Mr. Marks blinked twice in quick succession and pursed his lips. “Are you guests at Claremont Abbey?”
“We are, indeed,” her aunt ground out, as though admitting to a stay at Newgate.
“Say no more,” Mr. Marks said, gesturing toward a table near the front of the store. He turned his attention to Violet. “I’m afraidmy assistant is occupied with another customer. Are you able to dress yourself?”
She’d been making do without a ladies’ maid for long enough she’d forgotten what it was like to have someone assist in her dressing. “It won’t be a problem.”
He smiled warmly. “The dressing rooms are in the back.”
When Violet emerged from the closet-turned-dressing room several moments later, her aunt and Mr. Marks were still engrossed in the selection of gloves at the front of the store. She shook out the dress she’d borrowed from her sister Marigold and sighed. The dress was lovely, if plain, but designed to fit her elder sibling’s willowy frame. On Violet, it made her look short and wider about the hips than she already was, and no amount of expert tailoring could fix it. But the frock was in better condition than her other ball gown, and buying a replacement was out of the question.
When Mr. Marks had measured and pinned the fabric into submission, he directed her into the dressing room to change while he helped Margaret with her gloves. “You’re welcome to look around. Ladies’ essentials are all on this floor, gentlemen’s on the second.” He paused and gave her a long look. “I have a spectacular ballgown up from London that might be a perfect fit for you. I’d be thrilled to fit it for a lady as beautiful as you.”
The shop floor was otherwise deserted, and within moments she spotted the dress the proprietor had mentioned, her chest twisting with want. Layers of deep plum silk surrounded the dress form, a square bodice giving way to a wide skirt and modest train. Transparent lace covered the entire garment, trimmed in exquisitebrocade and beaded with crystals and black pearls. Years ago, when she’d been a fresh-faced debutante, she would have pleaded with her mother to add the piece to her wardrobe.
Now, as her fingers traced the gold filigree along the neckline, the longing felt different. More a wish for a different course of events, or perhaps prior knowledge that her innocence, her romantic emotions, were the fantasies of an idiotic, ignorant girl.
Heavy footsteps from the stairs above her registered, but she paid them little mind. She allowed herself one more brush of the delicate lace at the sleeve before she turned away, colliding with a solid chest.
Strong hands caught her shoulders and steadied her. “Violet,” Callum breathed as his eyes searched her face.
Anticipation bubbled in her veins. She hadn’t seen him since he walked her to her room just before dawn, her limbs limp and mind dazed after what they’d done by the pool. She slept better that night than she had in years.
Given the splotches of pink staining his cheekbones, Callum felt similarly discomfited. “What are ye doing here?” His voice sent pleasant shivers through her veins.
“I needed to have a dress altered, and Aunt Margaret wanted to do some shopping.” She wet her suddenly dry lips with her tongue, and Callum tracked the move with weighty intent. “Apparently, Kevin has developed a fondness for stealing gloves.”
“Strange habit for geese. I thought they preferred cross stitch.”
She pressed her fingers to her lips but wasn’t in time to suppress a snort of laughter, and Callum beamed. “Why are you here?” she asked.
He leaned down to pick up a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, dropped when he’d collided with her. “I needed a new waistcoat for the ball. Bridget recommended Mr. Marks as the best tailor in York.”
Violet hummed low in her throat. “Strange how the countess would recommend the same shop to you and my aunt at the same time.”
One of his brows arched as his lip tugged up. “A delightful coincidence. Were ye looking at that dress?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I mean,yes,I was looking at it, but only admiring the artistry.”
He examined the dress for a moment before returning his gaze to her. “Ye’d look beautiful in it.”
Damn her for being so deprived of praise that she’d preen at the simple compliment. “Perhaps, but I have no need of it. I have a serviceable dress being altered now.”
His brows furrowed. “But ye like this one, do ye not?”
She blew out a breath. “Of course I do. It’s lovely. But I’ll be starting a new life soon, one where I will need money and not a beautiful frock.”
His lips turned down, as though the realities of her imminent spinsterhood were finally coming into focus. She hated for him to think of it. She glanced to the other side of the shop, whereAunt Margaret was making Mr. Marks try on various gloves, then lowered her voice. “I want to see you again.”
His gaze heated. “I’ll come to yer room tonight.”
Heat poured through her, akin to being dropped in a bath, at the thought of Callum in her bedroom. Shirtless, preferably, or at least with his cuffs rolled up his forearms. He’d stalk towards her, his cock already hard, and say—
“Violet! Do these gloves cover my liver spots well enough?”
She winced. “They’re lovely, Aunt Margaret!” When she brought her gaze back to Callum, he was visibly smothering his laughter.
“Unless you’d like to be asked about liver spots during our assignation, we should find another location. My aunt and I are sharing a room.”
