Affairs of State. Jennifer Lewis

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      “I can see you have good taste. I’ve grown up surrounded by fine things, and never had to exert myself to acquire any. It looks as if you’ve done the work of three hundred years of collectors.” He picked up a hand-painted miniature of a lady and her poodle.

      “Isn’t she sweet? A client from England gave her to me to thank me for planning her wedding in Maryland. In a way I suppose I’ve stolen her from among your national treasures.”

      “Perhaps she’s simply traveling for a while.” His smile melted a little piece of her. “Objects might get restless, just as people do.”

      She laughed. “I sometimes wonder how they feel about being bought or sold or traded to a new person. I know that inanimate objects aren’t supposed to have feelings, but they must carry some energy from the people and places they’ve been before.”

      “I know places can have their own spirit. My home at Whist Castle practically bustles with it.” He leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. “If places can have a feeling, why not things as well?”

      “I’m glad you don’t think I’m a nut. I do enjoy seeking out little treasures. In fact I was thinking of ducking past any photographers and doing that this afternoon at the Eastern Market.”

      “Perhaps we could go together.” He said it quite calmly, as if it wasn’t the most outlandish idea she’d every heard.

      “But if people see us together…they might talk.”

      “About what?” He leaned back, face calmly pleasant.

      Suddenly she felt like an idiot for suggesting that people might gossip about a romance between them. Obviously that existed only in her own mind. What would a British royal be doing with her? “I’m being paranoid again. I probably think the press cares far more about me than they actually do.”

      “If anyone asks, we can tell them you’re helping me source interesting items for a fund-raiser we’re planning.” He picked a pair of tiny silver sewing scissors and snipped the air with them.

      “The outdoor concert?”

      “A mad hatter’s tea party, perhaps?” A cute dimple appeared in his left cheek. “People do expect us Brits to be eccentric, after all. You won’t actually need a reasonable explanation.”

      “Well, in that case, let’s go.”

      “Is there another way out of here?” He’d risen to his feet and offered his hand to her.

      “You mean, besides the front door?”

      He nodded. “I’m afraid I was spotted arriving here.”

      “The short guy with the ponytail?”

      “The very same.”

      “Ugh. He’s freelance and has sold pictures of me to at least three different papers. One was a picture of me carrying two grocery bags, and somehow he managed to bribe the cashier into handing over my receipt so everyone could learn what brand of aspirin I prefer. And there isn’t another way out. I guess you’ll have to stay here forever.”

      Her hand heated inside his as he helped her to her feet. He didn’t look at all put out by either the photographer or the prospect of spending the rest of his life in Apt. 1A.

      “I do hate to assist these lowlifes in their trade. We’ll leave separately so there’s no picture. I’ll leave first in my car, you leave five minutes later and walk around the block. I’ll have a blue Mercedes meet you in front of the Mixto restaurant.”

      “Goodness, I feel like I’m in a James Bond film.” He must have planned this. Which sent sparkles of excitement and alarm coursing through her.

      “Don’t worry. I have years of experience in dodging these leeches. I think of it as an entertaining challenge.”

      “I’m game. What should I bring?”

      “Just yourself.”

      Simon left via the front door and she rushed to the window, where she saw him get into a waiting silver SUV, which pulled away. She took a couple of minutes to fix her hair and face, and put on a light blouse and some boots, then she headed out in the opposite direction, toward the tiny restaurant as if she was just on her way to the local deli. She didn’t cast a glance at the depressing figure in his dull green jacket and faded black baseball hat, though she felt his eyes trained on her.

      Simon was right. As long as they weren’t seen together, there was no picture to sell. The whole world knew he was in D.C. Everyone was already tired of pictures of her leaving for work and coming back home again. No picture, no story.

      A tiny ripple of triumph put a spring in her step as she rounded the corner and spotted a blue Mercedes idling double-parked halfway down the block. The car’s rear door opened and she saw Simon’s reassuring face. Feeling like a ninja, she climbed in, and they cruised off down the block. Her heart was pounding, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of all the subterfuge, or being so close to Simon again.

      “He didn’t follow you.”

      “Nope. He rarely does. I think he’s too lazy. Just snaps a couple of pictures a day and hopes a story will break so he can sell them. So far his biggest coup is the day I wore my Montana Grizzlies T-shirt. They plastered that picture all over the papers right as the story about my father was breaking, as if it was proof I was his daughter or something.”

      “Once you’re in the public eye people read into your every move. You learn to laugh at it.”

      Up close like this she could see a slight haze of stubble on his jaw. She wondered what it would feel like against her cheek, and felt her breath quicken. She tugged her gaze out the window, where D.C. scrolled by. “We’re going in the opposite direction from the market.”

      “My driver knows some antique shops in Maryland. We’ll enjoy more privacy there.” He leaned back against the seat, shirt stretching over his broad chest. “And I very much doubt any photographers will find us.”

      Was this a date? It certainly felt like one. There hadn’t been any real mention of the event they were supposedly planning. And it wasn’t exactly professional of him to show up on her doorstep without warning. “Do you whisk women off in cars on a regular basis?”

      He shot her a sideways glance. “No, I don’t.”

      Her chest swelled a little. So she was special? She wondered if he’d prolonged his trip to see more of her. Then chastised herself for having such a vain thought. She’d better steer this conversation in a business direction. “I told Scarlet about your plans for the fund-raiser and she’s going to start work on finding the venue. How are your other fund-raising efforts going?”

      “That’s an abrupt change of subject.” His tawny eyes glittered with humor. “And I’m forced to confess I haven’t made much headway. Every time I try talking about education in Africa, people’s eyes glaze over and they ask about my latest climbing expedition. I’m afraid I can never resist talking about climbing.”

      “You need to make your cause sexier.” Uh-oh. Just saying the word caused the temperature in the car to rise a degree or two.

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