style="font-size:15px;"> Oh, dear, that was not the way to treat a customer. Especially the younger son of a duke. But really!
‘It is hardly demolished.’ He gave her that heart-stopping crooked smile that had flustered her the first time he’d gazed at her. He looked even more handsome this morning than he had the other day. His lovely brown eyes were clear and bright, his jacket unrumpled, his dark brown hair carefully ordered. And that smile... It was doing devastating things to her insides. ‘And besides,’ he continued, ‘a hat is far too personal item for a gentleman to purchase. In my experience, a lady needs to try on several bonnets before she can decide on one. Do you let your husband buy your hats?’
‘My husband is dead.’ She clamped her jaw shut. Now why had she told him that? And in such a blunt manner, too. He might think she was interested in him and before she knew it he’d be taking advantage. That was the sort of thing men did. It had been drummed into her at Mrs Thacker’s Academy for the Daughters of Gentlemen.
His expression changed to one of sympathy. ‘I am sorry.’
Why should he be sorry? She meant nothing to him. But he was right about him buying his lady a hat. Most women did prefer to choose their own. There was something very intimate about the purchase of a hat and it was decidedly perspicacious of him to realise that particular fact. Clearly the man knew women.
A suggestion was in order. She gave him a tight little smile, wishing she knew how to be a little more charming. ‘Perhaps you could bring her with you and let her choose.’
He gave a low chuckle, a deep rich sound that seemed to stir things up low in her belly. ‘Perhaps one day. In the meantime...’
‘Well, I doubt any lady would be pleased to receive the same gift, even if it is in a different colour and form.’
His brow clouded. ‘No. You are right.’
‘What about a pair of gloves?’ She brought out a pair and set them on the counter.
‘Too practical.’
‘An embroidered pair of slippers.’ She laid several before him.
‘Too mundane.’
‘Not these. The workmanship is the finest you will see anywhere.’
He shook his head. ‘I would prefer something more...’
‘Romantic?’ She smiled sweetly.
‘Unique.’
‘What about a fan?’ She spread two hand-painted silk fans, showing off the delicate paintings, one of a ballroom scene and the other of the countryside.
He picked one up, opening and closing it and inspecting the painted sticks. ‘Very nice. Are they imported from the East?’
‘No, my sister-in-law makes them.’
‘She is a talented woman.’
Carrie smiled. She loved to hear her sisters-in-law complimented. She’d been an only child and the idea of having sisters thrilled her.
He stood there, staring at her mouth as if he had never seen a woman smile before. Her body flushed warm. Goodness, but the man was a flirt.
‘Your special lady will love using it,’ she said firmly. ‘It is sure to be admired by all her acquaintances.’
He gave her a sharp look. ‘And put me in her good graces?’
She nodded encouragingly. ‘Of course.’
‘How much?’
‘Half a crown.’
His lips thinned. ‘That’s a little steep, don’t you think?’
‘Is the lady not worth it, my lord?’ She flicked it open. ‘Nevertheless, because you are a repeat customer, I am willing to sell it to you for two shillings.’ That was sixpence more than the price she and the others had agreed upon, but the man’s need seemed urgent. And her own needs were pressing in.
‘Very well. Two shillings it is. Though I feel I am getting the worst of this bargain.’
It was not good for a customer to feel that way. ‘You will not see another fan like this one anywhere, I assure you.’
‘I see another right there.’ He pointed to a third fan.
She spread it open. On this one, the leaf was a pale blue silk and showed a scene of the ocean at sunset. ‘It is not at all the same.’
He grinned. ‘You have me there, Mrs Greystoke. Very well, I will take this fan for two shillings.’
He dug out his money pouch. ‘I hope you will recommend my shop to your lady,’ she said as calmly as possible despite the rapid beating of her heart. Was it him making it beat so fast? Or merely the idea of finally making a sale? She wrapped the fan in tissue. ‘When she is next in need of a hat.’
‘I most certainly will. Indeed, I will mention your shop to every one of my acquaintances.’
He bowed and left with the little package tucked under his arm.
Carrie could not help admiring his lithe male figure as he disappeared through her shop door. He was so masculine. Despite his elegant tailoring, he looked athletic and fit. He’d no doubt be an excellent lover. She blushed at the unbidden thought. It was his flirting that had made such a wicked thought about a man she scarcely knew occur to her.
She was a woman, wasn’t she? And her thoughts were her own. As long as they remained merely thoughts, she was doing nobody any harm.
What would it be like to have such a handsome gentleman paying attention to one?
Lord Avery would no doubt be a master of the art of flirtation. And she had never been the object of a gentleman’s attentions. Not even her husband’s.
A sigh escaped her. She was such a fool. No doubt Lord Avery would never even think of her again, let alone mention her little shop to anyone.
She looked in the tin cash box. The grand sum of three shillings and thruppence stared back at her.
The Westram ladies were going to be so disappointed.
‘What do you think?’ Mimi Luttrell batted her lashes at Avery, her pale blue eyes soulful, her lips pouting provocatively.
He stifled the urge to yawn. Mimi would run a mile if he so much as hinted at anything sensual between them. She had agreed to this little outing in his company because her husband preferred the hunting field to escorting her to shops and balls. She wanted to feel appreciated, that was all. And perhaps wake her errant husband up to the fact that she was a desirable woman.
It was strange how differently the English husband regarded the position of cicisbeo to those on the Continent. In Italy a man would see it as a compliment that his wife
