Page 101 of For a Scot's Heart Only
“You enjoy oranges, I collect.”
“I enjoy you, and one can do very creative things with oranges,” he said for her ears alone.
She tipped her head, fighting a smile. He couldn’t regret making her smile. Mary’s proper facade was cracking before his eyes and he would be the man to see it fracture completely. She’d already broken apart in his arms in the dark of night. Why not see what happened in the light of day?
She spoke louder and officiously, “Why don’t I show you the baleen you sold me last year. Some of the fibers are fraying.”
“Like the flue on a peacock feather?”
Her cheeks bloomed a ferocious red. “Perhaps if I showed you...”
“Excellent. I do need to see your goods, Miss Fletcher.”
He didn’t think it possible, but a crimson blush blazed ever brighter on her face.
“Please, follow me.” She sped across her shop, saying, “Miss Dalton, I will be in the workroom.”
At the counter, a brown-haired miss looked up from discussing woolen stays with a patron. “Of course, miss.”
Mary darted past the yellow curtain dividing her shop from her workroom and he followed, praying Miss Dalton would treat that curtain like a portcullis and not trespass. Oranges filled a bucket in the middle of a worktable. Around them were half-formedstays with uncut baleen poking above unsewn hems. Rows of cloth and spindles of thread lined a wall, set up like the colors of the rainbow. A tidy place, her workshop. Only one color drew him. The red of Mary Fletcher’s swishing gown. She swirled around, her eyes alight.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice was just above a whisper.
“Isn’t it obvious?” He dropped his hat on the table. “I’m here to ensure your complete satisfaction.”
“With last night?” she whispered, her eyes rounding. “Oh, you are incorrigible.”
“Count me determined, delighted, and thoroughly... smitten.” He cocked a smile. “Forgive me. I couldn’t think of another word beginning with a D to describe my enthusiasm for you.”
She touched her lips to suppress a giggle. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Undoubtedly. I have it on good authority that it’s loose in the clouds.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Blame the orange girl for that.”
She canted her head, confused.
“My being here pertains to one matter and one matter alone.”
“Pray tell, what is this matter?” she asked, a little breathless.
“It’s you.”
“Me?” Mary took a cautious step backward. He took a cautious step forward.
“I’ve come to expand our agreement.”
She glanced nervously at the yellow curtain. “You shouldn’t have. Our agreement never mentioned days.”
He ignored that, though in deference to her place of business he kept his voice low.
“I’ll begin by escorting you to Neville Warehouse today, which I acknowledge is not the most enticing of entertainments, but I’ll remind you, I can do better.”
“Can you?” Eyes sparkling, she inched backward.
He inched forward. “Need I remind you of the pleasure barge?”
