“It’s lovely,” she said. “Do you do engraving?”
Griffin was watching her, and he seemed taken aback by the question. “I could manage that, of course. I assume you’d like it delivered by Boxing Day?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He arched a brow. “That would cost a bit extra, for the trouble.”
She lifted her gaze to him and found him smirking at her. Her dislike for the man grew. “That would be fine. May I write to you what I’d like engraved?”
“Of course,” he said, pulling from beneath the counter a sheet of paper and a quill pen with a bottle of ink. “Take your time.”
She stared at the blank page and then scribbled a few words before she handed it back. She watched Griffin read over what she’d said and his eyes widened. She blushed, for her private message to Ewan was now intruded upon by this grasping little man.
“I’ll wrap up the rest, shall I?” he asked, pointing to the pile of swords and dolls.
She nodded and moved to the counter area so she could give him the address for the bill later. Griffin took his time wrapping her items in paper, and as he did so, he said, “May I ask you a question, my lady?”
She shifted, for his tone made her uncomfortable. It was voyeuristic, crude even. “I suppose,” she responded, keeping her own voice cool and distant.
“I noted that you and the duke seemed to communicate in some kind of hand waving,” he said.
She stiffened. “We have a hand language, yes.”
“Very interesting. I don’t know if that is an improvement over his scribbling or not,” Griffin said, lifting his gaze to her. She felt it roll over her in a most inappropriate way.
She glared at him. “You may want to keep in mind to whom you are speaking.”
“Yes, I suppose I should. After all, it seems as though you two are veryclose.”
She frowned. “You are forgetting yourself, Mr. Griffin. My friendship with the Duke of Donburrow is really none of your concern.”
He handed over the bound parcel of her things with a snide smile. “Perhaps not. Still, one cannot help but take an interest.”
She lifted her chin, unwilling to spend even one more moment with the bastard before her. “Send the bill to His Grace’s man of affairs and they will forward it to me. Good day, sir.”
She turned on her heel and marched from the shop. She was pleased to be carrying a parcel so the nasty man couldn’t see her hands shaking as she walked away. The cool air from outside hit her and she sucked in the sharp bite of it, like she could clear her lungs of the dirtiness she’d felt inside.
Ewan was coming across the lane from his meeting and she settled her breath carefully. He smiled at her, and she knew in that moment that she would not tell him what had transpired in the shop. Having Mr. Griffin point out her connection to Ewan and worse, make a comment on Ewan’s mutism, was not going to make him happy. He would feel conspicuous every time he saw the man.
In addition, Ewan might create a scene on her behalf. That would only cause more talk and discomfort. So she brightened her face and her tone as he reached her. “Did you have enough time?”
He nodded as his driver came to take her parcels. Ewan signed, “I did. The arrangements have been made. Is there anything else you’d like to do before we head back?”
“No,” she said swiftly, forcing herself not to glance back at the store. “I think I have everything I need.”
His brow wrinkled, but he didn’t push the issue, just opened the carriage door and assisted her in. But as she settled back into her seat for the drive back to his home, she couldn’t help but feel that whatever had just happened at the shop was not completely resolved.
And that scared her even though she didn’t fully understand why.
Ewan stared at Charlotte, but she continued to look out the window. Under any other circumstance, he might have decided she was simply enjoying the view of his estate as they rode alone, or thinking about her holiday plans.
But there was something about the way she sat, the way her hands clenched in her lap, the way she seemed to abjectly avoid his stare that made him feel there was something more to her behavior. He leaned forward and hesitated.
She had not put her gloves back on after the shop. He had removed his, as well. When he touched her, it was going to be skin on skin, and that felt so very dangerous right now. It had been hours since he kissed her. Since he felt her body pressed against his. It felt like a lifetime, and he was starved for her taste on his lips, her warmth on his skin.
He drew a deep breath and caught her hand, desperate not to react to the electric connection that arced between them. His touch forced her to look at him, and it was clear from her dilated pupils that she was just as moved as he was by the physical connection they now shared.
“What is it?” he signed.
