Seduced by His Touch(7)

"Civet oil," Aunt Jane said. "Apparently the Empress Josephine wears a  similar fragrance, though from what I've read rumors are swirling that  she may not be Boney's wife for long. They say he's going to cast her  aside because she's barren, or so the story goes."

Grace nodded, having read the same news stories herself. "Yes, well,  those rumors have been swirling for a while. But perhaps you would do  well to steer clear of perfumes favored by wives of the enemy, even ones  in danger of being divorced."

Aunt Jane waved a dismissive hand. "Pish-tosh. If we did away with  everything French, we'd have nothing decent to drink or wear. Still, I  think you're right about this particular perfume."

Replacing the stopper, her aunt gave a contemplative nod. "Mayhap I  should discuss a custom-made scent with the owner, a fragrance created  exclusively for me. I suppose the price might be a bit dear, but what's  the point of a widow's portion if you can't spend it on an indulgence or  two?" Visibly excited, she hurried off to find the head perfumer.

Grace watched with a smile before resuming her inspection of the merchandise.

Seconds later, the tiny brass bell that hung above the door gave a  tinkling chime as a new patron stepped inside. Instead of another woman  come to join the all-female throng, however, the newcomer was a man. But  not just any man.

Jack Byron.

From the moment of his arrival, he dominated his surroundings, tall and  commanding in a superfine coat of rich dark, Spanish fly green that was  all the rage that year. He wore a pair of close-fitting navy blue  pantaloons that hugged the muscular contours of his long, powerful legs,  with polished black boots on his feet. On another man, the outfit could  easily have appeared as ostentatious as a peacock. But on Lord Jack,  the effect was nothing short of divine.

As he strolled further into the shop, Grace noticed that hers wasn't the  only pair of female eyes to turn his way, nor the only ones to linger  in clear appreciation.

Annoyed by her weakness, she turned away.

What is he doing here? she wondered, since the shop catered almost exclusively to feminine tastes.

And where has he been? she wanted to ask, since she hadn't managed to catch so much as a glimpse of him lately.

Not that I care, of course.

She hadn't long to ponder either question before she sensed him at her side.

"Miss Danvers," he greeted in a throaty rumble that caused tingles to chase over her skin. "We meet again."

Turning slightly, she looked up as though she had only just then noticed his arrival. "Your lordship. How do you do?"

"Quite well, thank you," he replied. "Particularly now that I have the pleasure of such lovely company."

Aware that flirtation must come as naturally to him as breathing, she  did her best to ignore his remark. "So, what brings you here, of all  places? This hardly seems like your sort of diversion."

One mahogany brow arched skyward, an amused glint sparkling in his eyes.  "Ah, Miss Danvers, there you go again, deciding what does and does not  suit me. Whenever shall you learn?"

She flushed slightly at his amused rebuke.

"I am here to make a purchase," he offered in a gentle tone.

Of course he is, she realized. Undoubtedly he's buying a gift for a  female acquaintance, maybe even a lover. Surely he isn't shopping for  his mistress, she thought, the notion settling like a lump of  undercooked potato at the bottom of her stomach.

"Perhaps you might be so good as to assist me," he continued.

Help him buy perfume for his paramour? Most certainly not!

"I am looking for a present for my sister. Or at least for one of my  sisters, since the other is far too young yet for such adornments. I  thought there might be something here to please her."

"Your sister!" she exclaimed, relief rushing through her. "Well, of course. What a thoughtful idea."

His azure eyes twinkled again. "I am glad you think so. Although you  seem a bit surprised to discover I have a sister. To whom else had you  imagined I might be giving such an intimate gift?"

"N-no one," she denied, hoping he would let her gloss over the answer. "So, what kind of fragrance does your sister prefer?"

For a brief moment, his face went blank. "Actually, I have no idea."

"Does she like flowers, or are herbs and spices more to her taste?"

He considered her query. "Flowers, I believe. Mallory loves anything with petals and a scent."

She smiled. "That should make it easier then. Mallory, hmm? What a pretty name."

His gaze met hers. "Indeed. Though not as lyrical as your own." Almost  imperceptibly, he moved closer, the warmth of his body radiating  outward, together with his own mesmerizing scent-clean and male and  uniquely him. "What fragrance are you wearing?" he asked.                       
       
           


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"Nothing. I don't wear perfume, at least not often."

He inched nearer still, his voice lowering to a murmur. "You're just naturally sweet then, are you? Exactly as I suspected."

Her legs turned weak. Surreptitiously, she gripped the wooden counter in  front of her, glad of its support. She was relieved as well that she  didn't send any bottles toppling over to crash in a noisy splash of  scent on the floor.

"She … um … she might like jasmine or hyacinth." Grace broke eye contact,  striving to collect herself. "Is she older or younger than yourself?"

"Younger. She's nineteen."

"Something more youthful, then. Orange blossom water. It's light and frivolous, like a warm spring day."

He placed a hand on the counter next to hers, so close that their gloved  fingers were all but touching. Although her hands were appropriately  proportioned for her height, she'd always considered them far too large,  even ungainly. But his hands dwarfed hers, big and wide and so clearly  strong beneath the dark fabric covering them. She stared, noting their  differences, wishing suddenly that he would lift his hand to cover her  own.

Her pulse sped faster. What am I doing? Thinking? More to the point,  what is he thinking? Very likely nothing, she decided. He probably  wasn't even aware of her response, and if he were, he'd be appalled. Or,  worse, amused.

Abruptly she drew away. Taking a step back, she straightened her  shoulders and deliberately, almost defiantly, stood at her full height.  "Your sister might also enjoy lilacs. Always a delightful scent."

He lowered his hand to his side. "I'm sure it is, but the orange blossom water sounds just the thing."

Signaling a clerk, he placed his order, then waited while the man moved away to box and wrap the purchase.

"I am in your debt," he said. "My thanks for your aid. Perhaps you might suggest something for my other sister as well."

Grace swallowed, deliberately meeting his gaze as she forced aside any lingering awareness of him. "How old is she?"

"Ten. And she likes to draw. Art is quite her favorite pastime."

At the mention of something so completely familiar, Grace relaxed.  "There is a fine store only a block distant on Bond Street. Ask for  George and he'll find you anything you need. A paper block never goes  amiss with an artist. Nor paints or crayons."

"George, hmm? You must be a frequent visitor to know the clerks by name. I assume you paint?"

"I watercolor a bit."

"Ah," he said, though without the usual note of male condescension.

A brief silence fell between them. He was just opening his mouth to say  something further when her aunt appeared suddenly at her side.

"My new fragrance is created!" Aunt Jane announced. "Carnation with a  delicate hint of lime. Delicious." She paused, her keen gaze fixing on  Lord Jack. "But pardon me for so rudely interrupting. Perhaps you might  make the introductions, Grace, since it is obvious from the way you two  have been conversing that you are acquainted with this gentleman."

Grace traded a brief glance with Lord Jack before turning to her aunt.  "Yes, his lordship and I met a few days ago at the botanical lecture  near Sydney Gardens."

"Did you now?" Aunt Jane's grey-haired head bobbed with interest.

"And briefly in London before that," Lord Jack offered in a smooth  aside. "Miss Danvers and I frequent the same bookseller, you see."

Grace shot him a look for divulging such unnecessary information, then  hurried on before anything further could be added. "My lord, pray allow  me to make you known to my aunt, Mrs. Jane Grant. Aunt Jane, Lord John  Byron.

Her aunt's eyes grew round. "Byron? No relation to the poet, I suppose?"

"No, ma'am. That particular gentleman and I share no familial ties, nor  do I claim to have so much as an inkling of talent in the art of penning  sonnets and odes. Let me say, however, that it is a distinct pleasure  to make your acquaintance." He bowed with a practiced flair that made  her aunt's cheeks pink like a schoolgirl's despite her nearly sixty  years.