“Victoria,” her uncle said, breaking through her reverie.
Her eyes flew open and she felt her cheeks heat slightly. She fervently prayed her uncle couldn’t guess the provocative thoughts flitting through her mind. Setting the closed bottle on the table, she turned and smiled at J. B.
“Yes, Uncle?” she asked, running her damp palms over the skirt of her simple dress of ivory muslin.
“Are you wool-gathering, my dear?” he gently chided her.
Victoria shook her head and hurried to assist the lady awaiting her at the purchase counter.
“Forgive me, my lady,” she said to the blonde, impeccably dressed young woman.
“Pray do not fret, Miss.” The pretty woman smiled. “I’m woefully unoccupied this afternoon.”
Victoria nodded absently and began to wrap the woman’s purchases. She caught a glimpse of a male head crowned with rich brown hair and quickly turned toward the windows flanking the front of the store. It was Mr. Latham! The customer before her coughed discreetly to gain her attention, and Victoria forced herself to return to the task at hand. But she didn’t miss the man as he entered the store, smoothly making his way around the display tables. Their eyes met for a moment, and Victoria was certain that everyone in the store could hear her heart pounding. Her cheeks flamed as she finished packing up the pretty blonde’s order.
After wishing the woman a good day, Victoria busied herself with the careful folding of the tissue paper set beside her on the counter. Out of the corner of her eye, she continued to watch as Mr. Latham leisurely inspected the various perfumes, his long fingers graceful as he gingerly lifted a glass bottle. The blonde stopped before him, and a dark look crossed his face as he clutched the bottle in his hand.
The woman tentatively reached one hand toward him but Mr. Latham’s scowl clearly discouraged her contact. Her shoulders stiff, the woman turned and left the store. Who was that lady to him? It was evident she was a member of the ton and certainly pretty, Victoria mused. Mr. Latham was such a charming man, why would he scowl at her? She returned to her work, hoping he hadn’t noticed her watching.
* * *
Patrick gazed at Victoria as she worked at the counter, as if he could absorb her sweetness. Despite the fact that they’d had no real contact since that first day in the shop, he nonetheless sensed an innate goodness about the girl. Was that why he’d been keeping an eye on the swains who’d frequented the shop from his post under the leafy tree across the street? He’d vowed to himself that he would find a place for her in his life, even though a girl of such sweetness deserved more than a confirmed reprobate like himself.
As he neared her, he studied her flawless complexion, and the way her auburn tresses caught the light from the chandeliers. She truly was exquisite. He felt a genuine smile curve his lips as he came to stand before her.
“Hello, Miss Elliot,” he said. “I believe I’m in need of your assistance yet again.”
Victoria beamed a smile at him gifting him with a glimpse of her gorgeous dimples. A bolt of anticipation surged through him. His inopportune meeting with Susan had left him in a sour mood. He wouldn’t think of the pain he’d seen in that woman’s pale eyes. She’d set her course long ago, and he wouldn’t feel a glimmer of sympathy for the grasping witch.
“Do you wish to purchase another lovely brooch, Mr. Latham?” Victoria asked, a look of innocence on her pretty face.
Patrick was taken aback for a moment. Then the merry sparkle returned to her beautiful silver eyes.
“Are you teasing me, Miss Elliot?” he asked with a crooked grin.
To his delight, a secret smile curved her lush lips. He stared for a moment longer, wondering how they would taste. As her pink tongue flicked out to lick her lips he nearly groaned.
He cleared his throat and pointed to a display of cravats in the center of the store. “I’m in need of a few cravats. I’m afraid that I take little care of mine, and they are hopelessly creased.”
As Victoria opened her mouth to respond, J. B. Elliot came to stand beside Patrick.
“Cravats?” he asked with a smile. “Surely you will need several, with the Season well under way.”
Patrick didn’t bother to tell Victoria’s uncle that he never frequented the parties and assemblies of the ton, or that he dressed only for himself. Let the man think what he would, Patrick decided with a nod in J. B.’s direction. His money was as good as any dandy’s.
“As you say, sir,” Patrick said. “Several pairs of gloves would suit me this day as well. I was hoping that your lovely niece would be so kind as to assist me with my selections.”
J. B.’s dark eyes were intent on Patrick’s face. Patrick had the unmistakable feeling that Victoria’s uncle could read all of his less-than-honorable thoughts concerning the girl. With a slight nod, the man left Patrick to Victoria’s care.
Patrick watched the man move away from them to confer with another of the store’s clerks, and almost sighed in relief. J. B.’s piercing gaze was a bit unnerving, especially when taken with the interest Patrick now felt toward Victoria. He was unaware of her circumstances, to be sure. But he was certain that he’d never felt so drawn to a woman in his entire life. He looked at Victoria to find her gazing at him expectantly. Smiling despite the nervousness her compelling silver eyes elicited in him, he waved her ahead of him and followed as she led the way to a counter devoted to men’s items, admiring the gentle sway of her hips as she walked.
* * *
Victoria reached into a drawer set below the wooden counter and withdrew several cravats varying in quality and texture. She laid them out for him to peruse.
“Here you are, Mr. Latham,” she said.
He ran his eyes over the neck cloths and smiled crookedly. “Once more I defer to your expertise, Miss Elliot.”
Choosing what she thought was the best of the lot, Victoria held aloft a white one made of the finest silk. Mr. Latham fingered the cravat and nodded his dark head.
“You have an excellent eye,” he said. “This neck cloth is superior to the others.”
“I’m sure your valet will be pleased to handle such items for you, Mr. Latham,” she offered.
“My valet doesn’t tie my neck cloths, Miss Elliot,” he told her. “I find that I can handle all but the most complicated folds on my own.”
His own crisp white cravat was tied in a simple, masculine style. Victoria took the cloth back from him, folding it carefully.
“I’ll take a half-dozen cravats, Miss Elliot,” he told her.
Victoria slanted a look at him. “Only a half-dozen, Mr. Latham?” she asked.
He chuckled and nodded. “If I were to take as many as I needed,” he told her, “I would have no excuse to come back to this fine establishment.”
Victoria’s cheeks flushed hot. Busying her hands, she set aside six of the cravats and set the others back into the drawer. Taking a steadying breath, she turned to him once more.
“Would you like to see to the gloves now?” she asked him.
He seemed to study her closely, his eyes intent on her face.
“Riding gloves, I presume?” Victoria asked trying to gain control of her nerves. “We have several pairs made in a soft but very strong kid leather.”
“No, thank you,” he said with a warm smile. “I’m most pleased with the ones I have now. They are well broken in and most comfortable. Dress gloves would be the order of the day, I daresay.”
She could feel his eyes on her as she crossed to a set of drawers that held the dress gloves. Oddly, it didn’t bother her as it did when the other men watched her. She wondered what it would feel like to have his eyes on her in a more intimate setting . . . Oh my! Her scandalous thoughts shocked her.
“White ones, I believe,” he provided.
She nodded, flustered, and withdrew several pairs of dress gloves.
“I assumed you would want white,” she said as she placed them before him. “I wasn’t as certain of the size. Your hands are very
large, although you’re large all over—” Oh, goodness, I can’t believe I just said that.
“Th-that is,” she stumbled, her gaze averted. “You’re a tall man, Mr. Latham, and it would follow . . .” She cleared her throat and fussed with the gloves, trying to re-gain control of her run-away tongue. An odd, choking, coughing sound came from Mr. Latham, drawing her eyes to his face. “Are you all right, Mr. Latham?” she inquired.
He grinned as he picked up the largest pair of gloves she’d set before him. “Quite . . . all right, Miss Elliot.” He slipped on the gloves, flexing his fingers as if to show her that they did indeed fit his very large hands.
“You see, Miss Elliot,” he pronounced. “A perfect fit. Let us give them a try.”
He reached for one of her delicate hands and brought it to his lips.
“Yes,” he said, his eyes looking into hers. “Perfect, indeed.”
She withdrew her hand from his slowly and lowered her eyes to the counter once more. Mr. Latham removed the gloves and placed them before her.
“And a half-dozen pairs of gloves, I believe.”
Victoria stared at his hands, her lips parted. Without thinking, her fingers brushed the scratches on his knuckles.
“You’re injured,” she said, her eyes widened in concern.
“It’s nothing,” he assured her, his voice sounding strained. “You should have seen the other fellow.”
Her fingers stilled. “You were in an altercation?”
He smiled at her. “Hardly that. I was sparring. Harmless fisticuffs, believe me.”
Relief washed over her as she stroked his hand one more time. Then realizing what she was doing, she pulled her hand away. He cleared his throat and asked her to see the items delivered as he’d not brought his carriage. As she wrote down his address he cleared his throat once again. She wondered if he was getting a cold. Perhaps she should recommend a remedy that her old housekeeper had taught her.
“Miss Elliot,” he interrupted her thoughts. “I was wondering if we—”
“Is everything quite in order here?” J. B. asked, coming to stand beside Mr. Latham. “Is everything to Mr. Latham’s satisfaction, my dear?”
Victoria smiled sweetly at her uncle. “I believe that Mr. Latham has all that he needs at the moment, Uncle,” she returned.
“I was wondering, sir,” Mr. Latham began anew. “Is there any way that you can see your way clear to allowing Miss Elliot an hour or two of free time this afternoon? I would very much enjoy taking tea with her.”
J. B. narrowed his eyes, seeming to consider the request.
“There are several respectable establishments right here on Bond Street,” Mr. Latham supplied.
Victoria looked at her uncle hopefully.
“You may indeed have the pleasure of my niece’s company for tea, Mr. Latham,” J. B. said, glancing at his niece with a warm smile. Then, looking back at Mr. Latham, her uncle added, “Pray, don’t keep her engaged overlong.”
Mr. Latham gave the man a short bow and turned to Victoria.
“I shall be back shortly,” she said softly before disappearing into a back room of the store.
* * *
Miss Elliot emerged wearing her wrap and a dove gray bonnet. She placed her gloved hand on Patrick’s offered arm and the two of them walked out into the waning afternoon sunshine.
“I admit, this little excursion is a surprise,” she said.
He tilted his head, a smile curving his lips. “Is it? I believe I’ve paid you some attention in the last several days.”
She laughed a little at that. “Some? I daresay you were dogged.”
“Dogged? Hmm. I prefer determined. Or decided.”
“So you say,” she said.
They continued over the cobbles until they arrived at a cozy little tearoom not far from Elliot’s Fineries. Sunlight filtered through the lacy curtains trimming the windows facing the street. The same lace covered the small round tables. The air was filled with pleasant sounds of happy chatter and clinking china along with the enticing scents of cinnamon and imported teas.
“Have you ever had the pleasure of taking tea here?” Patrick asked Miss Latham as he held out the delicately-wrought chair for her.
“My uncle brought me here once,” she replied, nodding with thanks.
Patrick stood behind her for a moment, studying the gentle curve of her neck. Oh, how he would love to place a kiss right on that delicate skin. He caught himself before he did something foolish, and took his seat across from her. The server, an older lady, primly dressed, came immediately to their table for their order. He asked for a pot of steaming tea and a plate of assorted biscuits. He paused and flashed a smile in her direction.
“Do you like honey, Miss Elliot?” he asked her. “They have the finest here, delivered nearly every day from Shropshire.”
Miss Latham nodded her head in answer and Patrick added his request for honey. They sat in silence for several moments until they were served their refreshments. She gracefully lifted the bone china teacup and sipped. He picked up one of the fluffy cookies that accompanied their tea and drizzled some of the sweet honey on it. Holding it out to her, she hesitated for a moment, no doubt a bit self-conscious at having another waiting on her. She took the biscuit from him with her fingers and gingerly took a bite. Her eyes drifted closed for one moment, bliss etched on her lovely face.
“Mmm,” she murmured with delight.
A surge of lust coiled through him at the little sound. His gaze fastened on a drop of honey glistening at the corner of her mouth and he was unable to look away. As if of its own volition, his hand reached out toward her and touched her mouth. She blinked up at him, her eyes round. He gently wiped the drop of honey from her mouth and she instinctively parted her lips to him. Sharply drawing in a breath, he ran his finger gently over the swell of her lush lower lip. God, her lips were so soft. And the sight of that small pink tongue . . . The sounds from the other patrons soon intruded upon him. He leaned away from her, still gazing at those soft full lips.
“There was a drop of honey,” he said in a strained voice. “I hope that you will forgive my forwardness.”
“Nothing to forgive.” She blushed, and took another sip of tea, her hand trembling slightly.
He suddenly cleared his throat and picked up his cup. She was even more beautiful when she blushed. They sat in companionable silence, enjoying their tea and biscuits. He didn’t miss that she chose a second biscuit without the addition of honey.
“My mother used to make such biscuits,” she mused aloud.
“Mine never did,” he said.
She blinked at him and he smiled. “Her skill bent more toward flowers,” he said. “Her gardens were quite beautiful.”
“My mother gardened as well, but mostly vegetables and herbs.”
He sensed a sadness there in her expression. “She’s passed on, I take it?”
“She died when I was but five years old.”
“That is something we have in common, then,” he said. “Although I was blessed to have my own mother until I was nineteen.” A surprising pang of grief bit into him. “I do miss her.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. It was simple and genuine, and it warmed him.
“You were only five when your mother passed?” He sought to find out more about her. “How do you recall her baking and gardening?
“My father told me a lot about my mother, when I was a growing up,” she said softly.
“Where did you grow up, Miss Elliot?”
“I lived in Cornwall all of my life.” Her expression, filled with sweet sadness earlier, was now quite melancholy. “My father was the vicar in St. Ives. He died a month ago.”
That certainly explained the melancholy he’d glimpsed. “And how did you find Cornwall growing up?” he asked, eager to brighten the conversation.
She gave him a smile. “It was all I ever knew, but I can’t imagine a lovelier place to be a child. The sea, the hills, the fresh air. I love
d it.”
“And as a young lady, I’d imagine.”
She nodded, her gaze growing a bit shuttered. “Perhaps.”
When she said nothing more, he thought to tease her a bit.
“Come now, Miss Elliot,” he said lightly, leaning toward her. “Surely, you left a lover or two pining for you.”
Her head shot up, her eyes round. Pain flickered in their gray depths. She shook her head. “You have no right to speak to me of such matters,” she said, laying down her linen napkin.
“Miss Elliot, I—”
“I must return to the shop,” she said, coming to her feet.
Patrick stared at her. What had he said? He stood quickly and settled the bill as she studied the tips of her leather shoes.
“As you wish,” he said at last, drawing her eyes to his.
He took her elbow. They said nothing more as they walked the short distance to Elliot’s Fineries.
“Thank you for the tea,” she said stiffly, facing him once more.
He took her hands in his, bringing them swiftly to his lips. He dropped the lightest kiss on her fingers.
“Forgive me, Miss Elliot,” he said. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you.”
“I’m not upset, Mr. Latham,” she said, her voice sounding strained to his ears. “I must return to work. That is all.”
Patrick gave her a nod and escorted her back to Elliot’s. As she entered the store, he watched her for a long moment through the multi-paned store window.
“Damnation, I’m a fool,” he muttered.
What was it about Victoria Elliot that filled him with such strange compulsions? What would prompt him to make such a ridiculous and inappropriate query to such a girl? She had every right to be angry with him. He’d spoken to her as if she was one of his seasoned paramours. She was a vicar’s daughter for Christ’s sake. But the pain that had filled her eyes had been most surprising. Who was the man who had hurt her in Cornwall? And did he still have a hold on her heart?
That Determined Mister Latham Page 3
