Refusing to move she said, “Please?”
“Thank God, you are not fat,” he said, walking over to the muffin man. “Which is it this time?” She’d had a muffin and a scone already, all digested in the span of an hour.
“I’ll try a crumpet,” she said, having not a clue as to what that might be.
Devlin made the purchase and Virginia was presented with a warm and crusty golden bun, which she eagerly tried. “Yum,” she said, then to her horror, realized her mouth was full.
He shook his head, then laughed. “Come on. It’s taken us an entire hour to navigate a single block.”
But Virginia cried out, handing him her crumpet, and ran instead to the huge window display. “Devlin, look,” Virginia cried. “Look at the beautiful black lace!”
He came up beside her, still holding the crumpet in its paper napkin. “Do you wish to buy it?” he asked as they stared into the draper’s shop.
She did. Oh, how she wished to adorn herself in that black lace, in a red dress trimmed with tons of it, and she looked at Devlin, simply breathless. They would attend a ball together, dance the night away…. Then she thought about the countess. She sobered.
Who was she fooling? She was not the kind of woman to wear red or black lace. “No, I don’t think so,” she said.
“Change your mind so quickly?” he asked, studying her intently.
“No, I…I don’t think it’s suitable, really. But it’s beautiful,” she added wistfully.
“Come. We must make our appointment with Madame Didier,” he said, taking her arm and looping it in his.
She glanced at him as they strolled up the block, her heart racing. He kept taking her arm as if they were really lovers—or even a couple. “You do know that one would almost think us real friends,” she said hesitantly.
“It is your turn,” he reminded her easily. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
She had to beam. “How can I not? Those wonderful muffins—those pretty fish—they sell everything on the street, do they not? I saw a man selling dust! He was selling brick dust,” she cried.
“It’s used for cleaning knives,” Devlin said. Then rather casually, he asked, “So what did Sean have to say?”
Virginia faltered. And she hesitated, uncertain as to how she should respond.
His letter had both warmed and saddened her. He hadn’t spoken of his feelings, but it was clear that he still cared deeply for her, and after telling her all that had happened at Askeaton in her absence, he had told her that it simply was not the same without her there. She knew his unspoken thoughts—he missed her. And reading it had made her miss him, too, but the way one would a dear old friend, not a lover. It was wonderful hearing from him, but it was also terribly sad, reminding her of a time and place when she had been so crushed and hurt, though she’d refused to admit it. She had been so lonely those five months she had been left behind at Askeaton.
His letter and her reaction to it had only confirmed her real feelings for him. She had never loved him more as a friend. But she hoped that, one day, he would fall passionately in love with a woman who would love him back the very same way.
She sighed. “I’m afraid that’s none of your affair, Devlin,” she said.
“Actually it is, as I have been responsible for my brother’s welfare and happiness since he was the age of eight. But do not bother to reveal his secrets, as I can already guess what they are.”
“So you are now a fortune teller? Or rather, a Gypsy mind reader?” She poked him with her elbow, smiling and hoping to change the subject.
“Hardly,” he said, but he smiled in return.
The seamstress’s shop was not what Virginia had been expecting. She had anticipated a small shop filled with tables and ladies sewing industriously there. Instead, a stunning young woman with red hair, superbly dressed, unlatched the front door and allowed them into a front hall with polished wood floors and fine Persian rugs. Display cases lined the two walls on either side of the store, boasting hats, gloves, purses and the occasional swatch of fabric or pair of earbobs. Stairs carpeted in red swept up directly ahead.
“Captain O’Neill?” The redhead smiled at Devlin. Her accent was French.
“Madame Didier?” he asked, clearly with some surprise. The woman was no more than twenty-one or two.
“I am Mademoiselle Didier, her niece,” the redhead replied softly, her regard not quite seductive. And she faced Virginia. “Mademoiselle Hughes, I presume?”
Virginia nodded, her gaze darting from the elegant and seductive Frenchwoman to the stunning items on display in the hall. It was impossible to decide whether to stare at Madame Didier’s niece or at what was for sale in the shop.
“Please, Captain, Mademoiselle, do come upstairs, my aunt is waiting for you.”
Devlin touched the small of Virginia’s back and she preceded him up the wide staircase, following Mademoiselle Didier.
