Walk on the Wildsyde (Wicked Sons Book 8) by Emma V Leech

Author:Emma V Leech [Leech, Emma V]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-09-27T00:00:00+00:00

“For me?” Clara gasped, staring at the posy of flowers.

She told herself it was only because of the cold that she was breathless, only because she was tired that her heart was clattering about behind her ribs. Sadly, she wasn’t that stupid. It might be nice to think she wasn’t as daft as every other girl in Wick and hadn’t a soft spot in her imprudent heart for a flirtatious rogue who stole kisses from girls in dark alleyways. She wondered how many other kisses he had stolen, how many other girls had felt the press of his lips against theirs and spent the next days dreaming foolish dreams even though they knew it was pointless.

Too many was the certain answer that returned to her.

She, however, would not add to the numbers. Not publicly, at least. In the most secret corner of her heart, she might allow herself to think of those kisses and wonder at the way he had made her feel, both safe and in the most peril of her life at the same time. Those moments had been exciting and passionate and yet tender and sweet and, like Mr Anderson himself, there were too many contradictions to make her feel anything but dizzy with confusion.

“Of course they are for ye,” Mrs Macready said impatiently, setting the little posy in its vase on the windowsill for Clara to look at. “And I tell ye this much, I never knew Hamilton Anderson to bring any lass flowers afore now. Reckon he’s sweet on ye.”

“Mrs Macready!” Clara said in shock, too aware that the least encouragement would tempt her down a path she could not afford to take. “You cannot believe that… that unrepentant rogue has anything serious in mind. I beg you will not say such things.”

Besides which, Clara knew why he had really sent her flowers. It did not take vast intelligence to work out his motives. He felt guilty for kissing her. He knew right from wrong, after all, and despite her jealous musings, she suspected he did not make a habit of taking advantage of innocent girls. No doubt the day he had carried her home, he’d been looking for her so he could apologise. The flowers were merely that, the apology he’d not been able to give her in person.

“As ye like,” Mrs Macready said with a shrug. “But I stand by what I said.”

Mrs Macready went out, leaving Clara staring at the daisies. In the language of flowers, daisies represented innocence and purity, she reminded herself. Yet stubbornly, her mind refused to latch on to that meaning, preferring instead to consider the other connotation attached to them—the sender’s promise to keep a secret.

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