mansions came into view. Set well back from the road behind iron fences, the houses were of much the same ilk as those lining Park Lane.
When he said so, she nodded. “Very true.” But she was absorbed again, distracted again.
He seized the moment to study her face, drank in the finefeatures, the delicacy of her brows, the luscious curve of her lips. Looking wasn’t dangerous; it might even dull the growing compulsion to taste those lips….
The carriage rumbled on, turned, then rumbled back. As they neared the bridge and the spot where he’d seen the cultists, he shifted deeper into the shadows. Tensed as the paving leading to the bridge rang beneath the horses’ hooves. The end of the bridge came into view, then receded as the horses trotted on.
The cultists had gone, leaving the question of whether they would recognize him or not untested.
Once back in Buda, the carriage turned away from Castle Hill and the embankment below it onto a road that followed the river.
The Rudas Baths sat in a strip of land between the next hill along and the Danube. Esme and Gibson were waiting in the foyer; they came out when Rafe descended from the carriage in the portico. He helped both in, then followed, sitting beside Gibson, facing Esme.
As the carriage headed back toward the hotel, Esme heaved a richly satisfied sigh. “I had a lovely day, my dears—how was yours?”
After a moment, Loretta said, “We covered all the sights I wished to see. An uneventful, but successful day.”
She glanced at Rafe, as did Esme.
He briefly met Loretta’s eyes, then transferred his gaze to Esme. “My day was … surprisingly entertaining.”
Surprisingly intriguing. He now had more questions than he’d had that morning, and an even greater desire to learn the answers.
The next morning their party boarded the
Uray Princep.
With the big riverboat tied up at the wharf directly down the hill from the hotel, transferring Esme, Loretta, the two maids, and their collective baggage to the docks in safety wasn’t all that difficult; getting them on board was another matter.
At that hour the docks were a hive of activity; with crowds of thronging passengers, and sailors and porters swarming everywhere, onto boats and off, with this trunk, then that, ferried on or ferried off, the confusion was close to absolute. Rafe felt as if he were trying to look everywhere at once.
“I haven’t seen any cultists.” Hassan paused by Rafe’s side.
Loretta, standing before him, her way blocked by passengers milling before the gangplank, glanced over her shoulder. “I haven’t seen any either.”
Rafe looked down, met her eyes. “If you do, tell one of us. Immediately.”
She merely arched her brows and faced forward again.
He grimly shifted his weight. Far from easing his obsession, dwelling on her lips the previous afternoon had only resulted in even more salacious dreams. And even greater resulting tension.
Especially given she was making it plain that although she was as attracted to him as he was to her, she had no interest in encouraging him.
He wasn’t conceited, yet he wondered why.
Yet another question he had no chance of answering. At least, not yet.
Finally losing patience—they were at a dead halt—with no imminent danger looming he deserted his post guarding the ladies’ rear, and leaving Hassan to hold that position, shouldered his way past the gaggle of porters bearing their luggage, then, exploiting his height and the width of his shoulders, cleaved a path through the melee to the gangplank. Once there, he stood like a bulwark and waved their porters past him, then followed the last up onto the boat.
Crewmen materialized to relieve the porters of their loads. As Rafe stepped on board, the purser came hurrying up, a board with various lists attached in his hands.
“Lady Congreve’s party,” Rafe announced. He glanced at the first list as the man scanned it. “And Jordan and Rivers—the last two names. We’re her
When he said so, she nodded. “Very true.” But she was absorbed again, distracted again.
He seized the moment to study her face, drank in the finefeatures, the delicacy of her brows, the luscious curve of her lips. Looking wasn’t dangerous; it might even dull the growing compulsion to taste those lips….
The carriage rumbled on, turned, then rumbled back. As they neared the bridge and the spot where he’d seen the cultists, he shifted deeper into the shadows. Tensed as the paving leading to the bridge rang beneath the horses’ hooves. The end of the bridge came into view, then receded as the horses trotted on.
The cultists had gone, leaving the question of whether they would recognize him or not untested.
Once back in Buda, the carriage turned away from Castle Hill and the embankment below it onto a road that followed the river.
The Rudas Baths sat in a strip of land between the next hill along and the Danube. Esme and Gibson were waiting in the foyer; they came out when Rafe descended from the carriage in the portico. He helped both in, then followed, sitting beside Gibson, facing Esme.
As the carriage headed back toward the hotel, Esme heaved a richly satisfied sigh. “I had a lovely day, my dears—how was yours?”
After a moment, Loretta said, “We covered all the sights I wished to see. An uneventful, but successful day.”
She glanced at Rafe, as did Esme.
He briefly met Loretta’s eyes, then transferred his gaze to Esme. “My day was … surprisingly entertaining.”
Surprisingly intriguing. He now had more questions than he’d had that morning, and an even greater desire to learn the answers.
The next morning their party boarded the
Uray Princep.
With the big riverboat tied up at the wharf directly down the hill from the hotel, transferring Esme, Loretta, the two maids, and their collective baggage to the docks in safety wasn’t all that difficult; getting them on board was another matter.
At that hour the docks were a hive of activity; with crowds of thronging passengers, and sailors and porters swarming everywhere, onto boats and off, with this trunk, then that, ferried on or ferried off, the confusion was close to absolute. Rafe felt as if he were trying to look everywhere at once.
“I haven’t seen any cultists.” Hassan paused by Rafe’s side.
Loretta, standing before him, her way blocked by passengers milling before the gangplank, glanced over her shoulder. “I haven’t seen any either.”
Rafe looked down, met her eyes. “If you do, tell one of us. Immediately.”
She merely arched her brows and faced forward again.
He grimly shifted his weight. Far from easing his obsession, dwelling on her lips the previous afternoon had only resulted in even more salacious dreams. And even greater resulting tension.
Especially given she was making it plain that although she was as attracted to him as he was to her, she had no interest in encouraging him.
He wasn’t conceited, yet he wondered why.
Yet another question he had no chance of answering. At least, not yet.
Finally losing patience—they were at a dead halt—with no imminent danger looming he deserted his post guarding the ladies’ rear, and leaving Hassan to hold that position, shouldered his way past the gaggle of porters bearing their luggage, then, exploiting his height and the width of his shoulders, cleaved a path through the melee to the gangplank. Once there, he stood like a bulwark and waved their porters past him, then followed the last up onto the boat.
Crewmen materialized to relieve the porters of their loads. As Rafe stepped on board, the purser came hurrying up, a board with various lists attached in his hands.
“Lady Congreve’s party,” Rafe announced. He glanced at the first list as the man scanned it. “And Jordan and Rivers—the last two names. We’re her
Similar Books
