Two tall windows dominated her parlor. Framed by cream velvet curtains, the windows gleamed like a pair of bright eyes, watching. The desire to draw the curtains fully closed prompted Mary to do the opposite. She stalked right up to them, yanked them wide, and pressed her nose to the icy glass.
She spotted him immediately, the sight giving her a start. Crouched on the corner of the opposite roof like some gargoyle of old, his black-cloaked shape formed a hulking silhouette against the lemon-yellow sky.
The gears in her heart nearly stopped, then sped up. But she knew that body, and the distinct shape of that head. Jack Talent.
Her palm spread wide upon the window, the heat of her body emitting waves of condensation along the glass. The light was in her eyes, and he merely a black outline. But then a cloud scuttled over the sun, and his eyes gleamed, looking straight at her. And she felt that gaze as if it were a living, breathing beast upon her. Slowly he stood, his tall form perfectly balanced upon the jutting roof edge. And simply watched her.
Her body tightened. Had he always watched her? It couldn’t be so. But for a moment, she felt certain that he had.
As if he’d been waiting to see her reaction, he raised his arm then and gave her a graceful salute. The next moment he was gone, leaving with inhuman speed.
Mary stared at the spot where he had stood. The salute ought to have been a mockery. Only it felt like an acknowledgement, and a message. Stranger still, his actions did not feel like revenge. Nor did it feel as if she were being watched, as much as watched over. As she put the kettle on and prepared for the day ahead, she realized that the idea of Talent doing the watching made her feel safe. And wasn’t that the most unnerving sensation of all?
Chapter Nineteen
Today would be a late day. Because the Bishop of Charing Cross appeared to do his work at night, so must they. Which was fine by Mary. She needed a bit of space between her and Talent and was happy to wait until luncheon to meet him. Then again, dining with Talent had its own pitfalls.
“Do you ever stop eating, Mr. Talent?” Mary pursed her lips at the spectacle that was Jack Talent gorging on his fifth meat pie.
He paused as though surprised she was speaking to him, then his dark eyes looked at her sidelong. “Stay with me long enough, and you might find out.” He popped the last golden bite into his mouth, then licked his lips with a flick of his pink tongue. Somehow he managed to grin while chewing. His throat worked on a swallow, and that grin grew teeth. “Besides, I told you I like eating.”
How he was able to make the statement both carnal and irritating, she’d never know. Mary set her attention on the report spread open on the table in front of her. Talent, adamantly eschewing the quiet containment of headquarters, had dragged them out to yet another tavern, this one being loud, smoky, and crowded. It did, however, serve an excellent supper, as Talent was quick to point out when she’d voiced her annoyance.
Unfortunately she had to admit to herself that the tavern afforded a level of anonymity they would not receive at headquarters. Too many regulators took it upon themselves to make a study of Talent and Mary. She feared there might even be a betting pool going on about just when and how they’d kill each other.
Lousy, busybody rotters. True, tempers between her and Talent were strained. But they were partners, like it or not, and she intended to behave in a sensible manner from here on out. She would not think of breathless, voyeuristic pleasures, or near kisses, or nighttime vigils.
It did not help matters when Talent suddenly gave her a slow perusal, lingering along the length of her bodice where the satin lay smooth and tight over her torso. Heat prickled along her skin, and she bristled. He could not look at her in this manner. Not if she wanted to get through the day.
As if he was annoyed, his mouth turned down at one corner. “You’re looking rather turned out today, Mistress Chase.” His low voice turned into a drawl. “Why do I suspect I will not like the reason?”
“I could not fathom.” Mary ordered her papers into a neat stack and was quite proud that her hands did not shake.
“Do not tell me you’re dressing to impress that popinjay Darby.” Talent’s scowl grew sour, his nostrils flaring.
They were slated to watch Darby later this evening. A prospect Mary did not find remotely appealing. Even so, she could only shake her head slightly at Talent’s absurd accusation. “Perhaps I dressed for you.”
She said it to unnerve, and his open mouth and flushed cheeks had her fighting a grin, but she hid it and stuck to the business at hand. “I took a look at Mr. Pierce’s financial situation—”
Her plate of barely touched fish pie was pushed in front of her. “Eat,” said Talent, who had clearly recovered from her parry.