As Patrick watched, he saw a tall salt-and-pepper-haired gentleman walk toward the girl. The affection in the older man’s dark eyes filled Patrick with flash of jealousy. When Victoria bestowed a warm smile on the man, Patrick felt a wave of possessiveness course through him. What the devil was wrong with him?
The brooches held little of his attention as the man approached Victoria. He reached for her and brushed a tendril away from her brow, running his fingers over her cheek. Patrick could almost feel the smoothness of that cheek in his own fingers. He shoved his hand in his pocket.
“Yes, Uncle?” Victoria replied.
Patrick let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Her uncle. He bit back a laugh and bent his head once more to the jeweled pins set before him. The man was her uncle.
* * *
“Several ladies are in need of your expertise, my dear,” J. B. Elliot told Victoria. “At the perfume counter.”
Victoria nodded and turned, her gaze falling on the handsome Mr. Latham where he stood puzzling over the tray of brooches. When she’d first approached him, his head was bowed over the jewelry case, and she couldn’t help but notice his thick, wavy dark hair. But when he lifted his head to face her, she’d been lost in the arresting color of his eyes. Not green, precisely. Nor brown, either. Hazel perhaps, with a touch of gold. And his hair, which had looked black, from across the room, was in fact a rich shade of brown. Oh, she’d almost swooned right there!
He was a tall man. Nearly as tall as J. B. but far different in build. His fine brown jacket spanned broad shoulders. His tan breeches hugged long muscular legs. And his hands, she mused as she watched him carefully handle the brooches, were beautiful. Well, not precisely beautiful, they were large with long, elegant fingers. She wondered what it would feel like to hold a hand such as his. Would his skin be soft like hers or rough? She’d seen many a gentleman helping his wife or fiancée into a carriage. She’d watch how the gentleman would gently, but firmly grasp his lady’s gloved hand. She imagined it would feel lovely, with or without the gloves. Most likely nicer without, she decided. Shaking her head at her muddled thoughts, she turned to assist the impatient ladies with their perfume selections.
The ladies in question, as finely dressed and condescending as Lady Bowler, took what seemed to Victoria to be an extraordinary amount of time to settle on a fragrance. One of the new perfumes that had just arrived distinguished itself with a light and lovely scent that blended lavender and lemon notes. It now lingered on Victoria’s wrist as the ladies didn’t wish to dab it on their very white skin and perhaps soil the cuffs of their gloves. She carefully wrapped the three perfume bottles and settled the purchase at the counter. When she straightened and turned toward Mr. Latham once more, she found those mesmerizing eyes focused solely on her. His mouth was curved in a smile. Her breath caught in her throat as he slowly walked toward her.
“May I beg your assistance, Miss Elliot?” he asked with a raise of a brow. “I admit I’m at a bit of a loss.”
She took a quick breath to calm her fluttering heart. She eyed the garish brooch he held in his hand and her mouth twitched as she sought to hide her distaste. He caught it and grinned at her.
“You don’t much favor this one, I wager?” he asked.
She smoothly stepped back into her role of shop girl and responded in what she hoped was a diplomatic fashion.
“It’s a bit ornate,” she said carefully. “Um, very distinctive though.”
Mr. Latham laughed lightly. “It well suits its recipient, then.”
She raised a delicate brow, puzzling over his comment.
“Which one would you prefer, Miss Elliot?” he asked. “That is, if you were to choose one for yourself, which would it be?”
She was suddenly seized by the desires that had plagued her time and again this past month. She’d gazed often at the jewelry in the shop, imagining the thrill of receiving such a trinket from a favored suitor. She reached unerringly for a beautifully-wrought, delicate brooch of soft gray shell carved with graceful flowers. Vines of gold wrapped the piece, the effect simple and elegant.
She lifted the brooch in her hand. “I believe this one is most beautiful, Mr. Latham,” she said with a smile, her cheeks dimpling.
Mr. Latham stared at her for a moment as if he’d lost his voice. Holding her gaze, he reached out and for a heartbeat she thought he was going to touch her face, but then he looked down at the brooch and brushed his fingers over the tiny flowers on the piece. Then his fingers actually touched her palm and she almost jumped at the warmth of his hand.
Definitely better without gloves.
“Beautiful indeed, Miss Elliot,” he said, his eyes on her face once more. “Why did you choose this particular brooch?”
“It reminds me of home.” She said softly, gazing at the gold flecks sparkling in his eyes. “The flowers put me in mind of my late mother’s beautiful garden.”
“That,” he replied with a smile, “is probably the most wonderful reason I have ever heard for choosing a piece of jewelry.”
Victoria blushed and returned her favorite brooch back to its nest.
He bent his head toward her, his brow slightly furrowed. “What’s that scent?” he asked her, his face close to her wrist.
“It’s a new perfume,” she answered, a little breathlessly, slowly drawing her hand away from him.
He straightened, his lips parted.
“Lovely,” he said, his voice holding an intriguingly gruff note. He handed her the gaudy brooch. “I’ll take this one after all, Miss Elliot,” he told her. “I can’t imagine any other woman but you wearing the one you’ve chosen.”
Her cheeks flamed once more. She nodded and closed the glass case. Picking up the brooch Mr. Latham had chosen, she joined him at the purchase counter and settled the transaction.
“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Elliot,” he said with a wide smile as he took the small parcel from her. “Thank you for all of your help.”
She nodded mutely to him, flustered. What was the matter with her?
She watched Mr. Latham leave the store, his stride purposeful and smooth. She wondered who would be the recipient of the brooch. Gaudy or not, it would be lovely to receive a gift from such a handsome man. She sighed as she began re-folding the scarves for the tenth time that day, disappointed that Mr. Patrick Latham had left.
CHAPTER 2
That evening Victoria readied for bed in the pretty little chamber at her uncle’s house. The room was decorated in shades of rose and cream, and it had become her refuge after a tiring day. When J. B. had shown her to the chamber upon her arrival in London, she’d openly expressed her delight at how lovely the room was. He’d simply smiled at her and assured her that with all his years of experience as a purveyor and seller of fine goods, surely he could anticipate a young woman’s tastes. That was but one warm memory that came to her mind when she recalled the gracious manner in which her uncle had welcomed her.
He’d seen to it that she had new clothing as well, both modest day dresses for working in the shop and fancier dresses for when he’d need to entertain his business associates at home. She’d never had such beautiful dresses, and looked forward to wearing them. Back home, her wardrobe had been simpler, and more suited to country life.
Her work at the shop wasn’t terribly fulfilling, she mused as she changed into a nightgown of lawn. She sat at the dainty vanity made of gilded white oak and unpinned her hair. Upon the vanity sat a fine brush and comb set, crafted of silver, and she lifted the brush and ran it through her thick auburn locks as she continued to ponder her situation. But it was good, honest work, and she was surrounded by beautiful things all day. True, she did find some of the customers quite off-putting. Some of ladies seemed to look right through her and the gentlemen seemed to look right through her clothing! Only one customer had looked at her as anything other than a lowly servant or a loose woman, and that was Mr. Patrick Latham.
Lord, he was ha
ndsome. And when he’d gazed at her with those striking hazel eyes, she’d seen no contempt in them, no lecherous intentions. Just an incredible warmth that had filled her with the strangest sensation. Even now, just the thought of the touch of his hand on hers prompted such an unexpected longing.
Who was he precisely? She knew the name Patrick meant “of noble birth.” Although he’d introduced himself with no title, he carried himself with all of the stature of a peer of the realm. He was wealthy, that was certain. The cut of his clothes, and the easy way in which he’d spent his money on that hideous brooch, was enough to tell her that. Had he bought that trinket for a lover? The prick of envy surprised her. Who was she to feel anything but cordiality toward Mr. Latham? After all she hardly knew him. And experience had taught her that a man could hide an ugly nature behind a charming smile.
Paul had done that . . . The young man she’d thought she would marry. She was lucky to have a place to live in her late father’s brother’s home, especially after the event that had changed her life so utterly, and so soon after she’d buried her father. It hadn’t been enough that she couldn’t go on living in the vicarage after her father’s passing. She had to be cast aside by the boy she’d loved her entire life?
He’d broken her heart . . .
“I’m sorry, Victoria,” Paul had said, his voice nearly lost to her in the sound of the waves propelled by the stiff breeze coming off the sea.
She’d been certain that at any moment he would tell her that he was only playing a prank, that he wasn’t truly going to marry another woman. She’d loved Paul Bellam since she was a little girl, running about the cliffs of Cornwall in tattered skirts and long braids.
“My family demands that I wed a woman of fortune,” Paul had said.
“How can you do this, Paul?” she’d asked him, hating herself for the desperation she’d heard in her own voice. “We were to be together.”
“We can still be together,” had been Paul’s swift response . . .
She cursed, the sound loud in her pretty chamber and shocking to her own ears. He’d meant to keep her. How could he have made such an offer to her? Tears burned her eyes as she stifled a sob and crawled into bed.
She turned in frustration, burying her fist into the feather pillow. The faintly lingering scent of the perfume at her wrist brought a smile to her lips as she recalled Mr. Patrick Latham’s compelling words and actions today. His beautiful eyes had captivated her, and his bright smile had thrilled her. And when he’d intimated that the very lovely brooch could only be meant for her, his words had touched her despite their obvious falsehood. Perhaps there were men in the world who were both charming and true. Perhaps Mr. Latham was one such man. The tears on her cheeks dried as her lips curved in a slight smile.
* * *
Patrick found himself on Bond Street several times during the week following his purchase of the gaudy brooch, his feet retracing his steps as if of their own volition. On this particular afternoon, he stood on the walk before Elliot’s Fineries, debating the wisdom of entering on one pretext or another. The number of titled patrons frequenting the store didn’t surprise him as he watched from the dappled shade provided by one of the trees lining the thoroughfare.
Given the excellence of the wares available for purchase, as well as the very charming attendant within, he knew the gentry would be hard-pressed to find a more pleasing shop to patronize. Two dandies strode past Patrick on their way to the shop, identical bored smiles fixed on their faces.
“Have you seen her yet, old man?” the taller of the two queried.
“The little shop girl?” his stout companion replied. “Just two days ago. Quite a tasty morsel.”
Patrick knew they spoke of Victoria Elliot. He was barely able to restrain himself from punching the two fops squarely in their smirking faces.
“I agree,” the tall man said. “Perhaps the little dove is in want of a protector.”
His companion laughed and elbowed him in the ribs. The tall man clicked his tongue and readjusted his hat. They both nodded in Patrick’s direction before stepping into the store. Patrick returned the gesture absently, his stomach churning.
He stepped closer to the shop, peering through the multi-paned window. He spied the girl within, a small smile of deference curving her lips as she faced the two gentlemen. He fancied that even from this perspective he could see the hunger burning in their gazes. Ignoring the fact that he found her very much to his own liking, he didn’t relish the idea of these reprobates finding her to their tastes as well. He certainly didn’t want it to appear that he was like those two hounds, sniffing around her simple but pretty skirts. He turned from the window and continued down Bond Street. As for himself, he’d seek to muddle his mind with a bit of ale along with his luncheon.
* * *
That evening Patrick sat in a crowded public house, his mind filled with a certain silver-eyed girl. What was it about Victoria Elliot that so captivated him? She was beautiful, that was true. But he’d known many beautiful women in his life, and had bedded more than a few of them. Perhaps it was her innate grace, her ability to smile at every demanding customer that came into Elliot’s fine establishment. He hadn’t missed the flash of fire he’d glimpsed in her eyes when the ladies at the perfume counter had demanded her attention. Or her small gasp and pretty blush when he’d bent to sniff the scent on her delicate wrist.
The din of the noisy patrons in the pub did nothing to divert his mind from the beguiling girl. Still bothered by the gentlemen’s insinuations of the afternoon, he impatiently signaled for a serving girl to refill his tankard. He had to wave his hand more than once to draw her attention in the dark, smoky room. He absently watched as the girl approached his table. She smiled widely at him as she poured him more ale. Invitation was clear in her dark brown eyes, but Patrick felt not a glimmer of enticement. The girl shrugged her shoulders and sauntered off to find a more enthusiastic customer.
Perhaps there was still time to take in the last of Emmy’s performance. She’d been very grateful for the garish brooch he’d given her last week. Grateful and most thorough. He’d barely been able to walk the next day, he recalled with a grin. But even Emmy’s lush charms and frank enthusiasm couldn’t draw his interest this night.
Victoria, his mind whispered. Tory, he silently corrected. That name seemed more fitting for the auburn-haired temptress with the beguiling silver eyes. Perhaps he would visit the elegant shop tomorrow. Surely, he was in need of a few cravats. That notion caused him to chuckle.
“Pray, what amuses you, Latham?” a man asked him.
Patrick looked up from the table to find his good friend Tony Waring grinning at him.
“Good evening, Waring,” Patrick said with an answering grin. “And how does this evening find you?”
Tony shrugged and sat beside Patrick at the scarred table. Patrick signaled for the serving girl once more. Tony was another gentleman who no longer felt the desire to make use of his family’s title, although the circumstances were far different from Patrick’s. Tony had been all but disowned by his important family when they learned that he’d compromised the questionable virtue of an earl’s youngest daughter. How Tony had escaped a forced marriage, Patrick had no idea. But he found Tony a likable chum as enthusiastic about loafing and carousing as he himself was.
“What of your evening Latham?” Tony countered, leaning back in his chair. “Do you suddenly find the lures of Drury Lane tiresome?”
Patrick laughed lightly. “I haven’t taken in Emmy’s . . . um . . . performances for over a week now,” he said.
“And so the little songbird told me,” Tony revealed, a sparkle in his blue eyes.
Patrick arched a brow at him, feeling nothing but mild interest that Emmy had taken to entertaining his friend.
“Lovely trinket, by the by,” Tony said. “Tell me. Did you find it at Elliot’s on Bond Street?”
Patrick started.
“What do you know of Elliot’s?” he a
sked Tony, keeping his voice even.
Tony opened his mouth to respond. Just then the serving girl returned to the table with a tankard of ale. After winking in her direction, Tony faced Patrick once more.
“All are talking of that store, friend,” he said, taking up his tankard. “I am not referring to its fine wares, but to the new, very intriguing shop girl.”
A surge of jealousy struck Patrick. He took a long drink of his ale and set his tankard carefully on the table. “And what, pray, is everyone saying of this shop girl?” he asked.
“That she’s bloody beautiful,” Tony replied. “Several titled gentlemen are considering taking her under their protection. Surely she would be willing to leave her position should such an opportunity arise.”
Patrick’s fingers tightened on his mug of ale. Victoria, a mistress? Kept by a man solely for his pleasures? Not bloody likely. “No,” he said aloud.
He lifted his head to find Tony staring at him, confusion etched on his angular face.
“What’s this, Latham?” he asked. “What do you know of this girl?”
“Nothing,” Patrick said quickly. “I’ve noticed her, of course. Nothing more.”
“And perhaps you’ll pay another visit to that shop on the morrow, eh Latham?” Tony said slyly. “For a man who makes little use of his title you readily find the funds necessary to indulge your whims.”
Patrick took no offense at his friend’s words. “A title means nothing to me, Waring. I make use of my mother’s family name,” he said with smile. “And I make use of my inheritance when necessary.”
Just then the serving wench sauntered by their table once more. Tony glanced at her bottom as she bent over the table and then grinned at Patrick.
“I believe I can find amusements far cheaper than Bond Street,” he said.
Patrick laughed and finished his ale.
CHAPTER 3
Victoria painstakingly arranged the perfume bottles in an artful display, delighted by the way the cut crystal caught the morning light filtering through the storefront windows. She lifted the tear-shaped bottle containing the scent that had caught Mr. Patrick Latham’s attention a few days ago. She gently pulled out the stopper and held it to her nose. Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift back to that moment when Mr. Latham had made her feel things she had no right to feel. He made her feel like a woman. Like she was a person worthy of such a man’s attentions.
That Determined Mister Latham Page 2
