Wicked. Beth Henderson
assure you I am quite proficient in the science of photography and—”
He interrupted her. “Not a portrait, either.”
Lilly pressed her lips together in consideration. Deegan’s gaze dropped to them briefly, lingering long enough to further heighten her awareness of him. How improper it was to be alone with him. A man who was a stranger, who hadn’t been presented by her parents or elder brother or sister.
A man she wished would ask to see her again. Lilly doubted there was even a whisper of a chance that he would.
“I suppose I could concoct an innocuous story to account for our acquaintance and invite you to dinner,” Lilly murmured, more to herself than to him. It might gain her an evening more in his company.
“How paltry, Miss Renfrew,” Deegan chided.
She sighed, her dream evaporating before her eyes. “Yes, I must admit it sounds paltry to me as well, sir, but this whole situation is so out of my sphere of experience that I am not thinking at all clearly. No doubt a suitable solution will occur to me.”
Giving him what passed for a smile, a meager, uneasy curving of her mouth, Lilly unfastened the cloak, the last of her borrowed “finery.” He would be returning the things to the kind ladies who had loaned them to her. “You must be patient, I’m afraid,” she said.
“Patience has never been one of my virtues,” he said, his intonation lazy and dripping with charm. Or so Lilly felt. “In fact,” Deegan continued, “despite the tenderness she has for me, I’m certain Hannah would tell you I possess very few admirable traits.”
“Nonsense,” Lilly declared, and fearing where this conversation might lead, turned her shoulder to him to peer at the passing landscape.
The terrain altered, seeming to tilt as the carriage began the steep climb up Jackson Street. Lilly leaned forward, compensating for the incline rather than relaxing back into the upholstery. Now that she’d removed the extravagant chapeau, she could feel stray locks of her hair floating around her face and trailing down over the high collar of her jacket. The ruff of bangs over her brow was untidy as well, and she hadn’t the time nor the place to repair the damage. It was normal to have dust clinging to the hem of her skirt, but not to have it spotting the rest of her suit. She was less than perfect in appearance, which her mother and sister had often insisted was not the way to attract an interested man.
Deegan was anything but an interested man where courtship was involved. He was no doubt a connoisseur of the female form. Had he admired the beauties of the age, courting some and scandalously making love to others? She couldn’t hold a candle to women of that caliber even if some people did consider her pretty.
“Perhaps I could make a suggestion?” he offered.
A more experienced woman probably would have fathomed his intent immediately, but she was not an experienced woman. Lilly turned innocently toward him, a question in her eyes. “Please do,” she requested.
“A kiss,” Deegan said.
Lilly looked at him blankly, sure she hadn’t heard correctly. “A…pardon me, but did you say a—”
“Kiss,” he repeated.
Her gaze dropped to her hands once more. How proper they looked in the well-fitted leather gloves. And how improper was the chill of maidenly excitement that swept through her. Rather than look at him, she studied a stain on her gloves, one collected no doubt during her sojourn behind the crates in the alley.
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