to argue any more. She shrugged. ‘Very well.’She slid the bag across the step until it sat at his feet.
He opened it rather hesitantly, as if he expected it to contain snakes. ‘Don’t know why you’ve been so mysterious about it. I’m sure if you took your necklace to a respectable dealer…’But then he broke off, frowning into the bag’s depths. ‘Miss Thomas, you really are carrying stones.’
Chapter Two
She bit her lip, trying to control the smile that threatened to break through. But he sounded so nonplussed it really was comical. Finally, she gave up and grinned at him. ‘They’re marble, actually.’
He nodded slowly, allowing his gaze to drift over her face slightly longer than was proper. She flushed and looked away, wishing he didn’t have such a disturbing effect on her—he, no doubt, thought her blushes were ridiculously missish. When she’d regained her composure and looked back, he’d removed one of the items in question. A fragment of a woman’s face, small enough to fit in his hand, delicately carved in white marble. All that remained of it was an almond-shaped
