‘What is it?’
She shrugged and turned to the closest bookshelves.
‘Nothing. I don’t like being stared at.’
‘Pure envy. Ignore them.’
The corners of her mouth picked up.
‘Are you saying they envy me my handsome husband? I never suspected you of vanity, Edge.’
‘Don’t be coy, Sam. You know I was referring to you.’
‘Do I? I don’t even know if you think I am moderately attractive.’
‘You don’t...you cannot be serious! What on earth do you think last night was about?’
‘I have been told females are practically interchangeable when men need their physical needs assuaged.’
‘This is hardly the place for such a discussion, but who on earth was the idiot who told you such nonsense? Not your brothers, I’d warrant. And it certainly does not apply to me. Look at me, Sam.’
She shook her head, a sharp flush colouring her cheeks.
‘Not here. Everyone is staring.’
All at once his own discomfort was gone. He didn’t like seeing Sam pull herself inward like that.
‘You were never concerned with appearances in the past.’
‘My debut in Venice taught me otherwise. It might be the Capital of Sin, but it is brutal to women who don’t play be the rules. After we married, Ricki mocked all my missteps and did his best to civilise me. I’m afraid he didn’t succeed any more than you did.’
‘I never mocked you, Sam. Ever.’
‘No, that is true. It is not in your nature.’
‘Nor did I want to change you, I merely wanted...’ He searched for the right words. ‘I merely wanted you to be safe.’
It wasn’t a lie, but it felt inadequate. He’d never understood the urge to protect Sam—she might have been a madcap, but she was, as he’d told her so indelicately, alarmingly sturdy. Not to mention her brothers were already perfectly adequate guardians. There’d been no role for him, but he’d forced his way in none the less.
She’d always brought out the best and worst in him.
‘Let’s go, Edge. I hate this. I shall ask Tubbs to buy the books.’ Her gaze was flickering around the room and not with the avid curiosity that sometimes exasperated him, but with uncustomary dread. He wanted nothing more than to leave, but he drew her hand through his arm, turning her back towards the bookshelves.
‘They might just as well be staring at me. After all, we are serving up a surfeit of scandals. Between Rafe’s disappearance, my reappearance, our wedding abroad and the Sinful Sinclair family name it is hardly surprising we excite curiosity. I would be more concerned if we drew no attention. Clearly that would mean something so horrific had happened civilisation itself was under threat.’
She laughed, leaning her shoulder against his arm for a moment. It was such a small thing but it shrank his lungs. He’d never been tactile, not like her, but the need to touch Sam was an under-skin itch—constant, irritating, undeniable. He almost wished she would do something impetuous like climb the footstool the clerks used to reach the upper shelves so he would have an excuse to steady her...he could already feel the pliancy of her hips under his fingers, her warmth.
The urge to make a fool of himself was so strong he took a random book from the shelves and opened it. Sam leaned closer to read the title page.
‘Guilty or Not Guilty. A Lesson for Husbands by Ann of Swansea. “Husband, I knew this not of you...”,’ she read aloud with a muffled laugh, before Edge snapped it shut and shoved it back into place. He would have done better to have encouraged her to keep reading because her tension returned immediately.
‘They are still whispering behind us, you know. I am certain I heard your name mentioned.’
‘They’re like vultures circling a carcase; show some spirit and they’ll be off to search for a more amenable target.’
‘That is a gruesome metaphor.’
‘It is a simile, not a metaphor.’
Sam rolled her eyes and he couldn’t help smiling.
‘Come now, where is the Sam Sinclair who took on Khalidi’s troops and scaled the pyramids?’
‘Weren’t you the one who thought that Sam was a wild hoyden in need of proper schooling?’
‘I was wrong.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘It does happen. Not about the wild hoyden part, which you were, but about the proper schooling. It would not suit you in the least to be like any of the tittering lace-and-frill-wrapped confections surrounding us. Come, we shall buy your books and go...’ He almost said home until he realised there was no such place. That was something he should rectify. Soon.
‘Oh, goodness, it is you. Lord Edward!’ A voice trilled behind them. ‘Come along, Phoebe, it is Lord Edward Edgerton, the Duchess of Greybourne’s son. My dear, dear Lord Edward!’