Page 43 of An Inconvenient Duke

“How lovely of His Grace to meet with me this afternoon in your shop, Mrs. Harris, exactly as we’d planned,” Dani announced, loudly and quickly, declaring the excuse for why he was in the shop in case anyone dared to spread rumors about the two of them being alone together. “Why, at dinner just the other evening, he offered to pay for the all dresses that you’ve been making as a charity for poor women in need.”

“He did, did he?” he muttered, realizing the trap he’d stepped into.

“Oh yes!Allof them.” She tapped the counter. “Do you happen to have your account book handy, Mrs. Harris?”

“Right here.” The woman snatched the book out from beneath the counter, along with the pencil she used to mark the shaped strips of paper she kept for each client that noted their measurements. She flipped open the book and ran her finger down the column of figures. “Here we are—the total for the past quarter’s tick.” She turned the book around and tapped the tally so that Marcus could see it. “Shall I send someone to your home to collect payment, Your Grace?”

He gave a tight smile as the snare closed around him. He couldn’t deny it without scandalizing both women. “No need.” He reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket. “I’m always happy to help a charity whenever I can.” He muttered low enough that only Dani could hear, “Or whenever I’m coerced.”

She swallowed down a laugh at his expense.

He withdrew several banknotes and placed them one by one onto the counter. “That should bring the account to current.”

Dani’s lips curled into a smile in private victory. “Thank you, Your—”

“And consider this an advance on next quarter’s bill.”

She stared, stunned speechless, as he added several more bills to the pile.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Harris purred with a beaming smile. “You are a very generous man.”

With an amused expression that Dani simply couldn’t fathom, he took the pencil and scrawled a note to Mrs. Harris in the margin of the account ledger. “And this, too, please, as a personal favor.”

The woman read the note. Her eyes flared wide for a moment before her face melted into a knowing smile. “Certainly, sir.”

“Good day, then.” With a tip of his hat to both women and a tug at his gloves, he excused himself and left the shop.

Dani remained by the counter, taking a moment to gather her wits and calm her pounding heart as Mrs. Harris left her alone to go into the rear of the shop. Thank goodness the woman knew not to ask any questions about Marcus or the true reason he’d followed her into the shop, recognizing the ploy about paying the account as nothing more than a convenient excuse.

How was it possible that he could tie her belly into aching knots with only a smile? That he was such a good man that he’d not really minded about being tricked into paying Nightingale’s bill? Or that he had her longing to be not only in his arms but also in his life, and in more ways than helping gain justice for his sister?

But he did just that. And if he kept it up, she’d be lost. Because she knew that with a man like Marcus, surrender would never be unconditional.

“Thank you, Mrs. Harris,” she called out as she placed her hat on her head and stepped toward the door. “You are greatly appreciated.”

“Wait!” Mrs. Harris hurried out of the shop and onto the street after her, carrying a small white box in her hands, tied with a red ribbon. “His Grace requested this for you.”

Surprised, Dani thanked her and took the package. What on earth? As Mrs. Harris returned to her shop, Dani glanced around at the busy street, but there was no sign of Marcus in the crowd, not one clue of explanation.

She untied the ribbon and lifted the lid to look inside—

The silk stockings she’d tried on in the fitting room.

“Oh, that man,” she murmured, then smiled to herself as she traced her fingers lightly over them.

Thirteen

Marcus accepted a glass of arrack punch from the Vauxhall attendant. As he took a slow swallow of the sweet liquid, careful not to let the evening’s libations dull his wits in this sea of sharks, he glanced at Danielle, who stood on the other side of the crowded supper box.

Around them, the pleasure gardens were a flurry of noise and activity as the suppers being held in the long rows of multistoried galleries lining the main alley finished and a small army of attendants began to serve trays of punch to guests who were already half-foxed from bottles of wine and champagne. Two different bands played at opposite ends of the alley, their music meeting in the middle in a loud cacophony, seemingly right at the Earl of Hartsham’s box. Acrobats tumbled past while tightrope walkers sauntered back and forth overhead. Members of thetonwalked slowly past in their evening finery so their presence would be noted. Other people who didn’t want to be noticed strolled past with their identities hidden behind masks and fancy dress, headed toward the close paths at the rear of the gardens, where the lanterns had already been extinguished by amorous couples who wanted to take advantage of the dark. And each other.

Inside the box, a different kind of spectacle was taking place.

The earl had invited over a dozen men and their wives to cram into the box for supper, all men with influence at the Exchange or in Westminster—men whom Hartsham was clearly hoping to win favors from by introducing them to Marcus. They’d fawned over him all evening in attempts to ingratiate themselves.

He tolerated all of it with a smile and feigned interest in their conversations, but his attention had barely strayed all evening from Danielle.

Dear God, she was beautiful. Even in the diffused light of the dim lanterns, she simply glowed. Every smile shone, and her eyes gleamed like diamonds as she talked and laughed with the others. She wore her hair down tonight, draped teasingly over her right shoulder in a thick riot of chestnut curls that accentuated the sapphire blue of her gown. Everything about her appearance announced boldly that she wasn’t some unmarried miss out for her first season but a woman with confidence, elegance, brilliance…a woman capable of matching a man like him in every way.