Page 23 of If I Loved You
THE EARL SPRUNG FROMthe carriage nearly before it had stopped, and well before the driver might have come to open the door. He supposed it would not have been in good form to accost his artless houseguest, and counterfeit sweetheart, within the confines of the carriage and before she’d actually enjoyed even one small part of the city. But damn if his little country miss was not themost amazingly alluring creature, and then even more so when her face lit with such enthusiasm at things to which he’d not give a second notice, including one garish carroty coat and a hat which might draw the attention of as many birds as it did people.
He hadn’t meant to be brusque, or appear surly, but she’d caught him unawares, and in the middle of raking her quite mindfully with his hungry eyes. She’d turned to him, her animated smile a thing to behold, her expressive gaze so damnably appealing. He did not care at all to have been caught gawking at her, as it were. He liked even less that he had, in the first place, been reduced to those simmering and ravenous long looks at her, all the while wondering how he might seduce her and make her his, even as he knew he would—could—promise her nothing.
Ah, if only he were a rogue with less of a conscience.
She hadn’t asked why they had stopped, or where they might be going, only put her hand into his as he helped her alight and continued to swivel her head about, taking in every detail of the dirty, pretentious city.
He guided her into the closest storefront, whose shingle pronounced it as Mrs. Shabner’s modiste. A bell tinkled above the door as he pushed it open and steered Miss Ainsley within. Zach did not visit modiste’s often enough to say that the shop was busy or not, but the front room showed several ladies and one portly and unamused gentleman idling around tables with ready made wares, scarves and gloves and a table of fabric swatches.
Understanding where they were and what they were about, Emma turned and showed another nervous gaze to him. He immediately put her at ease, “It is all very necessary to the ruse, Miss Ainsley.” He held her hand still, because it would show the modiste—who had just come from a back room and notedthe arrival of aperson of importanceand pasted on her prettiest smile—that Miss Ainsley was favored, and thus her treatment would be polite, nearly fawning. He held her hand yet, as well, because he liked the feel of it in his, like the way their hands fit, and how soft her skin was.
But he did release her hand, after it had been noticed by the shop owner, who ignored the other people browsing to shimmy her way around tables and persons to stand before the earl. Modiste’s had a particular talent, a gift he might have said, for discerning who was monied, and who would be spending.
“My lord,” she greeted him, her painted lips spread wide in her face.
“Mrs. Shabner, I bring you Miss Ainsley,” Zach said. The woman’s gaze raked Emma with enormous judgment from head to toe. “She will need to be outfitted for three days in London.”
He was quite sure he could see her doing math in her head. Her smile grew. “Of course, my lord. Any particular events?”
“One dinner party and one ball. Several daytime—”
“A ball?” Emma turned her face up to him. “Truly?” Her excitement was so palpable, so contagious, he could not help but smile, even as he knew the total cost for this undertaking just went up, as Mrs. Shabner’s gaze was keen as she considered his indulgence.
“Shoes? Hats? Gloves? Undergarments?” Clarified the modiste, with a lift of her brow.
Zach waved the gloves in his hands with some ennui, as was expected of him. “A complete outfitting, if you please. Dinner gown by tomorrow night, and ball gown for Saturday.”
And now the modiste showed a hint of alarm, at which Zach raised a challenging brow. Her gaze narrowed and her smile wastight, knowing he would exit her shop if she could not accommodate him. He could find several who would in a very close proximity.
“As you wish, my lord. Come, my dear.” She led Emma away from Zach, calling over her shoulder as she stopped with Emma near the table of fabrics, “Have you a preference to color?”
“Blues,” he said, decisively.
“Bold?” Wondered the modiste.
Zach leveled her with a decisive frown. “Pastels,” he clarified, answering her unasked question of Emma’s role in his life, paramour or beloved. Supposed beloved, he amended.
“Cut?” The modiste persisted.
“Tasteful.”
“Style?” Mrs. Shabner lifted a hand to indicate the attention-grabbing hat atop a mannequin.
“Elegant,” he corrected. “She needs no decoration, as you can plainly see.”
“Mm,” agreed the modiste, considering Emma’s fair and perfect skin. She reached out and touched a lock of Emma’s hair, escaped from her hat. And then to Zach, “Very well. I’ll need her for an hour at least.”
He nodded. To Emma, he said, “I shall take up some business nearby and return for you.”
“Oh...all right. Thank you, my lord.” Of course, her eyes said that it was not all right, that she would rather he stayed with her. But she needed to learn how to go about on her own.
With a curt nod, he pivoted and walked to the door, hearing the modiste say to Emma, in a tone that was not quite a whisper, “You’ve got him sewn up quite nicely, Miss Ainsley.”
To which Emma replied, clearly having no inkling of the woman’s inference, “We’re cousins. Of a sort.”
“I’ll bet you are,” the modiste tittered just as Zach closed the door behind him.
EMMA WAS HAPPY THATevening to remain within the earl’s Mayfair townhome, not quite sure she was ready to face the masses, so to speak, at a public outing. She was immediately enamored of the residence though it bore little resemblance to Benedict House, with its stark and cool feel. The floors were tiled, the doors were painted black, and there was not a stitch of wallpaper in the entire home. She’d been shown to a neat but plain room of blue, which was still prettier than her apartments in the King’s Arms Inn.
