It was of no consequence to him, He turned and began to walk away from Elliot’s Fineries. Miss Victoria Elliot wasn’t a woman who would suit him. He preferred his women more worldly and his liaisons free from any emotional entanglements. Yet why was he so drawn to her? He was surely a fool. That was certain.
* * *
Victoria forced a smile at her uncle as she placed her wrapper aside in the back room and prepared to resume her work in the shop.
“Did you have a pleasant time with the young man, my dear?” J. B. asked from behind her, his dark eyes intent.
“Mr. Latham is a very nice gentleman, Uncle,” she said.
J. B. grasped her arm, urging her close.
“Take care, Victoria,” he said in a low voice. “While I’ve nothing against Latham, I fear that I know nothing of his situation.”
“But, Uncle,” she began.
He held up a hand to still her. Victoria indulgently held her tongue.
“I know that the rooms he keeps are in a very suitable part of town,” he went on. “But you’re an innocent, my dear, and I wouldn’t want to see such innocence lead to undesirable circumstances.”
Victoria could say nothing to the man. Did he truly think her so naïve as to let a man’s kindness lead her astray? She wasn’t the same girl she’d been in Cornwall. She glanced at J. B. as they walked back out onto the store floor, and knew that his mind was already on another matter, his eyes darting about the store as he mentally calculated the spending potential of each elegant customer. Victoria was thankful she wouldn’t be pressed for a response to his comments. At the moment, she was most pleased he could switch so easily from one topic to another.
She didn’t want to think about what a fool she’d made of herself in the tearoom. Thoughts of Paul and his rejection or about her extreme response to Mr. Latham’s innocent question of a lover left behind in Cornwall.
Her uncle walked swiftly away, and Victoria gave a slight shake of her head. The silver bell at the purchasing counter soon beckoned and she hurried to answer its call.
* * *
Victoria tossed and turned that night, the pretty floral coverlet in a tangle at the foot of her bed. She couldn’t free her mind enough to let sleep claim her, and she believed that she knew the reason.
Paul.
The blond gentleman’s image floated before her. In an instant, that image shifted and changed, and Patrick Latham filled her mind. His compelling eyes, his incredible touch, was all she could ponder. Lord, he was a handsome man. And although he’d inadvertently caused her pain when he mentioned her leaving a lover in Cornwall, the compassion on his face afterward had more than made amends for that lapse.
She lifted her fingers to her mouth, remembering his touch as he’d wiped the honey from her lips. Although she’d never truly felt a man’s lips on hers, she knew that the feelings Mr. Latham aroused were unique. He made her yearn for something she’d longed to have her entire life. A husband. Children. A cozy home. A family. Oh, she was surely a fool to believe that a man like Patrick Latham, would ever find her the least bit to his liking. She knew she had physical attributes that attracted men, but there were plenty of pretty girls in the world. No. What she didn’t have was a pedigree and the wealth that went with it. Hadn’t Paul cast her aside with nary a twinge of regret? Not fit for marriage. But certainly fit for being a mistress.
Oh, the shame of it!
Was that what Mr. Patrick Latham desired as well? Even not knowing his particular situation, she was certain he was as out of her reach as Paul had been. He had seemed so kind, though. So unlike the other gentlemen who frequented the shop.
“Patrick,” she whispered into her pillow.
Sleep found her swiftly as she hugged herself and took comfort in the notion that the dark-haired gentleman with the mesmerizing hazel eyes might want her just a little bit.
* * *
Several nights later, Patrick climbed the stairs to his rooms, feeling a bit befuddled. He’d turned down an offer of female companionship at his favorite pub, raising his friend Tony’s eyebrows more than a notch. The theaters held no interest for him either, much to his surprise. He well knew the reason for his disinterest. Victoria, his mind whispered.
“Tory,” he breathed in correction, his voice echoing in the narrow staircase.
She was all he’d thought of this night, even as a comely wench had stood before him with an offer which would have drawn him on any other evening prior to that day he’d walked into Elliot’s Fineries. Paying a visit to the very talented Emmy was no longer attractive to him either. Even the memory of the guilty passions that woman had brought out of him didn’t rouse him in his dark solitude at this moment. He wanted Tory, he acknowledged to himself for the first time. But he didn’t deserve her. She was sweet and untouched and he’d happily played the rogue for the past five years.
He entered his sitting room, ignoring the lure of the deep green overstuffed chair that squatted close to the fireplace as he continued through to his sleeping chamber. The fact that she worked as a shop girl was of no consequence to him, he acknowledged as he stripped off his clothes. He turned back the green satin coverlet and fell onto his bed. He pillowed his head on his hands and let his eyelids droop. He knew little of her financial situation and cared even less. He knew without question that it was her goodness—her innocent allure—that drew him. He felt a tug in the center of his chest, a burgeoning hope beating in his breast. He swore softly in the quiet room. His heart had been taken from him all those years ago, his emotions untouchable since his father and Susan’s betrayal. What did he possibly have to give Tory?
Money, he allowed, knowing that his mother’s bequeath would support both himself and a wife in relative comfort. But his heart was cold, holding no room for such a vibrant, tender girl. And what of Tory’s heart? Did that fool she’d left in Cornwall still hold it in his inept hands?
Patrick came to his feet beside the bed and crossed to the sitting room. Aside from the comfortable lodgings the house afforded, he could count on the supply of libations for its male inhabitants. He smiled ruefully as he opened a cabinet set in the sideboard. Some brandy would quell these bothersome thoughts, he mused as he withdrew both a bottle and a crystal glass. He poured a generous amount and swallowed it swiftly, letting out a breath as he set the glass back down on the sideboard. He thought then of the item he’d purchased at Elliot’s yesterday, a piece purchased without the lovely girl’s assistance, when he’d found her out of the shop or perhaps working in the backroom. His eyes fell on the small parcel where it sat on the sideboard, wrapped and patiently awaiting its recipient. The older woman who had waited on him had eyed him with frank interest before settling the purchase, and he’d wondered what Tory had told her of their all-too-short visit to the tearoom. And this night, he wondered at the manner in which the gift would be received were he to ever muster the courage to give it. He drank another glass of the liquor before setting the bottle aside. He fell upon his bed once more, waiting for sleep to claim him.
Tory came to Patrick in a dream, and in the vision they were taking tea in his own private rooms. The honey glistened once more on her lips, but when he reached out toward her she welcomed his touch with lush enthusiasm. Her full lips parted, her pink tongue flicking out to slowly stroke his fingertip. She gently suckled his finger and desire pounded through him. Her silver eyes were fathomless as she drew his hand down to cup her round breast. She fit him perfectly. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back and whispered his name. He was nearly lost.
“Tory,” he murmured in his sleep, his fingers clutching the sheets as, in his mind, she gave herself up to his expert touch.
“Patrick,” she breathed in the dream, wrapping her arms around his neck as she came to sit in his lap. “Oh, Patrick . . .”
Patrick came awake with a start, the sound of his breathing harsh in the darkened solitude of his chamber. He was rock-hard with wanting, and knew in that moment that none but Victoria w
ould ever be able to arouse such longing in him again. He dashed his hand across his brow and took a deep steadying breath.
“Tory,” he said aloud. “My God.”
CHAPTER 4
During another busy day at Elliot’s Fineries, Victoria couldn’t push Mr. Latham, Patrick, from her mind. Oh, the feelings he aroused within her as she’d lain in her bed the previous evening. Would he come into the shop today?
She kept herself busy arranging a selection of glass fruits upon a display. The pieces were quite whimsical and she wondered who would ever purchase such oddities. Her uncle hadn’t told her where they’d come from, but that wasn’t unusual. He didn’t share any details of his business as a rule.
She often found herself alone in the evenings, J. B. off on shop business of some kind. Where he went on these evenings, she didn’t ask. Used to relative solitude in Cornwall, with only her father and Mrs. Davies, the housekeeper, sharing the quaint little vicarage, it had been a common occurrence.
That was before the double heartbreak of Paul’s betrayal and the arrival of the new vicar and his wife and children. No, her beloved Cornwall was no longer home to her. She thanked God for her uncle’s kindness in bringing her to his home. She relished the quiet evenings when her uncle was out and about, no doubt acquiring more of the fine and unique items for which his store was famous. She absently fingered the delicate golden leaf adorning the glass-hewn grapes.
“Miss Elliot,” a woman’s voice called from across the shop.
Victoria looked up to find a short, plump society lady waving at her, her ruddy cheeks flushed in excitement. A smile graced Victoria’s face as she recognized Lady Whitby, one of her favorite regular customers.
“Lady Whitby, what a pleasure to see you.” Victoria greeted the woman warmly.
“My dear girl,” Lady Whitby began as she placed her hand over her heart. “I declare, you are the only person who can me help, I am certain.”
“I am very pleased to help you, my lady,” Victoria’s lips twitched as she tried to suppress her humor. Lady Whitby was wife to one of the most powerful earls in England and yet, unlike so many other well-to-do ladies who frequented her uncle’s shop, she treated Victoria like an equal. This was astounding, and so very appreciated.
“I need a fitting gift for my daughter,” the older woman said her eyes wide. “She’s having her come-out, you see, and attending her first ball, and I would very much like to mark the occasion with something special.”
Victoria was silent for moment as she pondered the possibilities. “I think perhaps, a piece of jewelry,” she offered, beckoning the woman to follow her to the jewelry counter. “We have several lovely pieces from which you can choose, all well-suited to a young girl’s first come-out.” Victoria withdrew the velvet tray holding the brooches. The lovely gray one, she thought with a twinge of regret. She was certain a young girl in her first season would favor such a delicate and beautiful piece of jewelry.
When she failed to locate the piece she was disappointed. Oh no! It had been sold. Now, she wouldn’t even have the pleasure of knowing for certain that the brooch had found a worthy recipient. She inwardly sighed, and chose several brooches that were tasteful and elegant in their own manner. The older woman squinted her eyes as she carefully looked over the selection.
“Oh, there are so many pretty ones. I cannot possible choose one,” she exclaimed. “My dear Miss Elliot, what do you think?”
Victoria perused the beautiful assortment of brooches and her gaze landed on a very daintily-wrought rose-covered piece. She picked it up and showed it to Lady Whitby.
“I think your daughter would be very happy with this one. Golden roses. So pretty and yet so unique.”
“Oh, you do have such exquisite taste, Miss Elliot,” the woman said with a warm smile. “It’s one of the reasons I take my business here.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Victoria beamed.
She wrapped up the purchase and bade Lady Whitby a good day. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spied a dark-haired gentleman intently watching her. Hope filled her and she turned fully toward him. That hope faded as she realized she was mistaken. It wasn’t Mr. Latham standing in the store, but an equally well-dressed gentleman with very lively blue eyes. He was on the lean side, wearing a crooked smile on his face. He beckoned to her with one hand and Victoria nodded and came to stand before him.
“May I help you with something, sir?” she queried.
The tall gentleman’s smile widened. “Miss Elliot, I presume?” At her nod he introduced himself. “Tony Waring. I’ve heard much of your welcome addition to this fine establishment.”
Victoria tilted her head to one side. “Is that so?”
“You’re quickly gaining a reputation as a woman well-versed in the selection of fine goods,” Tony said with a nod.
Victoria returned the man’s smile with one of her own.
He blinked. “Beautiful.”
Victoria was grateful he didn’t leer at her as most of the gentleman who frequented the store.
“Is there something in particular you need today, Mr. Waring?”
“Tempt me, Miss Elliot,” the man returned smoothly. “What, precisely, can a gentleman such as I possibly not do without?”
Victoria laughed lightly at the man’s words.
“Perhaps a new watch fob, sir,” she said, “or a new pair of riding gloves?”
Tony nodded. “Capital! Please, Miss Elliot,” he went on, “do show me a pair of riding gloves in the softest, finest leather. I fear I go through them rather quickly. Although a very good friend of mine swears that I’m too quick to replace them, that they are much better when well broken in and formed to the hand.”
Victoria thought immediately of Patrick, her cheeks growing warm as she recalled his very large, very strong hands. She glanced at the customer and found him wearing a look of interest.
She cleared her throat and managed a smile. “Riding gloves, then,” she said, leading him to the counter holding such men’s items.
The gentleman chose a pair of gloves made of the finest kid leather and thanked her profusely for aiding in his choice. His hands were large, she noticed, but also long and elegant. Patrick’s hands were broader. And when Patrick’s finger had touched her lips . . . She forced her attention to the present as she nodded to the gentleman. She settled his purchase and handed the new gloves to him.
“My hands will thank you, no doubt, when I take my horse out on the morrow,” he said with a grin. “And perhaps my friend will change his mind about buying new riding gloves when he sees these very fine ones you’ve helped me select.”
“I’m glad you’re satisfied, Mr. Waring,” she said. “It was my pleasure to serve you.”
“The pleasure was mine, Miss Elliot,” he said with a bow. “I daresay that I’ll be back again.”
Victoria returned to her work as the man left the store, her mind still on Patrick and whether or not he would deem it necessary to purchase something, anything, from Elliot’s today.
* * *
Patrick wiped a towel over his sweat-stained face as his heart slowly resumed its normal beating. A quick sparring match at Bradley’s Boxing Saloon was just the thing for getting the blood pumping and the head clear, he mused as he nodded to the owner, his sparring partner.
“Excellent match, Bradley,” Patrick said. “I believe I needed it.”
“You were a bit wild, Latham,” the man teased, pushing his blond waves back from his face. “Has it been that long since you were with a woman?”
Patrick laughed. “Never mind.”
He’d known Thomas Bradley back in school, but they’d lost touch in the interim. A second son, he was a bit ahead of Patrick, actually. Closer to thirty, by now. He wasn’t the bosom chum Patrick found in Tony, but he was a good man. And a hell of a boxer. He was the same height as Patrick but heavier, his brawny frame boasting several scars from his many fights in the ring. Bradley had started the boxing club a few yea
rs back and it had grown to great success among gentlemen of the ton who preferred hard physical activity to sitting in their parlors eating bon-bons or in their clubs drinking brandy. He’d definitely put Patrick through his paces today.
“What do you have planned for the rest of your day, aside from having your valet rub liniment on your muscles?”
“Ha. Nothing out of the ordinary, actually. Dinner in my rooms, perhaps a drink at the club.
“Perhaps I’ll see you there.” Bradley’s brow furrowed. “Although my mother wants me to dance attendance on some debutantes she’s brought down from the country.”
Patrick gave a shudder. “Better you than me, friend.”
Bradley rolled his eyes skyward. “She’s beating a dead horse, I’m afraid. I don’t want one of those fresh-faced little girls. I want a woman with some substance, do you know what I mean?”
Patrick did indeed. Although Tory appeared young, there was depth to her, and a backbone as he’d seen at the tearoom when he’d inadvertently insulted her.
“Good luck with all of that,” he told Bradley as they both headed into the dressing rooms.
The session had done little to cool Patrick’s blood. The dream about Victoria had clung to him all the day, much to his chagrin. He didn’t dare go to the shop today, despite his desire to do precisely that. He knew without question that one look at that girl’s lovely mouth would have him wanting her fiercely. And how would he face her uncle in such a condition? Surely J. B. Elliot’s sharp eyes missed nothing.
After washing and dressing, Patrick exited the boxing saloon and climbed aboard his carriage. He directed his driver to White’s and leaned back on the cushioned seat. A rousing game of cards with several idle gentlemen of his acquaintance would surely keep the thought of Tory from his mind. When he arrived at White’s he did indeed find several chums within. Tony was the first to spot him and he waved for Patrick to join him at a corner table.
That Determined Mister Latham Page 4
