“I can’t put him down, Barns. We’re mid-waltz. You don’t abandon your partner mid-waltz. Even I know that.”
He dipped the mannequin. Its head lolled backward at an angle that would have killed a real person, and its left arm swung out and nearly clipped a display of silk pocket squares. Lex caught it, righted it, and spun it in a slow circle that sent the tails of the morning coat flaring.
“He’s got moves,” Lex said. “Better than most blokes I’ve danced with. Doesn’t step on my feet. Doesn’t try to lead when he clearly can’t. Could use a bit more give in the hips, but we’ll work on that.”
Barnaby crossed the shop floor in four strides. He seized Lex’s elbow and pulled, hard enough that Lex released the mannequin, which wobbled on its stand and settled back into position with a faint metallic shudder.
“Behave.” Barnaby’s voice was low, clipped, barely controlled. His fingers dug into Lex’s arm. He was standing close enough that Lex could smell his soap, something clean and expensive. “This shop has held a royal warrant since 1809. Ithas dressed kings. It has dressedmyking. You’re not going to desecrate it by waltzing with the furniture.”
Lex clapped both hands over the mannequin’s ears. “Don’t call himfurniture, Barns. His name’s Bernard. And he’s gotfeelings.” He looked down at the featureless face with genuine concern. “He didn’t mean it, mate. He’s always like this.”
Barnaby’s grip tightened. His grey eyes were blazing, his jaw locked, and his ears were pink. Lex took it all in and thought:this is the best day of my life.
“If Mr Harding comes back and finds you manhandling a bespoke morning suit that costs more than your Gucci atrocity—”
“He’ll what? Ban me? I’ve just won an Olympic gold, Barns. They’ll let me waltz with every mannequin in the building. They’ll line them up for me. Lay out the red carpet and pop open a champagne bottle!”
“You are impossible.” Barnaby hadn’t let go of his arm. His thumb pressed into the crook of Lex’s elbow. “You are an impossible man, and I don’t know why I brought you here.”
“Because you care about how I look at the Palace.”
Barnaby’s mouth opened. His grip loosened, but he didn’t release him.
“Because you care about me,” Lex repeated, quieter this time. “And you’re good at it. And nobody’s ever done anything like this for me before, so I’m being a twat about it because I don’t know how to just say thank you like a normal person.”
Barnaby stared at him. The pink in his ears deepened, and then he dropped Lex’s arm and stepped back just as the door to the back room swung open.
Harding emerged carrying two bolts of fabric, the younger assistant at his heels with a tray of lapel samples. Barnaby turned to meet them, his composure snapping back into placeso fast it left no trace of how flustered he’d been just a second before.
“Here are the notch lapel options, my lord,” Harding said. “And I’ve pulled two navy options for your consideration.”
“Thank you, Mr Harding.” Barnaby’s voice was smooth and level. He moved towards the display first bolt. Lex stood where he’d been left, watching Barnaby’s back, and pressed his tongue against his teeth to keep the grin from splitting his face wide open.
Chapter Fourteen
Barnabywatched Lex take in all five floors of the Fitznorman-Bicester’s Chester Square house from the pavement. His mouth was agape as his eyes raked over the white stucco and the black railings.
“Fucking hell,” Lex said.
“It’s just a house.”
“It’s not just a house, Barns. Ahousehas a wheelie bin out front and a satellite dish. This has got columns and five floors. InCentral London.”
“They’re pilasters.”
“What?”
“They’re pilasters. They’re flat. Columns are freestanding.”
Lex looked at him, his lips curled in a smirk. “Right. Your house has pilasters, then. They’re very nice.”
Barnaby unlocked the front door and let him in. The entrance hall was tiled in black and white marble with a console table against one wall and a mirror above it that had been in the family since the house was built in 1831. Mrs Gregson had leftfresh flowers on the table. White roses, which was his mother’s standing order at the local florist.
Lex walked through the hall slowly, as if afraid he’d break something, then stopped in the doorway to the dining room and stared. Barnaby tried to look at the room with the objective eye of someone who hadn’t been raised in a gilt-forward country home or palace. He could see how the chandelier might catch his eye. The portraits on the far wall. The table that seated fourteen.
“That your mum?” Lex asked, nodding at the portrait above the sideboard.
“That is my great-great-great-great-grandmother. The third Duchess of Chatham.”
