“No? Well, I assure you, it is. Now, where shall we shop first? Don’t say Madame Devy’s, if you please, or Eloisa will insist we go home.” Lucy fiddled with the ribbons of her bonnet again, her gloved fingers clumsy on the slippery silk. “Perhaps I should search for a new bonnet.”
“I don’t know. I think the bonnet you’re wearing is very fetching. Pretty ribbons.” Ciaran gave one end of the silk a playful tug. They were a dark pink color that flattered her eyes and brought out the delicate flush in her cheeks. “You should wear that color more often.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “You’re very gallant today, Ciaran, as befits a suitor, but I can’t quite believe you know one sort of bonnet from the next.”
“I don’t claim to be an expert on bonnets.” Far from it, but he did seem to notice everything about Lucy. Bonnets, pelisses, the colors of her gowns. “But I know what I like.”
Good God. His sister Isla would laugh herself sick if she could hear him now.
“Well, then it’s decided. We’ll go to a bonnet shop, and begin your education. You’ll find it fascinating, I’m sure.” She turned her dark eyes on him, humor shining in their depths.
Ciaran swallowed. How had he ever thought he preferred blue eyes to dark?
Isobel had blue eyes.…
But he didn’t want to think about Isobel. He shrugged the memory of her aside, and the ghost of his first love drifted away on the breeze. “As tempting as bonnets are, we’ll have to shop for them another time. I have something else to show you today.”
He tucked her arm more firmly through his elbow, but Lucy hung back. “Wait. Is it proper for me to go off alone with you?”
Ciaran glanced behind him and saw the rest of their party was a few blocks behind. He turned back to Lucy with a sly grin. “Not really, no. Why? Are you suddenly concerned with propriety, Lady Lucinda? I’ve never known you to be afraid before, especially if it means foregoing an adventure.”
Lucy sniffed. “Afraid? Certainly not.”
Ciaran chuckled. “Good. Because we’re practically betrothed now, and that means we can do all sorts of improper things.”
His tone was playful, even a bit suggestive. Lucy noticed it, and her cheeks went such a deep pink they put her ribbons to shame.
Ciaran knew he shouldn’t tease her, but he couldn’t resist her blushes. He reached out to tweak her ribbon again. “That’s a pretty blush, Lucy. You should wearthatcolor more often, too.”
She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, blush deepening when she saw his gaze fixed on her face.
Then she did something Ciaran would never forget.
Her pink tongue slipped out, and she dragged the tip of it across her lower lip. It was a little thing, and unconsciously done, but that didn’t stop his body from exploding with a sudden rush of fiery heat.
She cleared her throat. “Is Bond Street an adventure, then?”
Ciaran tore his gaze away from her plump, red lips and struggled to gather his wits. “It’s not the same sort of adventure as a bare-knuckle bout or a secret dip in the ocean, but genteel ladies don’t parade down Bond Street with dubious gentlemen, so you will be challenging propriety in some small way.”
She laughed. “Are you dubious, Ciaran?”
Her teasing smile made his heart pound. She was still fussing with the ribbons under her chin, and without thinking Ciaran brushed her hands aside. “Here, let me.” He tugged on one end of the ribbon to untie it, then carefully tied them again, his fingertips grazing the soft skin of her neck.
He tucked a stray curl back, then stepped back to study her face. “There. Much better,” he murmured huskily. Her hair was so soft, even softer than the silk ribbons. What would it feel like to gather handfuls of it, until it flowed like dark red silk over his palms?
What was he doing, flirting so shamelessly with Lucy? Teasing her, and touching her? And was she…wasn’t she flirting back? He could hardly believe she was, but plenty of ladies had flirted with him last season. He knew it when he saw it.
But he and Lucy didn’tflirt. Ciaran shook his head, confused, but at the same time he was aware of a low hum of pleasure in his belly as their gazes met. Lucy was watching him with wide eyes, and all at once Ciaran realized he was still toying with her ribbons.
Her jerked his hand away, clearing his throat. “I, ah…the shop is this way.”
He took her arm and led her down the block to a shop with a large bay window that looked out onto Bond Street. It was separated into multiple panes, with each pane boasting its own colorful satirical print. He waited, strangely nervous, as Lucy’s eyes wandered from one print to the next, her brows drawn together.
“What is this place? It looks like…” She trailed off, pausing on the curb to read the sign on the door. “Humphrey’s Print Shop.” She took her time, studying each print one by one, her mouth open in wonder. “They’re all James Gillray. Every one of them.”
Ciaran nodded, a flutter of nerves in his belly. He shuffled his feet like an awkward schoolboy, wanting very much to please her. “Yes. You told me once your father was fond of Gillray’s work.”
“I did tell you that yes, but it was some time ago. You, ah…you remembered.” She peeked at him from under the wide brim of her bonnet, the sweetest smile Ciaran had ever seen curving her lips.
