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“Share a brandy with me at my house. Will you?”
    Was he insinuating that they…? “No. I’m sorry, I can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I’m not interested in…” Her voice trailed off. To say it meant that she would have been thinking it.
    He stared. “Not interested in what?”
    She swallowed. It was like he wanted her to say it. It was like he needed her to say it. “Don’t make me say anything I oughtn’t.”
    He continued to stare. “Brandy,” he obliged in a low tone. “Nothing more. Because I need to speak to you.”
    She swallowed again. This reminded her of her days back at the opera house. Men insisting she join them “for brandy.” “I would rather you not complicate this.”
    “Jane—”
    “It’s Mrs. Robinson. Now please. Leave. I have had my fair share of invitations at night and don’t need any more.”
    He shifted his jaw, as if anything but pleased with her, and stepped back. “Very well.” Inclining his head, he turned and strode with a determined booted step toward the carriage, his greatcoat billowing against the snow. “Buy the entire display in the window, Harding,” he called out through the wind. “Then have every delivery boy take that display and follow Mrs. Robinson to Foley Street. That way, she doesn’t have to walk alone or buy anything.”
    “Yes, Your Grace!” one of the footmen called back, dutifully holding open the black lacquered door leading into the carriage.
    Her lips parted as she jerked toward the display. There were at least twenty-eight cakes in the window. Not including all the pastries. What would the neighbors say if half the bakery and all of its delivery boys arrived at her door at this time at night? She knew full well what they would say. By the end of the week, all of her students would be going to her competitors thinking she was whoring herself to the confectioner.
    Gathering her skirts from around her now icy cold booted feet, she scrambled after him, trying to maneuver past people. “Please don’t buy the display!” she called out, moving steadily faster toward him.
    He halted right before the open door of the carriage and turned to her, just as she alighted before him.
    He widened his stance, his boots matting the snow. “Decide whatever suits you best. Fourteen delivery boys or me. Either way, you’re not walking home alone. My decision in this is final. We don’t have to talk or have brandy, but I am not allowing you to have such blatant disregard for your own safety.”
    She huffed out a breath. He most certainly wasn’t the Martin she remembered. This man was more to the point and she honestly didn’t know what to make of him or this. “So be it. Buy the cake and take me home.”
    He searched her face. “Join me for brandy. One glass. Then I will take you home.”
    She shook her head. “No, I can’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because this isn’t right. Going to your home and having brandy past respectable calling hours isn’t right.”
    His expression faded into disappointment. “I understand. Would you rather I call on you tomorrow?” He sounded hopeful. “In the afternoon?”
    She tightened her lips. “No. I would rather you not call at all.”
    “But—”
    “My neighbors like to gossip. Which isn’t good for business. Please try to understand.”
    “I see.” He fell into silence and didn’t meet her gaze. He quietly lingered as if fully comprehending that she wanted nothing more to do with him.
    It twisted her heart. For it reminded her all too well of the Martin she once knew. The one who preferred to stand against the wall and watch as opposed to participate.
    She sighed. What was one glass of brandy? “Are your neighbors in the country right now? Or are they in town?”
    He paused. “In the country. Why?”
    This she could manage. “If they are all in the country, it means there won’t be any gossip about you and I having a brandy until spring. And I’m more than fine with that.”
    He stared.