Alix and the Spy

Chapter Seven

London, England

1825

“I promised you I would find you,” he told her. “And I did.”

            “Have you come to gloat? I was unaware it was a competition of sorts.” She folded her arms, remembering that she was only in a thin robe and nightgown; she looked up at him, and saw he was still clad in day attire.

            “I wanted to get to know you better.” He looked sincere and earnest, and she found herself drawn to him, even though he was a madman.

            She looked at him disbelievingly. “Why? Do you want to become friends?”

            “There’s a start. You keep looking at me as if I am going to bite your hand off.”

            “You are trespassing on our territory; for all I know, you might be preparing to stab me.”

            “I swear I am not,” Oakley told her, looking down at the branch he was balanced on. “Do you really think this could not hold my weight?”

            Ignoring his last question, Alix plunged on. “If you are looking for a repeat of that night, then you are sadly mistaken, sir. I would like to go back to bed, and for you to leave, without anything happening between us.”

            “‘Tis a pity.” He said mournfully. “I quite enjoyed it, and if memory serves, you did too, my lady.”

            She took a sharp inhale of breath. “You overstep the line, Mr. Oakley. In fact, I –”

            “Colin.” He interrupted her, throwing her off the track of a speech on how she had, contrary to his opinion, hated kissing him – although that was the furthest thing from the truth. “I think, given the circumstances, calling me Colin would suffice.”

            “Mr. Oakley.” She said flatly. “I am not in need of your services tonight.”

            He studied her, and for a few moments, both were quiet. Finally, he smiled crookedly, and said, “I had come to talk to you, for I had quite enjoyed doing so with you at the ball. Kissing you was enjoyable, but so was the conversation. I had thought we connected, Miss Hathaway. I still do not think I was wrong, even if you are acting very differently now, then you were then.”

            For some reason, she felt oddly touched by his words – flattered, even. That he, a clearly experienced and worldly gentleman, considered her a worthy conversationalist pleased her. He seemed to genuinely like her, and not just because he wanted to dally with her.

            “As nice as that is,” she said stiffly, trying not to let her inner pleasure show. “I am afraid it is still inappropriate. You see, I do not wish to have us found together, as if I have been compromised, for we shall be forced to marry then.”