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Right, where was I?

Adam returned his gaze to the list in his hand.

But the poor lighting gave him a headache, and he started feeling queasy from trying to read what was on the list.

One thing he knew for certain, he was not about to help Miss Fowley try some ices. He was going to show her what London was truly like. And then he’d see how eager she would be to continue her adventure.

Adam folded the list and leaned against his seat. Fatigue was claiming his mind. He needed to get a good night’s rest. The next day promised to be interesting.

Chapter 4

The clock was ticking away the awkward silence in the drawing room. Adam sat in the small and rather uncomfortable chair—couldn’t Gage have rented a townhouse with proper furniture?—across from a tiny, silver-haired old lady, who had a dragon-like, penetrating gaze. No fiery breath was forthcoming, though, and she barely even spoke. After a few polite exchanges, the woman let him know that Beatrice would be here soon and then proceeded to openly ogle him, scanning him through her narrow-slit eyes. Adam lifted a tiny cup of tea to his mouth and sipped from it slowly, although he would easily have downed the entire thing with one small gulp.

“How are you enjoying your stay in London?” he asked.

“I enjoy my little seaside cottage more,” she said roughly. “But I am here for my Beatrice. She said she needed my help, and I will never refuse my favorite niece.”

Adam raised his brows in surprise. Favorite? Most people would not admit such a thing in strange company, or to anyone for that matter. But this little old lady seemed as direct as a plow.

“She has worked hard to keep that household of hers in order, to keep everyone fed and clothed and educated,” she continued, finally finding a topic of conversation she was willing to pursue. “So, when she is in need of something, of course, I am going to accompany her, no matter how much I dislike it here.”

“You do not like London then?” Adam asked, to keep the woman talking.

“It isn’t fashionable or polite to say so,” she started, as she shifted restlessly in her chair, “but I dislike people in general.”

Adam almost choked on his tea. He slowly lowered his cup and cleared his throat to hide the fact that a tiny drop might have gone through the wrong pipe. Isn’t fashionable? Had it not been Adam sitting in front of her, but some busybody, the silver-haired dragoness would undoubtedly have been labeled as a rude eccentric and shunned by society. Perhaps that’s why she lived in her little cottage by the sea. But it looked like she quite enjoyed her exile.

“Quite shocking,” she said, studying his features. “I know. But I am old. I can afford to be shocking and not care one whit about what people say about me. It is one of the benefits of growing old. When I was young, so much pressure was put on me to care, to bend to society’s whim. Just like Beatrice is pressured now.”

Miss Fowley wasn’t bending to anyone’s whim. Adam didn’t dare say that out loud; he didn’t know whether her aunt was privy to the plans Beatrice had hatched for her stay in London, and he was not about to divulge that information voluntarily. There would be nothing to divulge either way. A couple of days, and the bluestocking would go back home. However, if there was some sort of societal pressure on her shoulders, she seemed to shake it off quite easily.

Just then, the object of their conversation entered the room and curtseyed all too properly, then nudged her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. “Mr. Lewis.”

She wore a buttoned-up day gown with a tight collar and long sleeves, the color of the sky at sunrise with a white flowery pattern. Her hair was collected tightly in a bun, and she looked very proper, indeed, as though she had not sneaked out of the house the night before and attended the most scandalous masquerade in London.

Adam knew better.

He stood and sketched a low bow. “Miss Fowley.”

Mrs. Merriglow, Beatrice’s aunt, stood and squeezed her hands. “Sit down, darling. I shall inquire for more tea.” Instead of ringing the servants’ bell, she exited the room, leaving the door ajar. It seemed that the old lady truly did not care about societal norms. Or perhaps she shared her niece’s views that since Miss Fowley was already betrothed, albeit not to the man currently occupying the room with her, she didn’t need a chaperone and could ruin herself to her heart’s content.

Miss Fowley settled in a chair across from Adam and with a quick glance at the door leaned toward him. “Did you read through the list?”

“Yes, I have.” Adam cleared his throat. It wasn’t a lie; he had looked through it on the way to her townhouse no matter how briefly.

“So, have you picked the items for us to complete?”

“Not exactly.”

She furrowed her brows. “I rather thought it was a yes or no question. Unless,” she leaned back, her mouth slightly open, the furrow in her brows deepening, “you have changed your mind!”

“I did not change my mind,” Adam said easily. “In fact, I came to inquire if perhaps you had.”

Her face relaxed as she folded her hands on her lap. “I did not, and I will not.”

“Truly?” Adam raised a brow. His hand inside his coat’s inner breast pocket, he was already pulling out her list. “How about I read it to you, and you tell me if perhaps you want to remove some items from it before we proceed?”

“I see no reason to do this. Besides, my aunt shall return soon, so we better get to the business,” she hissed the last part.