“But it’s less than two miles to Hart Street, and we’re not due for a couple of hours.”
“I shall walk until our meeting with Daventry.”
Her legs turned to lead weights at the thought of leaving him. Was it because she kept inventing sad stories, casting him in the lead role?
“May I accompany you?” She sounded like a desperate debutante keen to snare a husband. “You wished to strip me bare if I recall. I can walk with you while you delve into the dark recesses of my mind.”
His rakish grin proved a welcome sight. “Intimate questions require an intimate setting, Miss Sands. A crowded, stench-filled street in London is hardly the place to expose your vulnerabilities.”
“We can walk in silence if you prefer.”
He hesitated.
If you want to help him, give him a reason to care.
Alice’s words echoed in Beatrice’s mind.
“Please, Mr D’Angelo. I cannot shake the image of Mr Babington’s deathly stare, cannot help but draw comparisons with my father’s last moments.” It wasn’t a lie. No doubt she would struggle to sleep tonight. “Let us talk about horses or hats or something other than what has occurred today.”
“It’s bitterly cold. Too cold to walk for hours. And you’ve no bonnet.”
She thought to suggest stopping for a cup of chocolate, but refused to force herself on the man when he wished to be alone.
“I understand. There’s no need to escort me to the carriage. I shall meet you at the office in Hart Street at two. Good day, Mr D’Angelo.”
Without another word she turned and walked towards Little Castle Street where Mr Sharp and Mr Bower were waiting with the conveyance. She had the vehicle in sight before she heard footsteps pounding the pavement, heard the gentleman call her name.
“Miss Sands!”
She didn’t stop.
“Miss Sands, wait!”
She pasted a smile and swung around, though the sight of his masculine form racing towards her stole her breath.
“Have you decided it’s too cold to walk, sir?”
“Not at all,” he said, practically skidding to a halt. “But it was selfish of me to dismiss your plea for help. If it’s a distraction you seek, then I invit
e you to walk with me.”
Beatrice suppressed the urge to clap her hands and celebrate her triumph. “Perhaps we could walk the length of Oxford Street and play a little game.”
“I prefer playing games in private, Miss Sands.”
“It’s not that sort of game.” Heavens, the man was an incorrigible flirt. “We examine the items in shop windows. You pick something to match my character, and I pick something to match yours. It’s a much better way of getting to know a person than asking the usual dull questions.”
His warm smile chased away the biting chill in the air. “It sounds like an interesting way to pass the time. No doubt it will help us both forget our troubles.”
He instructed Mr Sharp to return to Fitzroy Square, said he would take a hackney from Hart Street later. “We’ve decided to walk, Bower,” he informed Mr Daventry’s man. “You may follow us if that is your instruction. Though it seems ridiculous that Miss Sands cannot walk with me when I was the one who stopped Babington bludgeoning her to death.”
It was a slight exaggeration, but Beatrice held her tongue.
Mr Bower thought for a moment before climbing down from the box. “I’ll inform Mr Daventry you’re walking to Hart Street and meet you there.”
The men exchanged glances, though nothing further was said.
When invited to do so, Beatrice slipped her hand in the crook of Mr D’Angelo’s arm. The alluring smell of his cologne made her head spin, the scent evocative of pine forests in exotic locations, unreachable places halfway across the world. Or perhaps the heat of his body made her dizzy and caused the swirling in her stomach whenever they touched.