Page 9 of Red Masquerade

“You’d run into any woman?”

“Not any woman.”

He looked at me directly, intensely, through his lashes. But he didn’t move closer, his hands rooted in his trousers.

A nervous laugh slipped from me, my mind going fuzzy.

He sensed my struggle and smiled, just a little, the corner of his lips lifting in amusement.

In the span of a few seconds, I imagined what he was like at home. I imagined what we could become before I scolded myself—he was just a boy on the street, and I had met plenty of boys before. None that Lucas liked, or let me speak to, but still. My mind went wandering, conjuring up a future that would likely never be.

Oh, Flora would want to hear about this on the telephone later. We had a new shiny receiver that Lucas had bought, so I didn’t have to wait until the next day to speak to Flora anymore.

Mistaking my silence for disinterest, Adam’s smile faltered. He glanced past me at the crowd across the street, as though in that mass of people were directions for his next move. “I fear I’ve kept you,” he said, replacing his cap.

He opened his mouth to speak further, but I cut him off, afraid he’d leave. And the car wouldn’t come for a few more minutes.

As soon as he walked away, that would be that, and he’d be gone forever. I’d never find him in this big city.

“No!” I reached out to grab his arm, but froze at the look on his face. I withdrew, blushing madly. “You haven’t kept me.” I floundered over my words, feeling like a little girl all over again.

But I couldn’t help it, not under his gaze like that.

He exhaled a laugh, and I felt ridiculous.

“You—do you work near here?” I asked.

He nodded, lifting a thumb over his shoulder. “On Exbury Street. We’re the only printer there.”

“Okay,” I said, committing it to memory.

“Why, you want to come watch us work?” He chuckled.

“I—Can I?” I wasn’t so much interested in the printing. I knew how it worked; I wasn’t dull. But the thought of him caught up in his work, smearing ink on his face absentmindedly, the strength in those arms, putting all his weight against the press, those fingers on delicate paper. I blushed.

Adam paused for a moment, stunned. “I don’t see why not.” He swallowed. “I can… I can save one of the books we’re printing for you. That is, if you want me to—”

I nodded, not realizing how close I’d drifted to him. But the way those hazel eyes flickered to mine—I didn’t think he minded.

“How far is your house?” he asked, forcing casualness into his voice. “I can walk you. It seems your driver is taking a while.”

I’d hear all about it later. How irresponsible it was of me to walk home with a strange boy; how rude of me to leave while the driver was on the way, and how he wouldn’t have known I’d taken an alternative route home.

I didn’t care.

Grinning, I told him our address and let him lead the way. At the next street corner, he looked left and right, giving me an opportunity to study the strong profile of his nose, straight, like a Roman god, cheekbones striking under the tan skin of his face. An angular jaw with the dusting of a shadow. His auburn hair curled under the edges of his hat, messy after a day of moving around.

I wanted to run my hands through those waves, wanted to feel that stubble on my cheek.

God, if Mother knew I was even thinking of a boy, she’d lock me in the house for fear of my turning into a floozy.

He caught me staring and grinned, offering me his arm. “Do I have something on my face?”

I shook my head, averting my gaze to the ground. “No, not at all.” Tucking my hand into his elbow, he stepped down into the street and led me around the traffic, stopping when cars seemed not to slow down for us.

The streets of the city used to terrify me as a child, but as I grew older, Lucas made fun of me for it, going so far as to push me out in front of a carriage. I had enough time to move out of the way, but it only put me further in the street, and at that point I’d been shouted at so many times, I could do nothing but cross and cry once I got to the pavement across from our house. Lucas only laughed, and when Mother asked why I refused to move, he said I must have wandered off. When she sent him to fetch me, his fingers dug into my arm like a vise, leaving little purple bruises.

Adam’s hold on me was gentle, his hand sitting atop mine. My heart stuttered in my chest as his fingers cradled mine. I willed my palm not to grow clammy.