He could see the boy struggling, the fingers of the hand not holding the coin twitching. He wanted to reach for the offering, but he feared the price.
“I loike Wellington sticks,” the lass said. “They’re pretty.”
Their red, blue, and yellow stripes were colorful, but then most hard candy was brightly colored. Rafe had been intrigued by it all as a lad. He would sit for hours sucking on one after another.
“A dozen Wellington sticks,” Rafe told the clerk.
“Very good, sir.” He pulled the lid off a jar. With each stick he removed, the girl’s eyes brightened further.
When the sack was full, the clerk held it out. Rafe took it and offered it to the girl. She lacked her brother’s reserve. She snatched it with tiny hands. With an arched brow, Rafe again offered the humbugs to lad.
He skewed up his mouth, grabbed the bag and the girl’s hand, and darted for the door. Suddenly the girl was back, her scrawny arms wrapped tightly around his leg. His breath caught as he stiffened, fighting not to kick her off, not to send her flying across the shop, through the large window that looked out on the street. She couldn’t weigh more than a feather and yet he was immobilized as though heavy metal chains had been wrapped about him. The world began to retreat as darkness hovered at the edge of his vision. He ran his tongue over the hard candy in his mouth and concentrated on the sugar. Sweet, sweet sugar.
“Come on, Lizzie!” the boy yelled.
Yes, go, Lizzie, for God’s sake, go.
She released her stranglehold and raced out the door, followed by the lad.
Rafe forced out a long slow breath, fought to calm his racing heart as mortification threatened to swamp him. How could a mere slip of a girl unman him so?
“So is that it for you today, then, sir?”
The voice came from far away, through a tunnel. He couldn’t go out into the streets yet. He’d be staggering on unsteady legs.
He managed to turn toward the clerk, to hold his face in a mask of boredom. “No, I’ll take a large box of chocolates as well.”
The clerk gave a nod and reached for a dark brown box. “The large box holds twelve pieces and we offer a variety of twenty-four. Which would you like?”
Something to concentrate on. Good. He was beginning to feel more like himself. He looked at the display case and the assortment of chocolates. The various shapes, the tiny decorations on each of them. “Doesn’t matter.”
The clerk reached for a dark square.
“No, not that one,” Rafe said. “The one in the shape of a leaf.” Eve would like that one. It was intriguing with all the little lines carved in it.
“Very good, sir.”
“Then the clover ... and the diamond-shaped one. But not the heart.” Wrong message would be sent there. He ended up selecting all the pieces because it seemed the clerk was a poor judge of what would appeal to a lady. He wasn’t certain when he decided the chocolates would be for Eve, or why it was important to him that the box contained the proper pieces for her. She might not even enjoy chocolate.
With box in hand, he strode from the shop and headed back toward the dressmaker’s. They should be finished by now. The farther he walked, the heavier the package became. It wasn’t something she’d asked for. Why did he even think she might desire it? She might misinterpret its purpose. Think he’d begun to develop feelings for her, or worse, that he cared.
Whatever had he been thinking to spend fifteen precious moments selecting bits of chocolate?
He spotted a bedraggled woman curled in a corner, pressed against some steps. He hardly broke his stride as he bent down and set the box beside her.
“Thank ye, kind sir!” she yelled after him.
Kind? If he was kind, he’d let Eve go. But then if he was kind, he never would have taken her to begin with.
When Evelyn heard the bell above the door tinkling, she knew it was him. She didn’t know how she knew. It should sound the same no matter who opened the door, and yet she knew.
Madame had just finished helping her dress—for which she was grateful. She suspected he wouldn’t care if she was clothed or not. If he wanted to see her, he would barge into the back room and see her.
Madame arched a brow. “You think it’s him.”
“How do you know?”
She smiled. “A little shiver went through you. Is he a good lover?”
