For Tory, everything had changed. In every way. She believed the heart went where the body led . . . and she couldn’t help but crave more of what Patrick had given her.
But what of marriage? Would he ever give her that?
Perhaps, worst of all, due to the number of customers requiring her attention during the busy day she was denied the luxury of puzzling over another matter entirely. She wished to know who, precisely, Lady Stafford was to Patrick. To her surprise Patrick hadn’t seemed nearly as angry with the lady as he had weeks earlier. But he held her in no esteem. That was certain. Was that why the lady was so sad? For surely she, Tory, would be miserable if Patrick ever treated her with such ill-regard.
J. B. emerged from his office at the back of the shop just as the afternoon crowd was thinning. He smiled absently as he approached Tory at the purchase counter. Perusing the day’s receipts, he gave a nod of approval.
“Capital,” he said, patting Tory’s hand. “This has been a very profitable day.”
“Quite a lot of gentlemen shopping today, Mr. Elliot,” Mrs. Floss added from where she stood at the linens counter. “And as I told you, they seem to buy anything Victoria suggests.”
Tory rolled her eyes at Mrs. Floss. “Mrs. Floss, you exaggerate,” she said. “You have just as many sales as I do.” She winked at the attractive older woman. “Besides, I have no such power over those men and their pocketbooks.”
Mrs. Floss grinned and gave no response.
“No, no, my dear,” J. B. insisted. “There’s truth in what Mrs. Floss says. All of our male customers do seem to gravitate toward you.”
The direction the conversation was taking made Tory most uncomfortable. Did her uncle actually approve of the leers and lustful glances the men in the shop bestowed upon her because those men purchased more items? She glanced at her uncle, who had returned to perusing the receipts. No, she would not believe that. J. B. was merely making an observation.
“Mr. Miller seems quite entranced by you, Victoria,” her uncle informed her with a smile. He glanced up at her from his tallying. “He wants to take dinner with us this evening.”
Tory bit her lip to keep a swift objection from bubbling forth. Instead, she merely nodded her acquiescence, and was relieved as J. B. soon found another topic to interest him. As he extolled the latest shipment of candelabras, Tory let her mind work, but couldn’t come up with the answer to her most pressing question this afternoon: How would she be able to pass an entire evening in Mr. Miller’s odious company?
“Victoria, is something troubling you?” Mrs. Floss asked softly.
Tory looked into the woman’s kind eyes and nodded. “Mr. Miller will dine with us tonight, Mrs. Floss.”
“And you don’t like the particular attentions he pays you, am I right?”
Tory blinked at her. “Yes. How did you guess?”
“I’ve been a widow for some time now, but that only seems to encourage certain types of men, I’m afraid. A woman must walk the fine line between politeness and insistence.”
“How do you mean?”
Mrs. Floss seemed to think for a moment. “Don’t find yourself alone with Mr. Miller. If he seems like he wishes to take your hand, for example, bring that hand to your mouth to cover a tiny cough.”
“But what if I don’t have to cough at that moment—?”
Mrs. Floss gave her a pointed look, one fine brow arched. Tory caught on in the next moment and nodded.
“I see . . .” Tory said with a nod.
“You’re a clever girl, Victoria. You’ll think of ways to keep your distance from him. Step hard on his foot if he gets too close.” The woman shrugged. “And if that fails, kick him in his dangling parts.”
Tory choked out a laugh in response to that suggestion. “Thank you, Mrs. Floss.”
Mrs. Floss grasped her hand and smiled. “Don’t hesitate to ask me anything, pray . . . I care about you and Nan very much.”
Tory swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. Her eyes misted at the kindness in the older woman’s eyes. Both she and Nan were quite the pair. Both of them had lost their mothers at such a young age. It had certainly made things more difficult in terms of understanding the ways of men. She was thankful to have Mrs. Floss’s wise advice, especially when it came to the unwanted attention from the likes of Mr. Miller.
She worried more about it as she realigned the frames on the wall with far more diligence than the task truly warranted. Armed with the information Mrs. Floss had imparted, she felt a bit better about enduring Mr. Miller’s company for dinner. His leering looks, the last time they had taken a meal together, made her feel soiled. And what of Patrick? He’d asked to see her again. That thought thrilled her to her toes, although she would not be able to leave her uncle’s house tonight without him knowing.
* * *
Mr. Miller arrived well before the ringing of the dinner bell, and wasted no time in distressing Tory’s sensibilities. She’d readied for the evening with no enthusiasm, choosing a rather somber evening dress of dark blue. Her least favorite dress. Nonetheless, Miller apparently found favor with it despite its austere style.
“Why, Miss Elliot,” Miller said as they awaited her uncle to join them in the parlor, “you look positively delectable in that dress.”
Tory merely inclined her head, wishing that the bodice was even more modestly cut. Miller stepped closer, letting his arm brush deliberately against hers. When he brought his face near hers, she managed to stand her ground despite the overwhelming urge to run swiftly from the room.
“Delectable, indeed,” he rasped, his lips brushing her cheek.
Tory kept her face impassive as she turned her head and coughed demurely into her gloved hand. The bit of space that small maneuver afforded was most welcome. The man laughed low in his throat, his eyes roaming freely over her. Thankfully, J. B. soon joined them and the bell rang to signal the start of the dreaded meal.
Her uncle seemed to hang on every word Mr. Miller uttered, yet he appeared ignorant of the liberties the man continued to take with regard to her. To her dismay, Miller’s abhorrent behavior didn’t end with the meal. He stood too close to her in the parlor. He took her arm a bit too forcefully, and much too quickly for her to employ her cough again. He settled them on the same settee where Patrick had awakened her passion.
Tory tried to distract herself from the conversation in the parlor between the two gentlemen, choosing instead to recall with ardor the splendor she’d found in Patrick’s arms last night. When he’d appeared at the shop today, she’d glimpsed only warmth in his eyes. Could his feelings have deepened for her?
The voices in the parlor broke through her gratifying contemplation.
“Are you having a pleasant time, Miss Elliot?” Miller asked beside her.
Tory turned with a start, her leg coming fully into contact with Miller’s. He smiled wryly at her and placed his hand on her leg. His gaze fell to her bosom and lingered there for so long that she was tempted to haul off and punch him in the nose.
Instead, she came swiftly to her feet.
“I seem to have developed a headache,” she said, her hand on her brow. “If you would please excuse me, Mr. Miller. Uncle.”
“Of course, my dear,” J. B. said, his brow slightly furrowed with concern.
“Do let me escort you to your chamber, Miss Elliot,” Miller said as he took her elbow.
She couldn’t help jerking out of his hold. “I thank you, but no.”
A quick glance told her that J. B. found favor with Miller’s offer. No matter. She wasn’t going to endure any more of their guest’s unwanted attentions tonight. Before Miller could form some sort of objection she was up the stairs and inside her room with the door shut firmly. Let her uncle entertain Mr. Miller in her absence, she thought gloomily as she shed her evening dress. Let him feel the man’s grasping fingers on his leg time and again! She let out a muffled cry of frustration and readied for bed. Wishing she was with Patrick at this very moment, inste
ad of in the same house as that pig, Mr. Miller. That particular gentleman might not be aware, but his dangling pieces had escaped a swift kick from her this night.
* * *
Patrick sat and watched Elliot’s townhouse through narrowed eyes, snug in his fine, yet modest carriage. His vehicle bore no family crest and wouldn’t be recognized by any of the people meandering about the avenue. What he was waiting for, he didn’t know. But he knew that Tory was within, and that knowledge was enough. For now, he amended. He wouldn’t ponder his reasoning on this lonely night. If he’d been startled by his need that afternoon to see her again, he was positively stunned by his need for her now. As was the course of matters with him up until last night, once he bedded a woman he didn’t give a care to whether or not he tasted her charms again. He’d fallen in and out of many a woman’s bed without nary a regret or desire to rejoin them. But one taste of Tory, one night of mind-shattering passion, made him ache to be with her once more.
He’d hoped to find Tory alone, for didn’t Elliot often leave her so? He’d been forced to acknowledge, however, that the many lighted windows on the ground floor indicated that the master of the house was indeed at home and was most likely entertaining. And yet Patrick couldn’t bring himself to return to his own rooms, for the emptiness in them seemed magnified now that Tory had graced them.
His friend Tony Waring had asked for his company to the theater district, an offer that Patrick had immediately rejected. The public houses, with their many willing serving wenches, held no lure for him either. He sat and brooded in his carriage, seized by a mood that had never plagued him before.
Speaking with Susan that morning had affected him to be sure, but not in the manner to which he’d expected. The woman had seemed genuinely intent on him making amends with his father. Not bloody likely, he thought even now. The man had disgraced his beloved mother’s memory by marrying so swiftly after her death, had betrayed his only son by taking to wife the very girl his son had wanted. And yet Patrick didn’t feel the anger as sharply this night. He certainly no longer lusted after Susan. He’d ceased to think of her in that manner since the first time he imagined her giving herself to the earl five years ago. But the jealousy and hurt had dimmed considerably in just the past few weeks. There was only one explanation for all of these changes in his desires and feelings . . .
Tory.
A sound reached his ears and he leaned forward to peer out the carriage’s small window. To his astonishment that bastard, Miller emerged from the townhouse’s front entry, a smooth smile of satisfaction on his face. The manner in which he shook Elliot’s hand seemed to be far from mere gratitude for a pleasant dinner. It spoke to Patrick of an arrangement of sorts. Miller was an associate of Elliot’s, Tory had said. But what that fully entailed, Patrick had no notion. The man wanted Tory. That was certain. Had she enjoyed the gentleman’s company this evening? Elliot looked about furtively before closing the door, adding to Patrick’s suspicions. What was Tory’s uncle about? And why did Patrick have the distinct impression that it concerned something that was less than honorable?
He gazed up at the building’s façade, wondering which of the lighted windows above the street belonged to Tory’s room. Naturally, he’d never seen her chamber, yet he had little trouble imagining her going about her preparations for bed. He had no doubt she looked most fetching in any nightgown, for he knew the thin fabric would cling to the lush curves beneath. The desire that had plagued him since seeing her that morning now flowed unabated through him. He wanted to lift that nightgown. He wanted to taste her and make her moan in pleasure again.
She’d welcome him with no pain this second time . . .
He cursed to himself. My God, Tony had been right. He was in a bad way. Frustrated at his present circumstances, he instructed his driver to return home.
CHAPTER 11
Tory sat in her uncle’s library the next morning, enjoying the solitude the room afforded her. She’d come to find it a pleasant place to spend a few hours’ quiet time. It was Sunday and she planned to spend the day in her own company, making her way through several of the books that crowded the shelves. The volumes covered every topic imaginable, for J. B. was a man who seemed to possess the need to know how everything worked, the growing of tea to the construction of a sailing ship. The arts were well represented as well, books on painting and music and great works by the most talented writers. Tory chose a book containing the plays of William Shakespeare, and had just settled down into a plump chair in the corner when a voice interrupted her reading.
“Miss Elliot?” Posy called from the doorway.
Tory looked up at the young woman. “Yes?”
“Mr. Elliot has asked for you. He’s in his study.”
Tory blew out a deep breath as she closed the book on her lap. She nodded to the maid and came to her feet. She regretfully placed the book on a side table and left the library, bound for her uncle’s study.
“Yes, Uncle?” she asked as she stood in the doorway of J. B.’s study.
His face held a subdued cast as he looked at her, causing a twinge of unease. The faint smile he gave her was less than reassuring. He waved to her to take a seat and she complied.
“There’s been an intriguing development of late, my dear,” he said. “I believe you’ll find it a most advantageous situation.”
“Advantageous, Uncle?” she replied, confused. “How so?”
J. B. busied himself with the many papers stacked neatly on his desk, his gaze distant. Tory’s confusion slowly turned to worry.
“I’ve received an offer for you,” J. B. stated at last.
Tory’s heart accelerated. Had Patrick asked for her hand? She clasped her hands in her lap and sought to restrain her excitement.
“What—” she squeaked. Clearing her throat she began again. “What offer?”
J. B. met her gaze, his brow furrowed over his dark eyes. He soon smiled with obvious relief.
“I see you’re not surprised by this,” he breathed. “Wonderful.”
Tory tried to make sense of the man’s quick shifts of mood.
“Thomas Miller has made an offer to keep you under his protection.”
Tory sat there, stunned. Patrick hadn’t offered for her hand, she thought as sadness settled around her heart. Instead, Mr. Miller wished to keep her? As his mistress?
Not bloody likely!
“No!” she cried, coming to her feet. “How can you even give credence to such an abhorrent suggestion?”
“Now, Victoria,” J. B. soothed. “Surely you weren’t expecting an offer of marriage from the man?”
Tory could say nothing. She swallowed and tried to slow her breathing.
“He’s a rich man, Victoria,” J. B. went on in her silence. “You’ll want for nothing.”
Tory gaped at him, seeing him as a stranger, and no longer her caring uncle. How could he ever think that she was the type of woman to agree to something so foreign to her?
“No,” she said firmly. She shook her head to emphasize her refusal. “I will not be a gentleman’s mistress.”
“There’s no shame in it,” he insisted. “And whom were you wishing to marry, my dear? Our family possesses no title. You’re valuable to me, as my only brother’s daughter, but you have no dowry. How am I to secure your future otherwise? It’s a splendid situation for you.”
Tory’s throat burned with the bitterness his words evoked. The truth struck her then, a truth that she refused to acknowledge.
“I’ll never agree to this,” she asserted, turning to go.
J. B. bounded to his feet and gripped her arm firmly. “You must.” He quickly released her and stepped back. He ran his hand through his unruly, graying hair to put it into place. “You must consider this, my dear,” he said. “You’ll never receive a more favorable offer.”
Tory took a calming breath. “I won’t speak of this,” she said. “I can’t think of it!”
A look of anguish crossed J. B.’s features
. He rubbed his hand over his face and sighed brokenly. “You must, Victoria,” he said, his voice holding a note of desperation.
She eyed him closely. He held himself still, yet she didn’t miss the slight shaking of his hands before he placed them behind his back.
“Why must I?” she questioned him. “Pray, tell me why I must give a moment’s consideration to Mr. Miller’s offer?”
To her amazement his eyes shimmered with tears. He shook his dark head and turned from her. “Go,” he croaked. She couldn’t get her feet to move. “Go!” he ordered.
Tory ran to her chamber, her mind in a flurry. What on earth was going on? Why was it so important to her uncle that she accept Mr. Miller’s disgusting offer? She would never do any such thing. She’d rejected Paul’s offer and she certainly wouldn’t accept this man’s. A sob escaped her as a thought far worse occurred to her, the truth that had struck her in her uncle’s study.
She was in no position to expect any respectable offer of marriage. Would Patrick make the same indecent proposal to her? And if he did so, would she have the strength to deny him?
Tory curled up on her bed, wondering what would become of her as she sobbed quietly into her pillow.
* * *
Patrick left his rooms for Elliot’s on Monday, eager to set aside the unease that had filled him since seeing Miller take his leave from Tory’s home Saturday night. An idle Sunday spent at the gaming hells had distracted him sufficiently. Questioning several of the well-heeled bachelors in attendance, however, had afforded him no information regarding Miller or his business dealings. The man appeared to be quite wealthy. His dress and carriage spoke of a successful, upstanding businessman, but how Miller had acquired his wealth was a mystery to Patrick. And what, aside from Miller’s carnal interest in Tory, was his connection to Elliot?
Patrick arrived at Elliot’s Fineries and took a calming breath before stepping through the door. What did it matter if Miller had designs on Tory? She was his, damn it to Hell. And no one else would ever touch her.
That Determined Mister Latham Page 12
