The Songbird's Seduction by Connie Brockway

Author:Connie Brockway [Brockway, Connie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Montlake Romance
Published: 2014-09-16T00:00:00+00:00

At least she was able to walk off the ferry under her own steam. She ought to get credit for that, Lucy thought, stealing a glance at Archie’s profile as they headed down the gangway. The late afternoon sun glinted off the inky curls falling down over his brow, making him look particularly roguish. He didn’t glance back, let alone admire her brave stoicism. In fact, he wasn’t paying her any attention at all. Nor had he been for the past half hour.

She gnawed at her lip, worried that her sea-unworthiness had proved too unpalatable for Archie. He’d stopped noticing her, which was most confusing. Especially since Lucy could have sworn that on the ferry he’d been about to kiss her.

She’d been kissed a few times and she’d avoided being kissed plenty of times. She was well versed in reading the signs that a fellow was about to kiss a girl and Archie had definitely been displaying them all. His breath had laced with hers, warm and sweet, his irises had gone all jetty and focused, like she was all that he was seeing or wanted to see, and his body seemed to hum with purpose . . .

She’d wanted him to kiss her, she realized with a thrill of longing. She’d leaned forward, closing her eyes and offering her lips only to be suddenly pushed away, as he flung his coat jacket over her shoulders and then told her not to talk. Normally she would have ignored such a stricture but she was confused and a little offended so she‘d done as bid and shortly thereafter, well, she’d spent another hour leaning over the rail.

Hardly the sort of position that casts one in the best light. Or a kissable one.

When they reached the bottom of the gangway, Archie took her elbow and steered her through the crowd gathered to meet the weary travelers. Hawkers offered pastries, hot lemonade, roasted nuts, and newspapers as street urchins—French street urchins, Lucy noted with a thrill—darted amongst the throng, pantomiming offers to carry bags or clear a path. Scrawny, fleet-footed, and avid, their cheery demeanor masked sharp-eyed opportunism. Lucy knew them well; their English counterparts loitered about theatre back entrances, flitting amongst the swells waiting for the actresses to appear and relieving them of their watches, fobs, and handkerchiefs.

“Best keep a hand on your wallet in this crowd,” she advised Archie as she intercepted a lad of no more than six about to “accidentally” back into him. She’d seen this ploy before: as soon as the boy bumped into a mark, he’d fling himself to the ground as though he’d been hurt and while his intended victim was busy picking him up and dusting him off, one of his cohorts would be emptying their target’s back pocket. It was one of the first dodges she’d witnessed when she’d started working in London.

“What?” Archie hadn’t even noted the boy. She wasn’t surprised. Archie lived in an ivory tower. She spun the kid around and gave him a shove, launching him back into the crowd.

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