Patrick gave Elliot a nod. He turned once more to leave, glancing absently at the well-dressed young couple perusing the contents of the booth.
“What are you looking for, Paul?” the female half of the couple asked impatiently, her voice shrill. “I’ve seen quite enough of these London wares.”
Patrick pitied the pale-haired gentleman. If the woman’s shrewish tone was any indication, she was very likely a disagreeable wife.
“What I’m searching for is not your concern, my dove,” the man returned tersely.
Patrick’s sympathy shifted as the woman’s pursed lips turned down in a sad pout. She quickly lowered her eyes as her boorish husband ignored her. Patrick watched with growing interest as the blond gentleman approached Victoria’s uncle.
“Mr. Elliot, I presume?” the young man asked J. B. as he grasped his arm.
Patrick approved of the way Elliot raised a haughty brow at the impudent man.
“Yes?” Elliot returned deliberately, pulling out of the man’s hold and running his hand over the sleeve of his fine jacket.
“Is Victoria . . .” the man stopped, his blue eyes growing round. “Is your niece about?”
Patrick studied the man closely now. What, precisely, did this pup have to do with Victoria? Was he yet another dandy from London who had taken a fancy to the beautiful girl? Patrick had the overwhelming urge to pound his fist into his smooth jaw.
“My niece is in London, Mister . . . ”
The man smiled nervously. “Thank you, Mr. Elliot,” he said, withholding his name.
“Paul,” his wife whined as she came to stand beside him. “Pray, let’s take in the amusements?”
Muttering a curse, the blond man took his wife’s elbow and strode away from Elliot’s little shop. Patrick watched the two of them make their way through the milling crowd, eyes narrowed as he pondered the man’s identity and his relation to Tory.
He would find out.
CHAPTER 7
Victoria returned to her work in the lovely shop on Bond Street three days after her ordeal at the fair. She was pleased to see that the bruises to her face and the cut to her lip were all but memories. She could almost forget about the terrible men who had attacked her in Cambridge, when she chose to focus instead on Patrick’s timely rescue—and his wonderful kiss.
“It’s good to have you back in the shop, Victoria,” Mrs. Floss said as she wrapped her in a tight embrace. The woman pulled back, a warm smile on her face. “Business has been diminished in your absence.”
Victoria waved away the woman’s words, although her heart filled nonetheless. Returning Mrs. Floss’s smile with one of her own, she set about preparing the shop for the morning’s trade.
“Oh, thank goodness you’ve returned,” Nan breathed.
“How has the shop fared, Nan?”
“The shop is well-managed by dear Mrs. Floss,” Nan said with a sigh of relief. “I’ve just missed you, is all.”
Warmth filled Victoria at Nan’s shyly spoken words. “I’ve missed you, too. Tell me, have you been writing?”
Nan nodded vigorously, her cheeks turning pink. The touch of color was attractive, and lent her a more lively air. “I have.”
“Sweet or scandalous?” Victoria asked in a whisper.
Nan bit her lip. “Maybe a touch of both?”
Victoria giggled. “Hmm, you’ve only let me read some of your writing. You’ve been quite stingy with your stories.
She shook her head. “I only write for myself. Mostly.”
“Let us hope that one day soon, you will share your wonderful stories with all of us,” Victoria said with a smile, and a glance in Mrs. Floss’s direction. Mrs. Floss winked at the girls and brought them each a biscuit from the refreshment table.
Victoria regaled them with stories of the various amusements at the fair, leaving out the attack and her subsequent rescue by Mr. Latham, not to mention her uncle’s own strange behavior. But, as they set about readying the shop for the day, Victoria felt Mrs. Floss’s curious gaze, on her. She wondered if the older woman suspected there was something more to her outing than she was letting on. Perhaps, in time she would share what had happened, but for the moment, like Nan, she would keep her story to herself.
As the afternoon wore on, Victoria found herself far too busy to contemplate the pleasing subject of Mr. Patrick Latham. Business had been brisk and she was gratified that her uncle would soon return from the fair and see how well the shop had done in his absence. She handed a wrapped parcel to a customer with a smile and ran her hands absently over the long curls that had escaped their confining pins upon her head.
“Victoria,” she heard a man’s familiar voice say from across the purchase counter.
She froze in shock. No, it couldn’t be. She turned slowly and gazed upon Paul Bellam’s once-beloved face.
“Paul,” she whispered.
Paul smiled at her, that bright smile that had previously filled her heart with gladness. Now she felt none of the pain that his dismissal of her had caused almost two months ago, she was surprised to note. She was unsure what, precisely, she did feel at the moment.
“How wonderful to see you, Victoria,” Paul said, his voice low and smooth. “My God, you’re even more beautiful than when I saw you last in Cornwall.”
Victoria took a breath as welcome anger filled the void left by that pain.
“How dare you speak to me of that day?” she asked him, her hands held in fists at her sides. “How dare you speak to me at all?”
She felt a touch of satisfaction as Paul’s eyes registered his surprise at her words. A smooth smile soon settled on his features once more.
“Now, Victoria,” Paul began, leaning toward her. “I thought that since I was in town, I would see—”
“Speaking of which, I don’t see your wife, Paul,” she swiftly cut in. “Or are you merely using her money this day?”
Paul’s demeanor changed swiftly. As Victoria watched, his boyish handsomeness was gone, replaced by a dark look that twisted his features. Again, beloved Mrs. Davies’ warnings echoed in her head. Had she ever known him?
“I didn’t come here to shop,” he said in a clipped tone.
Victoria snorted in answer. She hadn’t forgotten his disgraceful offer to keep her for his pleasure.
“Really?” she countered. As he stared at her in startled silence, she turned her back on him. “Then I must see to my other customers.”
She walked purposefully toward the counter devoted to woman’s fripperies and heard Paul’s muttered curse as he made an abrupt exit.
How dare he come to her, here in her uncle’s shop? And to speak to her as if he still had a hold on her heart?
She busied herself, assisting a young woman intent on choosing several ribbons to match the swatch of dress fabric the girl clutched in her hand.
* * *
Patrick returned to London, his mind still puzzling over the identity of the blond gentleman and his relationship to Victoria. Why had the boy taken so much interest in the whereabouts of a shop girl, despite the fact that she was the most beautiful shop girl he himself had ever beheld? Was that pup one of the growing number of men wishing to take Victoria under their protection? But if that were the case, why would he be so bold as to ask after the girl while in the company of his wife?
He soon arrived at his rooms and proceeded to pace. He was out of sorts and irritable, and those were not conditions in which he normally found himself. What the devil ailed him? And when, precisely, had Victoria Elliot come to mean so much to him? He dashed his fingers through his hair in agitation. Tory did matter to him. That was certain. And though he didn’t know where his relationship with her would lead, he would see that she was safe from harm. Whether that harm came from men like those bastards who had dared to touch her, or from dandies who wished to shame her with improper offers, he would protect her.
Patrick left his rooms and headed for Elliot’s. He was simply checking on Victoria, he told hims
elf. She’d been hurt that night at the fair, and he felt an obligation toward her as her rescuer.
Pity he didn’t believe the lie for a moment.
The door to the shop opened and he stared in disbelief at the blond-haired gentleman taking his leave of the premises. The dandy from the fair. The one with the shrewish wife and the pressing desire to speak to Victoria . . . Paul, he recalled the man’s name.
The gentleman nodded in Patrick’s direction and stepped past him. Patrick watched him leave, puzzled by the anger and disappointment evident on the man’s face.
Upon entering the shop, his gaze unerringly settled on Victoria. She seemed flustered as she conversed with a customer, the lace and ribbons before her twisting in her grasp. Had the man approached her here in the store? Had he said something to upset her? He waited a few minutes for her to complete her task before stepping to the counter.
“Victoria,” he said.
She turned sharply toward him, her silver eyes holding anger in their depths, before they widened with pleasure upon seeing him. Her lips curved into a smile as she took a breath and seemed to recover her composure.
“Mr. Latham,” she greeted him warmly.
Patrick arched a brow at her. The laugh that met his ears was both musical and a bit husky. Damn, but he liked the sound.
“I’m sorry,” she said with a mock-curtsy. “Patrick.”
“Hello, Victoria,” he said again, unable to keep the grin from his face.
She tilted her head to one side, her eyes sparkling. “That’s not what you called me when last I saw you.”
“I believe that name should be reserved for when we’re alone,” he couldn’t help but say.
The answering blush on her cheeks and the warmth in her eyes, took his breath away. He fought the urge to reach across the counter and pull her into his arms, to whisper “Tory” in one dainty ear and run his hands over her modestly-clad curves. Guilt nagged at the back of his mind and he quickly glanced about the shop. Victoria laughed softly, drawing his notice once more. Could the girl read his mind?
“My uncle has not yet returned from the fair,” she offered.
Yes, she could read his thoughts. And quite easily. He chuckled and shook his head. “Then perhaps I may escort you—” he began.
“Victoria,” J. B. Elliot called from the doorway. “I’ve returned.”
Patrick turned to see Elliot striding toward them, his eyes fastened on Victoria. The man hadn’t lost the worry that Patrick had glimpsed in Cambridge, the lines around his eyes and mouth giving him the look of a much older man. He gave Patrick a nod and stood before him.
“I wish to thank you once more, Latham,” he said, his hand outstretched.
Patrick shook his hand firmly. “As I told you, sir,” he replied, “It was my pleasure to come to Victoria’s aid.”
Elliot shot another worried glance at his niece. “Come to my house for dinner this evening.”
Patrick pulled back at the man’s demeanor, sensing a command in what should have been an offer of hospitality. One glance at Victoria made his decision for him despite any misgivings he might possess regarding Elliot’s motives. She gazed at him, her beautiful silver eyes glowing in wide-eyed anticipation of his answer.
“It would be an honor,” he told the man.
Elliot gave a swift nod and turned on his heel to see to his business. Patrick found a smile curving Victoria’s lips and mirrored the action.
“I was going to suggest that we take our tea together, Victoria,” Patrick said with a shrug. “But I believe dinner with you is a superior notion.”
The blush of pleasure that colored her cheeks gratified him. He couldn’t recall ever gauging his feelings by those of another, except perhaps his late mother’s. He smiled when he glimpsed Victoria’s happiness and frowned when he saw her consternation. But to see pleasure in her eyes, clear in her expression, sparked a yearning in his heart. Damn, but he felt like some lovesick swain.
Still, he could easily imagine precisely what her passion would do to his own. He would have a damnable time restraining himself from begging a kiss this evening.
* * *
Victoria dressed with care that evening, choosing the prettiest of her new dresses. She could scarcely believe that Patrick was to dine with them. She relished the thought of wearing something that would please him, shedding her serviceable dresses and her shop girl demeanor for at least one evening.
Standing before the cheval mirror set in one corner of her room, she ran a careful eye over the woman in the reflection. Her auburn hair was upswept artfully. Her pretty pearl necklace, a gift from J.B. when she’d first arrived, was a lovely accent to the modest décolletage of her deep green gown.
She looked different, more mature. No longer the naïve country girl. She felt different too. When she’d first arrived in London she was grieving the loss of her father, her home, and Paul’s betrayal. Now, weeks later, she felt hopeful for the future.
This evening would be a celebration of her new self. Where was the little girl who had fallen in love with Paul Bellam, she mused, the girl he’d cast aside? Nowhere, she acceded with a happy little grin. This elegantly clad woman was Tory.
Seeing Paul that day in the shop made her realize, that she no longer pined for what was lost. Working at Elliot’s had given her a measure of pride. She liked the women she worked with. Her days were full of purpose. She lived in a lovely home, had fine clothes, and tonight, anticipated a wonderful evening with the most charming and heroic man she’d ever met. Yes, she sighed as she drew on her gloves and left her room, she was indeed hopeful for her future.
When Victoria stepped into the foyer, she saw that Patrick had just arrived. She greeted him warmly, secretly relishing his magnificent form. He’d dressed with as much care as she had, and yet he wore his fine black dress clothes as easily as a second skin. His thick brown hair was slightly tousled, his smile bright, as he reached for her hand.
“Good evening, Tory,” he said in a low voice as he dropped a kiss on her gloved fingers.
Tory.
She loved that he had a special name for her. She couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement standing so close to him.
“Patrick,” she returned a bit breathlessly.
Tory stood there as he looked at her in his turn, sensing the admiration in their golden depths. When his gaze settled on the bit of her bosom exposed by the fashionable cut of her bodice, she fought the embarrassment that threatened to swamp her. Unable to prevent it, a blush heated her flesh. Those eyes found hers again.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice husky.
They stared at each other for a moment. Tory nervously licked her lips and wondered at Patrick’s sharp intake of breath. She studied his well-formed mouth for a moment, recalling the heat his tender kisses had aroused the night of her attack. Would he kiss her again tonight?
“Good evening, Latham,” J. B. boomed, stepping into the foyer.
Tory stared at the gray marble floor beneath her pretty green slippers, certain that her uncle would all too easily read the improper thoughts flitting through her mind. She took a breath to calm her racing pulse and raised her head to face J. B.
To her surprise another gentleman stood beside her uncle, a man she vaguely recalled as a customer from the shop. He was approximately the same age as her uncle, and as finely dressed as Patrick. The hair at his temples was shot with threads of gray, lending him a distinguished appearance.
“We have another guest joining us this evening, Victoria,” J. B. said. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Thomas Miller to you, my dear.”
Tory’s smile faltered as she saw an all-too familiar glint in the man’s dark gaze. His probing eyes proceeded to take her in, and the feeling from his slow inspection was far different from that aroused by Patrick’s.
“Good evening, Mr. Miller,” Tory said as she took an unconscious step closer to Patrick.
“What a pleasure it is to see you outside of your
uncle’s charming store, Miss Elliot,” he said, tightly grasping her hand.
His leering smile made her uncomfortable and she had to give her hand a tiny yank to extricate it from his clammy grip.
“And may I say that you look even more lovely in these elegant environs.”
* * *
Patrick bristled at Miller’s words. He hadn’t missed the man’s blatant interest in Tory, nor the girl’s response to it. Her expression seemed forced, and he was filled with immense satisfaction as she took another tiny step toward him when Miller finally released her hand.
“Patrick Latham,” he said in introduction, extending his hand toward the interloper.
Miller’s eyes flicked in Tory’s direction before settling on Patrick, suspicion evident there. The man was obviously speculating over Patrick’s relationship with Tory. As if it were of any concern to him.
“Thomas Miller,” the man returned flatly as he shook Patrick’s offered hand.
The two men took each other’s measure, the unspoken challenge hanging between them. Elliot cleared his throat, drawing Patrick’s attention to their host. The sly smile on the man’s face made him a bit uneasy.
“Shall we go into the dining room?” Elliot suggested, his brow furrowed as he wiped the smile from his face.
Patrick dismissed Elliot’s odd changes of expression and nodded. He stepped toward Tory only to be waylaid by Miller.
“Allow me to escort you, Miss Elliot,” Miller said, grasping her elbow.
Tory hesitated, then nodded. Patrick fumed as he followed behind, scowling at Miller’s fingers where they held tightly to Tory’s bare arm above the hem of her glove. They entered the dining room and he felt his ire grow as the man seated himself beside Tory at the polished cherry wood dining table.
Dinner was far from the pleasant experience Patrick had anticipated on the carriage ride to Elliot’s townhouse. Instead of conversing easily with Elliot while gazing his fill at Tory, he found himself forced to fight for her attention with Miller. He watched the older gentleman closely. Who was he, precisely? As Miller spoke to Tory—did the man speak to anyone else tonight?—Patrick couldn’t help but wonder where he’d encountered Miller before. Did he know the man from White’s? Perhaps Miller frequented Bradley’s Boxing Saloon. No matter. The pig was sitting far too close to Tory and if he leered once more at the delectable expanse of flesh visible above her bodice Patrick swore he would reach across the table and haul him away by his elaborately tied cravat.
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