On Wings of Devotion by Roseanna M. White

Author:Roseanna M. White
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction;FIC042030;FIC042040;FIC027200
ISBN: 9781493422784
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2019-10-13T16:00:00+00:00

17

Diellza watched him striding up the street from her table at the window, letting a smile curl over her lips. He did have a presence, that Phillip Camden. One that, depending on his mood, either cleared his path or brought people flocking to him. Which side, though, would he present to her today?

She traced a lazy finger around the rim of her water glass, pushing down the tendrils of nervousness that tried to stretch their way up from her stomach. Calm. Pleasant. Alluring. She had to convince him to meet her again, in case she didn’t get what she needed this time.

Her finger had the slightest quaver to it. She tucked it into her lap and drew in a deep breath. He was coming in now, holding the door for two exiting ladies. No doubt smiling at them, given the head-ducking, eyelash-batting, and flirtatious smiles she could see on the faces of the women. Another minute and he’d be shown to her table.

For exactly three seconds, she granted her eyes the reprieve of closing. Only three.

How had she got here? Five years ago, had someone told her she’d be a cabaret dancer who entertained men for money on the side, spying in England, and plotting an assassination, she’d have laughed in their face—or slapped them across it. Then Alwin had shown up and . . .

“He’ll be your ruin.” Friede had frantically whispered those words to her, clasping Diellza’s hands in her own and begging her with her endless dark eyes not to do it. Not to sneak out to meet him.

Should she have listened? Had she not gone out that day, not given herself to Alwin . . . No. She couldn’t fathom that. Perhaps her life would have been more normal, more predictable, but who wanted a normal, predictable life?

Three seconds, overflowing as they were, were over. She opened her eyes again and set the muscles of her face into the expression she’d perfected in the mirror of her room at Mrs. Humbird’s. Pleasure and pain. Apology and desire. She stood as he appeared around the partition—his overcoat and hat already checked—and held a hand out for him as he approached.

“Camden. I am so sorry.” The moment his fingers took hers, she leaned forward, up, and pressed her lips to his cheek. “I had no idea what had befallen you and your men—I must have sounded the dunce the other day. I had been visiting my family back in Switzerland, you see . . . I had no idea.”

She pulled away, holding his gaze with her misty-eyed one. A few of her summoned tears spilled over. A skill she and Friede had practiced even as children.

His smile looked about as tight and comfortable as an ill-fitting corset, but he presented it nonetheless. He was, after all, a gentleman. An English one. Stiff upper lip, politeness, all that rot. He might eschew it in some situations, but not in one like this.

“No need to apologize,” he said. “Not your fault.

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