Cynthia pursed her lips. Thomas could almost see her sharp mind whirring away. ‘Unless…’ Her eyes lit with what was sure to be a plan.
Before she could explain any further, voices echoed from the front of the dress shop.
‘I’m so sorry, the door was open, and I was told Lieutenant General Grey would be here. I really must speak with him…’
The unmistakable caw of a raven had tingles of awareness skating over Thomas’ skin.
‘Miss Blair,’ he hissed.
Cynthia frowned at him. ‘Pardon?’
Thomas tugged on his jacket. ‘Excuse me for a moment. I must…’ He walked towards the door leading to the main salon.
‘We do not allowanimalsin the shop.’ Madame Laurent’s voice was decidedly frosty as she glared at Miss Blair.
Blazes, she is lovely.
Thomas blinked, clenched his teeth together, and dispelled the unwanted thought.
She is not lovely. She is a nuisance. One I should stop staring at like a fool.
But it was impossible to look away. Miss Blair struck a memorable image standing in the centre of the store in a high-collared, structured black coat. Her wide, sapphire skirts bled colour into the rather grey day, as did the general brightness of her countenance. Thomas was momentarily distracted from her face by the top hat she wore – a masculine design that highlighted her feminine profileand contrasted with the soft mass of black curls twisted into an intricate bun at her nape. His belly tightened, and he was reminded of all the reasons why women could be so very dangerous. The blasted raven, perched nimbly on her shoulder, only added another layer of intrigue and drama to the woman who didn’t need any help drawing attention to herself.
‘Oh, Sir Robin isn’t an animal. He’s a raven.’ Miss Blair’s smile created a spark of fire in her amber eyes.
The modiste held a pair of shears dangerous enough to cause significant bodily damage. Thomas worried she might fling them at Miss Blair like a dagger. ‘The door should ’ave been locked. We are conducting a private fitting.’ She glanced away from Miss Blair to her assistant. The poor girl would be seeking a new job by teatime if she were responsible for the unlocked door. ‘If you wish to make an appointment, Sally can ’elp you. I think there is some space in late August. Next year.’ Madame Laurent stood next to a mannequin, scissors hovering near the crystal cluster pinned to the skirt. Her lip curled in obvious disgust at the raven. Or perhaps it was Miss Blair. Likely both of them.
‘Oh, no. I’ve no need for new dresses, though I’ve heard such wonderful things about your store, Madame Laurent. These gowns are remarkable.’ As if the woman hadn’t coldly dismissed her, Miss Blair turned to admire a cream and sage ballgown.
‘Bastard!’ Sir Robin burst out as his black eye caught Thomas.
Madame Laurent sputtered like a teapot at the profanity, and her assistant looked like she might faint. Miss Blair ignored them both, her amber eyes following where her raven’s beak pointed. When she saw him, her golden gaze brightened with some unnamed emotion. He felt unexpectedly exposed. A hunter, mesmerised by something rare and wild instead of lining up his shot.
Her chest hitched. She exhaled loudly. If Thomas didn’t knowany better, he would think she had been holding her breath until the moment she saw him. But that was nonsensical. And he was always sensical.
Is that even a word?
Miss Blair flattened her rather beautifully shaped mouth into a hard line, and her raven let out a sharp caw.
‘Lieutenant General Grey. There you are. I must speak with you.’ Her calm, low voice stroked along his nerves like a caress.
The rustle of silk behind him alerted Thomas to his sister’s presence. Of course, she wouldn’t be content to stay in the fitting room alone. For reasons he didn’t wish to examine, he found the idea of Cynthia meeting Miss Blair to be a terrible one. His sister knew him far too well. She was certain to get… ideas.
Decidedly misguided ideas.
‘What are you doing here and how did you find me?’ His tone was harsh, and his words bordered on rude, but really. The woman had tracked him to a modiste shop on Bond Street. It was completely untoward. And disconcerting. And baffling. Who had given her his location? Who even knew he was at Madame Laurent’s outside of his household staff? Even if she knew where he lived, Thomas’ butler would never give out his location to a stranger. Especially if that stranger was a young woman with a raven on her shoulder.
‘I need to speak with you. About…’ She looked past him, no doubt seeing his sister, whose floral scent tickled Thomas’ nose. ‘Something,’ Miss Blair finished lamely. He noticed her cheeks flushed a delicate rose.
‘Oh, my. Isn’t that intriguing? A young woman, desperate to speak with you about…something.’ Cynthia stepped from behind him, her gaze sharper than Madame Laurent’s scissors. ‘Do introduce us, Thomas.’
Miss Blair took a small step backwards, her focus bouncingbetween Thomas and his sister. But her display of hesitation only lasted a moment. She dropped into a graceful curtsey, the raven flapping his wings to keep his perch. When she popped back up, her pixie eyes held his sister’s gaze with steady confidence. A feat few could manage.
‘You must be Marchioness Kentmore.’ Miss Blair’s smile was remarkably friendly towards his sister in comparison to the frosty glares she sent his way. ‘An honour to meet you, your ladyship. Please excuse my interruption, but I need to speak with your brother. By the by, that colour is stunning on you.’
How the bloody hell does she know my sister?
‘It is rather divine, isn’t it?’ To Thomas’ increasing astonishment, Cynthia batted her eyes and ran a hand over the still unfinished skirt. ‘You have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I don’t believe I recognise you. And I thought I was well-versed with every young lady in Debrettes.’
