The tone of her voice triggered a rage so deep within him that it hardly touched his features. His chest constricted and his jaw tightened, and all he wanted to do was yell. After paying for her earring, for following her out of the shop and helping her escape from the lackeys at the pawn shop, this is how she wanted to treat him? Clearly she wasn't very grateful after all.

But he didn't say anything. Just as his chest was tight, so was his windpipe, and he was certain that if he tried to speak he'd either swallow his tone or let out a—probably embarrassing—noise of annoyance. Instead he rolled his eyes and turned towards the street, scanning the groups of people in search of the two men who'd been chasing them before. They weren't there. Not yet.

The silence stretched out over a minute's time, and finally he felt his chest relax and his throat loosen. He turned back to look at her. "Why should I not take us to a tea shop?" he asked, brows raised, as if challenging her to reveal that her mind was far less pure than those of women of her station were expected to be. (He already knew it had to be when she'd spoke of the favors the pawn shop owner had asked of her, but what woman wanted to admit that they knew the Painted Lady was a whorehouse? Maybe she'd shut up about it. Maybe she wouldn't. It was Rowan Yaxley after all.)

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