“And now?” he asked. “I suppose there can be no excuses after tonight.”
Linley’s face grew warm, although she wasn’t sure exactly why. She pressed the side of her liquor glass to her face and neck, as if the condensation dripping down her fingers could cool her.
She was not usually awkward and inarticulate, but as Linley sat in the hotel garden surrounded by not only the scent of orange trees in blossom, but also the crisp aroma of this man’s starched shirt and hair tonic, she could not think of one clever thing to say.
She downed the rest of her brandy instead.
Watching her carefully, Patrick did the same. “He who aspires to be a hero must drink brandy.”
“What?”
He smiled and waved her off. “Never mind.”
“Were you quoting someone?”
“I was.”
She cocked her head. “Whom?”
“Dr. Johnson.”
As she studied him in the moonlight, Linley realized she was staring into the eyes of a man with a brain behind them. He was certainly a man who quoted Dr. Johnson at random, which meant he must be well read, at the very least.
No one she knew read Dr. Johnson.
And no one she knew would’ve bothered to quote him if they did.
“Are you an admirer of his?” Linley asked.
“He was a very wise man,” Patrick said. He paused for a moment and stared into his liquor glass. “My father thought reading his letters would do me some good.”
“And did it?”
He grinned. “It taught me a great deal about my father.”
Linley couldn’t help but laugh. Perhaps it was just the brandy working its magic, but Mr. Wolford appeared so charming, so unaffected. It seemed he was not just a handsome, intelligent man, but also a very nice one.
“I hope you don’t think me too forward,” he said. “Approaching you like this.”
She smiled. “Oh, no. It saved me the trouble.”
“You were going to approach me?”
“I wanted to apologize for barreling into you earlier,” Linley said. “Catching me in the middle of a tantrum is hardly the first impression I hope for.”
Patrick laughed. “You needn’t worry. My impression was formed long before that.”
“How? You don’t know me.”
“I know a little. Which makes me want to know more.”
She frowned. “You think me a curiosity.”
“I am curious about you, Miss Talbot-Martin. I fully admit to that.”
“Then you’ll be disappointed,” she warned. “I’m not nearly as exciting as people make me out to be.”
He smiled over at her. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
“Oh, the exterior is fascinating, to be sure—Archaeologist’s daughter, world traveler,” Linley explained. “But beneath all that, I’m just a typical girl.”
“I think you’re rather complex. I’d be a fool not to know you further.”
Suddenly, Linley noticed that the garden had grown quieter over the course of their conversation. All the ladies had gone indoors and, except for the ruckus on the balcony above, most of the lights were out in the hotel. She wanted to sit with Patrick all night, but the brandy had gone to her head, and she knew she should get some rest.
“Then proceed at your own peril, Mr. Wolford,” she said. “I’m going into the souk tomorrow. You should join me.”
“The souk? Is that what I had to fight through to get here?”
She nodded.
“And you’re going out alone?”
“Only if you do not come with me.”
Patrick imagined the young woman being jostled about in the chaos, and of all the dangers that lay beyond the protective hotel gates. “After breakfast?” he asked.
“I’ll meet you here.” Linley stood up, handing him her empty liquor glass. “Thank you again for the drink.”
***
The next morning, Patrick flipped his gold watch open, noted the time, then shifted in his seat and returned the watch to his pocket. Almost ten o’clock. He debated whether to wait any longer or return to his room and count his losses when Linley stepped through the French doors and into the garden.
“You’re late,” he said, rising politely.
Her white linen suit shone crisp and bright in the morning sun as she crossed the lawn and held out her hand to him. “Or one could argue you are quite early.” She smiled as she said this, scattering the dark spatter of freckles across her face. They seemed more pronounced in the daylight, even under the shade of her enormous straw hat. “It all depends on one’s definition of breakfast.”
Patrick smiled, too, taking her small hand in his. “Yes, well, I suppose we should have chosen a more specific time.”
Linley nodded. “Shall we get on with it?”
“By all means,” he said. “Lead the way.”