His heated gaze bored into her soul. “When we return to Brook Street we will have to work on improving our line.”
Desire unfurled. “How can one improve on perfection?”
“We could try a new da
nce. Something novel yet equally as satisfying.”
Had they been alone, she was confident they would not have waited another second to fall into each other’s arms.
With the highly charged feeling of unsated desire in the air, they fell into a companionable silence, though she suspected they were both lost in amorous thoughts.
She could not help but stare at him. Tristan closed his eyes, his breathing slowing to a calm, relaxed rate. Mere days ago she thought they would never share a civil word. Now, they had indulged their deepest passions, shared their darkest desires. Joining with him had been the most precious, most fulfilling moment of her life.
The sudden creak of the carriage door as it flew open dragged her out of her reverie.
Mr. Blackwood clambered inside, his ragged breathing evidence he had run all the way back to the conveyance.
“Did you speak to him?” Tristan straightened, closed the door and thumped the roof to alert Dawes of their intention to leave.
The carriage lurched forward almost immediately.
“Quick, you must h-hurry,” Mr. Blackwood stammered as he grabbed onto the edge of the seat to stop himself falling forward. “He cannot know we are together.”
“You spoke to Mr. Fellows?” Tristan reiterated.
Mr. Blackwood nodded vigorously. “Yes. Yes. He has agreed to meet me near the D-dead Man’s Tree in Green Park.”
“The Dead Man’s Tree?” She had heard that the park was once a haunt for highwaymen, a place renowned for notorious duels. “That sounds rather ominous.”
“Some refer to it as the Tree of Death,” Tristan said. “It is a popular place for those who wish to end their lives … prematurely.”
Despite his tactful explanation, she recoiled as she imagined stumbling upon a stiff body swaying from a bough.
“There is something so sinister about excessive facial hair,” Mr. Blackwood randomly said as he shivered visibly. “Mr. Fellows’ bushy side-whiskers give him a menacing aura. I swear, had I the notebook in my possession he would have broken my neck on the doorstep.”
Isabella stared at Mr. Blackwood sitting opposite. Had the man never glanced in the mirror? Did he not know his eyebrows were just as strange and forbidding?
Tristan cast Mr. Blackwood a sidelong glance. “Did you inform him you wished to make an exchange?”
“Yes. He promised two hundred pounds for the book. I told him … I told him I planned to move away, that I have a cousin in Lancashire and had no desire to return to the city. I told him I am tired of hiding in the shadows.”
“Did he believe you?”
Mr. Blackwood shrugged.
Tristan removed his pocket watch and angled the face towards the window. “It is just past three. Did you tell him to meet you at five?”
“Yes, five as you suggested.”
“Then you will need to tell us where you hid the notebook, Mr. Blackwood,” Isabella said. She understood his need for secrecy but time was of the essence. “We must retrieve it if we are to meet Mr. Fellows.”
It was Tristan who spoke. “Er, Mr. Blackwood has told me where he has hidden the book. I have already informed Dawes of our destination.”
“Oh.” No one had thought to mention it to her. “Is it far?”
“No. Just off Grosvenor Square.”
It suddenly occurred to her that Tristan had not mentioned what he intended to do once at Green Park. “If the notebook contains the proof needed to substantiate the allegations against Mr. Fellows, why do we need to meet him in the park? Surely it is best to go straight to the authorities.”