CHAPTERSEVEN
Bethlooked at the large nobleman standing beside the lace-edged handkerchiefs that her girls had spent hours trimming.
“I followed you.”
He could have lied, said he was passing, or purchasing a gift, anything; instead he told the truth and it shocked her.
“What? Why?”
He slapped his hat softly against one thigh, as if he had nothing of importance to occupy his time, and standing in a shop filled with women’s accessories was an everyday occurrence.
“I have no idea, it seemed like a good idea at the time, then as your carriage rolled on, my curiosity was tweaked.”
He gave her a smile that flashed his teeth and made his black eyes twinkle, which was surely not possible. Odious man, Beth thought, wondering how she was to get rid of him before he realized where he stood, and what this shop and the house behind it actually stood for.
“Well un-tweak it,” she spluttered as her anger climbed. “How dare you do such a… such an invasive thing! I insist you leave this establishment at once!”
He kept smiling in the face of her anger, and Beth dug her toes into her boots to stop herself from closing the distance between them and slapping him.
“Yes, you are likely right, but my only defense is that in light of our recent engagement I simply cannot keep my distance from you.”
“Oh, Miss Whitlow,” Heather cried, increasing Beth’s need to harm this man, “that is wonderful news.”
“Ignore him, Heather,” Beth snapped. “The man is unstable.”
“Oh now, my love, that is unfair,” he drawled. “She is peeved as we had a small disagreement last night.”
“I’m going to kill you,” she mouthed.
He smiled. “And now that I am here,” he added, reaching behind him while keeping his eyes on Beth. “I shall take the time to purchase some gifts.” He picked up the first handkerchief he reached and waved it in front of him. It was not lost on either of them that he appeared to be waving a white flag.
He will need more than a handkerchief to save him, Beth thought.
He wore black today, and it was the exact color of his hair and eyes. His shirt was white, and waistcoat silver. Which was ridiculously overstated for such an hour, Beth told herself.
“You can purchase those in London.”
“But I have heard the lace work here is second to none.”
“You’ve heard no such thing,” Beth snapped. “You’re just doing this to annoy me, which is very rag-mannered of you considering I saved you from public humiliation when faced with your lost love.”
“She is not my lost love,” he said, still in that infuriatingly calm voice.
“Yes, she is,” Beth gritted out. “And I insist you leave these premises at once.”
He didn’t, of course.
“Will you introduce me to your friend, Beth?”
“Miss Whitlow,” she said, as he walked to the counter where Heather stood watching the byplay between them avidly. No doubt the rest of the girls would hear in exact detail what had taken place.
“Miss Little,” Heather said, bobbing a curtsey. “And it is an honor of meet Miss Whitlow’s betrothed. We here are greatly in her debt; she is our savior.”
Beth thought about groaning, but it was beneath her.
“How is she your savior?”
“That will do, thank you, Heather. Lord Vereton has no need of the details.”
