"My name is Edward." He said, eyeing me intently as I stared at his face, fixated. Once again, he'd answered the very question I'd been wondering in my head.

We sat at the small table in my room. The fire was stoked to provide light and warmth, but it didn't seem that lack of either thing bothered him. In fact, it appeared that there was very little that bothered him…besides me. He still had that same tension, invading the space between us. I was beginning to wonder why he had decided to stay if it so obviously displeased him. It wasn't as though I'd begged him, after all. Aloud, anyway. But my thoughts were my own. Perhaps he was overly intuitive, or my face had at last found a satisfactory way to reveal my thoughts. No matter, the point was that he clearly understood me, whatever I was doing, and I began to expect him to answer my thoughts. Occasionally, I wrote questions or comments I was positive I couldn't express, and he addressed those equally politely. Somehow, even through his discomfort, he was more of a gentleman than I'd ever encountered.

So far, I had discovered that he was in London on brief business, representing a law firm in New York City, a place in America I'd seen rather uncanny photographs of. He looked awfully young to be a lawyer, and reminded me of that boy Jonathan Harker in Bram Stoker's Dracula. When I told him this on paper, he merely smiled slightly. ?That was one comment he didn't address. When I asked him about his family, he would only say that his parents had passed away, so I was left to assume he was as alone as I was. And, finally, he was staying in a boarding home for men only, on a street I had never heard of (which he hesitated to name). Of course, I knew it was a lie, but why should he have wanted to tell a complete stranger where he was staying? It hadn't even occurred to me to be bothered by the fact that he knew where I lived.

I picked up my pen and found a clean space on the scrap of paper at the center of the table. In that space, I wrote my name in flowing and curly script. I'd been in such a hurry before that the things I'd written before were messy scribbles, but this I could take my time with.

Johanna Lynn

I only provided my first and middle name. It would be all too simple and just according to my usual luck for Edward to mention my last name to someone who knew my parents (accidentally of course) and reveal my location. Besides that, he hadn't given me his last name either, and I had noticed. I noticed everything he did, even those things that I couldn't find words to describe.

"You have a lovely name." He said, his eyes still on the letters. "It flows. Like royalty."

If only…I thought, smiling a bit. And I picked up the pen again to explain my reaction.

My family lost all of their money, so it became my responsibility to marry someone wealthy. And, I have the kind of family whose concern would never really be whether or not I was happy in such a marriage.

I lifted my eyes to meet his, thinking. I don't really know if you can understand what I mean…

He shook his head a bit, his voice low in answer. "Not really, no. I'm sorry."

His tone was painfully sincere, not like others. In the real world, 'I'm sorry' was a formality. When someone said it, it meant that they understood the trigger, a death, a run of bad luck. They said it because they were supposed to, rarely did anyone actually mean it. I had the feeling Edward meant everything he said.

He was fidgeting with his teacup, only having drunk less than half of what was in it. By now, the steam had stopped rising and I was certain it was stone cold. But he asked for nothing. Catching me staring again, he fluidly lifted it and took the smallest of sips, then spoke again with deliberate words. "Are you going to ask me about what happened the other night?"

For a moment, it seemed as though he'd stopped breathing, but I dismissed it as a trick of the light and answered his question with a shake of my head.

"Why not?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

I don't know what was going on then and don't care to think about it, but if you were going to hurt me or anything of the sort, you certainly wouldn't have sat and had tea and small talk first.

His eyes were far off as he thought things through. "I guess you're right."

I smiled a bit at him, then stood for the first time since he'd come in. I gathered our cups and teapot, pouring out the old liquid and replacing the pot on the wood stove, the cups next to the wash basin for later. When I turned back, he was standing too, a dark silhouette as the sky turned black outside and his back faced the window.

"It's time for me to go." His posture was rigid, and though his feet were stationary, it felt like he was already heading for the door. My heart sank a little, but I would not complain, he'd sat and listened to my silence, something no one had ever done for me, nor likely ever would again. My skirt tickled my legs and I felt shy again as I crossed the floor to him. I almost reached out to touch his hand, but decided against it, knowing somehow that it would frighten or anger him, and he would pull away. So, I stopped a foot or so away and nodded to him meaningfully.

Thank you.

"My pleasure." It seemed that there was maybe more emotion in those two words than any he'd said. "I apologize. Again."

I shook my head to wave his statement off and followed him as he headed for the door. Opening it himself, he passed beneath the lintel out onto the single step, and seemed to pause. He wasn't facing me, and I had a sudden urge. Would he understand my words even if he couldn't see my face? Was there something more to Edward? Even more than I'd earlier anticipated?

Will I see you again, Edward?

He answered very quickly, sure of this of all things.

"You shouldn't. But you will."

And his steps made no noise as he retreated out of sight around the nearest corner, which I knew was a street with nothing but a dead end.