Free A Fool Again by Eloisa James

eyes and bought two mutton pies, a bottle of wine, a couple of tin mugs, and eight gingerbread men (four ladies and four gentlemen).
    â€œI shan’t eat such fare,” Genevieve observed, although secretly she had to admit that the gingerbread people were quite appealing. Suddenly a drop of rain fell on her nose, and then one hit her arm.
    â€œIt’s starting to rain,” Tobias observed, bundling his purchases under his arm.
    â€œI suppose we had better find your carriage,” Genevieve said, feeling unaccountably disappointed. Of course she had to go home. Why, the sky was already darkening. “What time is it?”
    â€œNot late at all,” Tobias said. “It only appears to be twilight due to the clouds.”
    â€œWhich way is the carriage?” Genevieve said rather anxiously. “Do you think this pig might catch a cold?”
    Tobias laughed. “I doubt that very much, you silly duck.” He dropped another kiss on her head. Then he slipped a hand into her arm and began to draw her through the crowd.
    Genevieve walked silently beside him. A big drop of rain splashed down her cheek, and another dampened the sarsenet of her cloak. She was aware that against all her better instincts, she would prefer that he didn’t treat her as if she were a small child he’d invited to the fair for a treat. But how would she like to be treated? Ah, that’s the rub, she thought to herself. I want— I want— But she wouldn’t let herself think about what she wanted, or why her skin seemed to be burning just from the light touch of his hand, or why she kept peeking at him, and thinking that truly, he was very handsome. Very.
    A second later, the rain began to splash down with a concentration that suggested they would never make it all the way across the Commons without being soaked to the skin. They weren’t walking quickly: It was difficult to keep the piglet from entangling himself in the feet of passersby, especially now that people were running in all directions to escape the rain.
    â€œWe’d better go in here,” Tobias said, leading Genevieve up the steps to the stall of the Snake Charmer.
    â€œI can’t go in there!” Genevieve gasped. “I’m afraid of snakes. And don’t snakes eat piglets?”
    â€œWe have to get rid of that pig somehow,” Tobias suggested, but when he saw that Genevieve drew back in horror, he stuck his head in the curtained entrance, handed the snake charmer a golden guinea, and said, “Make yourself scarce.” The snake charmer grinned, bowed, and trotted off into the distance, snake curled around his neck.
    â€œThere,” Tobias said, pulling back the curtains and tying them open. “We have a splendid view and we’re alone.” The whole Commons, which had been a veritable mass of brilliant colors and jostling people but an hour or two before, was emptying as quickly as the clouds were scurrying across the formerly blue sky.
    â€œA chair, my lady,” Tobias said, pulling forward a dilapidated couch to just inside the entrance. Genevieve gave it a suspicious look, then sank onto it. The sky had turned a pearly-gray color, and darker blue clouds rushed across it as if they, too, were trying to get home before it rained. The queer light made the scene all the more interesting.
    Tobias sat down next to her and stretched out his legs. In a moment he had the cork off the bottle of wine and was pouring her some. He handed a glass to her as elegantly as if it were of the finest crystal, instead of a tin mug that he’d acquired with the bottle.
    Genevieve had a sip. Perhaps it was the novelty, but the wine had a slightly explosive feeling on her tongue, as if it were champagne gone slightly flat. The piglet snorted and snuffled at her feet again, so Genevieve drew them up on the couch (a lady never sits in other than a decorous position!), glancing sideways at Tobias under her lashes. He