Chapter Four
This was going to be fun.
Miss Carter glanced over her shoulder, met Cordon’s gaze, then blushed.
Was she considering how he would pay for the bounty of garments Miss Griffith had ordered?
Or was she thinking about how much she’d enjoyed his touch?
He desperately hoped it was the latter. When he’d focused his attention on her, she’d blushed so fiercely, he’d been tempted to whisper he didn’t bite.
It would have been a lie.
He closed his eyes as the tart aroma of ripe cherries wreathed around him and made his fangs throb. In his long existence, he’d only met a handful of humans with such a powerful scent to their blood. All of them had tasted as good as they’d smelled.
She was exactly what he needed to make the most of his last days.
He was so distracted by his growing hunger that he barely noticed Miss Griffith scowling, shaking her head, and pointing at him.
The actress was always engaging in dramatics.
Her screeching was entirely different from the quiet but stern reprisal he’d received from Miss Carter when he’d revealed he’d stolen her scarf.
He’d come to the shop intending to soothe Miss Griffith’s ruffled feathers, but now that he’d held Miss Carter in his arms a second time, there was no doubt in his mind he would be dismissing Miss Griffith by the end of the day.
He couldn’t imagine spending another minute in the unpleasant actress’s presence, especially after witnessing her treat Miss Carter so rudely.
“My lord?”
He reluctantly looked at Miss Carter’s assistant, standing in front of him, holding a sheer bit of red fabric. “What do you think of this magenta organza, my lord?”
He frowned. “Why ask me?” He gestured toward his soon-to-be former mistress. “She is the one who will wear it.”
The young girl clutched the swatch to her chest. “Miss Griffith said that you should choose.”
Of course she had because she knew how much it annoyed him. “Whatever you feel is best.”
“M-My lord, I couldn’t…” the girl sputtered.
“Give me the samples,” Miss Carter said, pushing to her feet. She walked stiffly over to her assistant and briskly selected a dozen squares of fabric from several thick books.
“Thank you,” Cordon said. “I admit I have no sense for fashion.” He plucked at his cravat. “Were it not for my valet, I would be the joke of the ton.”
Miss Carter draped her measuring tapes over her shoulder. “I apologize, Miss Griffith, but I seem to have misplaced my pincushion.”
Miss Carter’s assistant pursed her lips. “But you don’t—”
“I cannot proceed without it,” Miss Carter said sharply. “Lord Grayson, would you assist me in searching?”
Miss Griffith waved a hand. “Yes, yes, be quick about it.”
Cordon allowed Miss Carter to usher him out of the dressing room, then leaned against the wall. “If you wanted to get me alone, you need only have asked.”
She huffed. “I am not in the habit of irritating my customers. If neither you nor Miss Griffith wish to make decisions, then I shall choose for you.”
The gentle admonishment in her voice made Cordon feel like he was a fledgling vampire being chastised by his maker in rapid French.
It was not a sensation he was accustomed to feeling.
Once again, Miss Carter proved surprising.
He opened his mouth to say something waspish in an attempt to elicit more scolding when she frowned and folded her arms over her chest.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
“Why are you here, my lord? I have never known a gentleman to spend time in a shop in Cheapside voluntarily.”
He intended to utter something scandalous to see how she would react, but the truth came out instead. “You interest me.”
Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. “What? Why?”
Such an unusual response. Again, she piqued his interest. Presented with such a statement, most women in her position would have demanded he leave at once, or flirt outrageously to try supplant Miss Griffith.
The life of a dressmaker was one of toil, working from dawn to dusk.
As the mistress of a lord, she would gain in privilege and wealth far more than she would lose in respectability.
“You are unlike any woman I’ve ever met,” he said honestly. Then, because he could not resist, he added, “Do you not wonder why I stole your scarf?”
She turned around and began fussing with a length of black fabric. “You admit it, then.”
“It was an item on a list of activities I wish to complete,” he said. “They are quite… scandalous activities.”
Each one carefully selected after hours of contemplation.
She jerked her hand, tearing a measuring tape.
“The next on my list is a masquerade ball.”
She sniffed. “That is hardly scandalous.”
“It is when the host is the Duke of Haversham.”
She leaned down and picked up a scrap of fabric. “Ah, yes. The Wild Duke. You must try the hedge maze. It is quite remarkable.”
His jaw dropped open before he snapped it shut. “Do not tell me you have attended one of the duke’s parties.”
They were exclusive events. To earn his invitation, he’d sat through an hour-long interview with the duke, who had asked questions so crude, they would have made any gently bred lady swoon.
He could not imagine Miss Carter perched primly on a settee before the duke recounting her preferred sexual position.
“They aren’t as fun as you think,” she said.
He stared at the back of her head. “What?”
She straightened. “Masquerade balls. They seem exciting until you spend three hours in a stuffy room, unable to wipe the sweat from your face because of your mask.”
Before he could respond to that, the door to the shop opened, and a short, silver-haired woman in a severe brown gown stepped inside.
“Oh, no,” Miss Carter whispered.
He didn’t recognize the woman, who was glancing around the shop with barely disguised contempt. “What is it?”
“A problem,” Miss Carter said. She brushed her hands over her dress, then walked toward the woman. “Good evening, Lady Ferron.”