“I do.”
Anne considered what to reveal and ultimately decided to be honest. If he judged her poorly, so be it. “Covent Garden. I love to watch people, and it sounds like a fascinating place to do so.”
He tipped his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You are here for the Season and your costume is of high quality, so you must be a Society miss. You’re wearing a veil, the reason for which is apparently due to some hideousness. However, if you are here for the Season, I can’t imagine there’s anything hideous about you.”
There was no stopping the blush that rushed to Anne’s face, but he couldn’t see it anyway.
“Yet you are hiding beneath a veil by yourself—apparently every week—at Hatchard’s. Where is your chaperone?”
“I don’t need one.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “You see, I’ve a bodyguard instead.”
His lips spread slowly into a wide grin. “You’ve a bit of sauce,” he whispered. “I like that.”
Anne’s breath caught as she stared into his eyes. He looked back at her, but with the veil between them, it wasn’t the same. “What about you? You are also finely dressed. Have I netted an earl as my bodyguard?”
His gaze was unwavering as his smile faded. “You have not.” There was an edge to his answer that sent a shiver down her spine. “I think perhaps we should remain anonymous—since you are expending such effort to hide your identity.”
“People frown on Society misses who don’t have chaperones and only bodyguards.”
“They do. Your effort is commendable. You will be back here next week, then?”
“I shall.”
“Wear your simplest gown. We’ll go to Covent Garden.”
“I only have two hours.” Anne didn’t want to explain further. She liked the idea of anonymity almost as much as she liked the idea of him taking her to Covent Garden. A forbidden excitement embraced her.
“It will be a swift tour, then,” he said. “But I promise it will be enjoyable.”
Of that, Anne had no doubt.
One week later…
After meeting at Hatchard’s, Lord Bodyguard—which was the name Anne had given the gentleman—escorted her into his cabriolet and drove them to Covent Garden. Rather, near to Covent Garden, since they left the vehicle in the charge of Lord Bodyguard’s tiger while they made their way to the square.
“I think I was right to call you Lord Bodyguard,” Anne said as she took his arm.
He turned his head, his brows elevating in surprise. “Lord Bodyguard?”
She arched a shoulder. “You seem wealthy.”
“Not all nobles are wealthy,” he said with a slight laugh. “And not all wealthy men are noble.”
“You’re also imposing.” And intelligent and witty.
“Not all nobles are imposing.” The disdain in his tone spoke volumes. “I told you I wasn’t an earl.”
She waved her hand before he could respond. “I don’t care. You’re firmly Lord Bodyguard in my mind.”
He flashed a brief smile. “Then I shall be Lord Bodyguard.”
“What do you call me?”
“I don’t.”
Anne felt a prick of disappointment.
“What should I call you?” he asked as they walked into the square.
Her attention was instantly drawn to the people bustling about, the booths and wagons selling produce, food, and goods, the façade of St. Paul’s Church. They were utterly quiet as he squired her around the square. She took in every sight and sound, but by the time they reached St. Paul’s, she was beyond weary of her veil.
Pushing the gauze up, she flipped it back over her the brim of her hat and exhaled. “Much better.”
“Much.”
Anne turned her head to see him staring at her, his gaze shining with appreciation. She couldn’t look away. His eyes, a brilliant blue, were the most unusual she’d ever beheld. There was a bright orange mark in the right one, as if there was a fire burning within him that couldn’t be contained.
“Miss Dazzling,” he said softly, answering the question he’d posed several minutes before.
Dazzling. She’d been called beautiful, charming, graceful, but never dazzling.
“I think I’d better be Missus. For appearances’ sake.”
He smiled. “To be clear, I won’t be calling you that out loud.”
Just in his mind, as she called him Lord Bodyguard in hers. She tightened her hold on his arm. “What shall we do?”
“Finish exploring the square, and then I’m taking you for oysters.”
Anne had heard from her older sister that some men ate oysters daily to support their reputation as lotharios. She looked at him askance as they continued their circuit. “Why oysters?”
“Because that’s what the restaurant is known for. Have you had them?”
“I have not. I must admit they look rather disgusting.”
He paused and turned to look at her. “Do you trust me?”
She pressed her fingertips into his sleeve. “I do.”
Two weeks later…
“What manner of sea delicacy do you have in store for me today?” Anne asked as they walked along bustling Paternoster Row near St. Paul’s Cathedral. Booksellers and publishers lined the street. “I do hope it’s better than last week’s caviar,”
Lord Bodyguard sent her a warm, teasing smile. “You liked the oysters on our first excursion.”
She squeezed his arm. “I did, but the caviar in Cheapside last week was not to my taste.” She pulled a face. The rest of the afternoon had been wonderful. Cheapside was a bustling area with all manner of shops and so many people. Anne could have gleefully gone there again this week.
Before she’d met Lord Bodyguard, she’d looked forward to her quiet reading time at Hatchard’s. But the time she spent with him was far more thrilling. This wasn’t just the highlight of her week. Recalling their afternoons together and anticipating their next adventure had come to consume almost every one of her thoughts.
With each meeting, they revealed more of themselves, but not too much. While she still didn’t know his name, she knew he loved books and was building a library in his new house, did not like to ride, which had shocked her, and that oysters were among his favorite things to eat. She’d been surprised to find she didn’t hate them, but that was perchance because of how much fun she’d had with him. Learning to suck the oyster out of the shell had taken effort and patience, and the process had come with a great deal of laughter, as well as a thrilling sense of awareness. Just recalling the way Lord Bodyguard had watched her, his lids heavy and his eyes dark, made her shiver.
Another gentleman waved at Lord Bodyguard from one of the publishing houses they passed. They’d already stopped to speak with two booksellers.
“You spend a good portion of time on this street,” she remarked. “Your love of books is perhaps greater than you let on.”
At odds with his strong, confident personality, he gave her a sheepish look that she found incredibly endearing. “Guilty. I have endeavored to become familiar with as many booksellers and publishers as possible.”