“Only thebestwill do for my daughter,” Mrs. Digby said, and she looked pointedly at Damon.
Did she think Damon was best for her daughter? What about Ollie? Miss Digby should be so lucky as to have a man as wonderful as Ollie.
“Miss Kent and I have looked through every bolt of fabric,” Amelia said. “And we found the most beautiful dark-blue print. You must let me show you.”
Miss Digby glanced at her mother and then up at Damon, as if realizing her moment with him had come to an end. After a quick farewell, they allowed Amelia to lead them away.
“You were quick to vacate the modiste’s shop just now,” Damon said to me. “That wouldn’t have anything to do withme, would it?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I was only living up to my half of our bargain—to drive away unwanted young women and their mothers.”
“Miss Digby’s company was hardly unwanted.” Damon smirked.
“Oh? What a dreadful mistake I’ve made. I will call her back for you.” I stepped toward the modiste’s shop.
Damon caught my elbow. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I thought not.” For as much as Damon had seemed to enjoy flirting with her, I believed him when he said he had no intention of marrying anytime soon.
We continued walking toward the carriage and passed the spot where he’d stood earlier with the unknown man.
“Damon, who was the man you were speaking with before?” I asked as we walked.
“What man?”
“The man you were huddled with just over there.” I pointed to the shadowed spot between shops as we walked by it. “You gave him a small parcel.”
The only indication Damon heard my question was the slight tension in his brow.
“Won’t you tell me?”
Damon led me around a small puddle. “He’s a business contact.”
That man wasnota man of business, at least not a reputable one. Damon was lying. Why? “What sort of business contact?” I pressed.
“The details would bore you.”
“That’s unlikely.”
“Did you find an acceptable fabric?” He changed the subject without apology.
I gave him a pointed look. “If you don’t want to tell me your business, then I am under no obligation to divulge mine.”
“I take this to mean no acceptable fabric was found?”
“I’m afraid the details of my visit to the modiste wouldboreyou.”
“No doubt,” he said, “but I am very good at feigning interest.”
I met his gaze. “As am I,my lord.”
“Touché,” he said, and we continued down the lane. “What shall we speak of then? The fine weather or perhaps the quality of shops in this town?”
“I have no interest in idle chatter.”
“Then let us discuss more important matters. Why did you hide in your room last night?”
“I’d rather not discuss it,” I said.
