He frowned. “Why ask me?” He gestured toward his soon-to-be former mistress. “She is the one who will wear it.”
The young girl clutched the swatch to her chest. “Miss Griffith said that you should choose.”
Of course she had because she knew how much it annoyed him. “Whatever you feel is best.”
“M-My lord, I couldn’t…” the girl sputtered.
“Give me the samples,” Miss Carter said, pushing to her feet. She walked stiffly over to her assistant and briskly selected a dozen squares of fabric from several thick books.
“Thank you,” Cordon said. “I admit I have no sense for fashion.” He plucked at his cravat. “Were it not for my valet, I would be the joke of theton.”
Miss Carter draped her measuring tapes over her shoulder. “I apologize, Miss Griffith, but I seem to have misplaced my pincushion.”
Miss Carter’s assistant pursed her lips. “But you don’t—”
“I cannot proceed without it,” Miss Carter said sharply. “Lord Grayson, would you assist me in searching?”
Miss Griffith waved a hand. “Yes, yes, be quick about it.”
Cordon allowed Miss Carter to usher him out of the dressing room, then leaned against the wall. “If you wanted to get me alone, you need only have asked.”
She huffed. “I am not in the habit of irritating my customers. If neither you nor Miss Griffith wish to make decisions, then I shall choose for you.”
The gentle admonishment in her voice made Cordon feel like he was a fledgling vampire being chastised by his maker in rapid French. It was not a sensation he was accustomed to feeling. Once again, Miss Carter proved surprising. He opened his mouth to say something waspish in an attempt to elicit more scolding when she frowned and folded her arms over her chest.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
“Why are you here, my lord? I have never known a gentleman to spend time in a shop in Cheapside voluntarily.”
He intended to utter something scandalous to see how she would react, but the truth came out instead. “You interest me.”
Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. “What? Why?”
Such an unusual response. Again, she piqued his interest. Presented with such a statement, most women in her position would have demanded he leave at once, or flirt outrageously to try supplant Miss Griffith. The life of a dressmaker was one of toil, working from dawn to dusk. As the mistress of a lord, she would gain in privilege and wealth far more than she would lose in respectability.
“You are unlike any woman I’ve ever met,” he said honestly. Then, because he could not resist, he added, “Do you not wonder why I stole your scarf?”
She turned around and began fussing with a length of black fabric. “You admit it, then.”
“It was an item on a list of activities I wish to complete,” he said. “They are quite…scandalousactivities.”
Each one carefully selected after hours of contemplation.
She jerked her hand, tearing a measuring tape.
“The next on my list is a masquerade ball.”
She sniffed. “That is hardly scandalous.”
“It is when the host is the Duke of Haversham.”
She leaned down and picked up a scrap of fabric. “Ah, yes. The Wild Duke. You must try the hedge maze. It is quite remarkable.”
His jaw dropped open before he snapped it shut. “Do not tell me you have attended one of the duke’s parties.”
They were exclusive events. To earn his invitation, he’d sat through an hour-long interview with the duke, who had asked questions so crude, they would have made any gently bred lady swoon. He could not imagine Miss Carter perched primly on a settee before the duke recounting her preferred sexual position.
“They aren’t as fun as you think,” she said.
