A loud snort came from beside the bookcase as Alice awakened herself and swiftly rose to her feet.
“Oh, my lady, I must have drifted off. Has your young man left already? I hope I didn’t miss anything.” Then she laughed and added, “Not that any of us ever have to worry about you, Lady Purity.”
Chapter Ten
Matthew realized he was striding down Piccadilly without any destination in mind when his driver, following along beside, called down to him.
“Shall I take the horses home, my lord?”
“Yes, I shall walk the rest of the way.” Although he was presently going in the opposite direction.
After watching Griffin disappear down the road, he turned left onto Old Bond Street and kept wandering farther than he meant to go.
Yet still, his thoughts were with Lady Purity.
Infuriating woman!
Spouting off her societal rules and then so easily breaking them as soon as he kissed her. Not only did she relax her morals, her entire body had softened against him. He, too, had felt molten desire.It was the oddest thing!
Not that desire was a strange phenomenon when he was kissing a lovely female, but the overwhelming intensity of it most assuredly was. He had been rendered helpless and even docile. If she’d put her finger to his chin, she could have led him anywhere.
“Pah!”And he’d sworn the truth on his father’s soul.How belittling!As if he had to prove himself and his honor to LadyPurity Diamond. He was bending over backward to live up to expectations and got nothing for it but a scolding.
And a kiss that had swept him into a private world where only the two of them existed.Miraculous!If he’d had any doubt he was pursuing the correct woman, it had vanished when their lips touched again.
“Dolls!” he exclaimed, seeing a display of toys.
Coming out of his musings, he realized he’d reached the ever-intriguing Pantheon Bazaar on Oxford Street. Moreover, he had decided to purchase a doll for Diana, after seeing her curl up with a cushion in her small arms, and had nearly forgotten.
These were all porcelain with pale hair and blue eyes. The eyes were right, but he wanted the beauty of a dark-haired doll as rare as his Diamond.
“Her age, my lord?” asked the clerk when Matthew went in and inquired about the display.
“She’s in her early twenties,” he answered, still glancing around the shop.
“Then you want a collectible, my lord.”
“A collectible?” Suddenly, Matthew laughed. “You wish to know the age of the child. Naturally. My mistake, madam. She’s four, and a little rough on her toys, so not in need of a collectible.”
“Then not porcelain, my lord. You can browse these fine wax-head dolls.”
Matthew looked them over. “Why do they all have the same pale hair, not exactly blond yet not brown either?”
“It is mohair,” the toy seller said. “Manufactured here in London and supplied to doll makers not only in Britain, my lord, but also in France and Germany.”
Matthew picked one up.
“The body is cotton and sawdust,” the woman continued. “Quite durable.”
“They are cleverly done,” he agreed, lifting up the little arm, which felt like stuffed cotton until the elbow.
“The lower part is kid leather.”
Each hand had four sewn fingers. He glanced at the clerk. She smiled and shrugged.
“The children don’t mind,” she insisted.
Matthew wasn’t sure it did the children of England any great service to let them grow up thinking some babies had eight fingers, but that was neither here nor there.
