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to steady her hand.
    “ Hmph . I know of her. I read the newspapers. She learned to fly in a single-seater airplane while her teacher shouted instructions at her from the ground. She’s already almost died in a crash. I am an engineer. What I build or design, I know backward and forward as to why it works. None of you know why these flying things fly.” He paused and she took the time to digest the obvious dislike he had for flying. Perhaps if he knew better...if he’d felt the exhilaration the way she had?
    “To be honest, I don’t want to see you hurt, Miss Evard.” That rock-steady voice seemed to drive through her like a steam roller, flattening her out until she was thin as paper and he could have blown her away with a single warm breath. He doesn’t want to see me hurt?
    “Tell me, why do you fly?” He popped the biscuit in his mouth and chewed and swallowed it in a few crunches.
    She blinked. Easy question. Here was her element. “Because it thrills me. Because when I fly, I am truly alive. You must come up and fly sometime. Do something new in your life! I dare you, sir!” She thumped the table.
    “Do you?” he said drily.
    Ah, she’d struck a nerve. The piercing look he gave her shrank the very blood in her veins and turned her to ice, until he spared her and sipped more tea. Perhaps flying wasn’t such a good topic. She scrambled through her thoughts, searching for a safer one, and found nothing in the blankness.
    It struck her then how controlled this man was. Not once had he fidgeted or dusted off something from the table or his jacket. He barely had a single useless mannerism. Unlike her. Unable to resist, she brushed a strand of hair from her brow and leaned forward.
    He smiled, startling her. “You have beautiful eyes, Miss Evard, I noticed them earlier.”
    Gosh . She sat back a little. Why say this now? As if to toy with her? They both knew earlier was at the workshop, when he’d kissed her.
    “Um. Thank you, sir, for the compliment.”
    “My pleasure. Might I ask, if you’ve known Jeremy for long?”
    She frowned and picked at an imaginary speck on the tablecloth. “When I was a child in Australia, his family lived on a cattle property near us. We were close friends until I was twelve, then he left for England. He stayed with us a few times in Paris.”
    “I had wondered. He made some mention of you when he heard of your visit.”
    She nodded. “I see.” That broad mouth of his had firm purposeful lips.
    Oh dear, he’d seen her looking. Whatever had happened to men who barely saw if she had bothered to dress at all? Most of them ignored her, charlatan and flamboyant rebel that she was. She was used to being regarded as a lesser social being. Why in hell couldn’t Mr. Meisner do the same?
    But then...in a way, she did like his attention. Below, between her legs, moistened, reminding her of how trapped he’d made her feel in the workshop. Her breaths shortened.
    Slowly, Mr. Meisner put his teacup on the tablecloth, like a chess player declaring checkmate. “Jeremy did speak well of you, though, I recall. He also said you had a wild spirit even as a child.”
    Why does that sound like a condemnation? What nice hands he had. How forcefully, he’d pressed her against the wall, and held her. She blinked, flustered. Why had he missed the saucer? Deliberate? Why? Faith frowned.
    “You are terribly transparent in your emotions. I like that in a woman.” He shifted on the chair.
    Mouth open, she struggled for a witty return then picked up her cup for something solid to hang onto. Oh, he’d poked her off course yet again. The man excelled at being unpredictable.
    With a last inscrutable glance in her direction, Mr. Meisner leaned forward. “I must be leaving.”
    She clenched her teacup even tighter, denting her finger on the delicate handle. No. Not yet .
    There was no polite way. Either she said this, or she let him walk away. Clearly he’d decided the rules of society were there to