All of that excessive, unwanted mooning over Lavisham had put Josephine in a terrible mood.
Lavisham now stood just outside the tobacconist shop, a small package tucked beneath one arm. This was a prime opportunity to engage the duke in conversation. They were in public. On Bond Street. Willa was at her side. And they’d already been introduced.
In a manner of speaking.
Josephine chose not to consider that, for all intents and purposes, she’d been ruined by Lavisham. Had she said a word, a scandal would erupt into a marriage. But she didn’t think it fair of her to do such a thing because Lavisham had thought her a courtesan at first, and well…Josephine hadn’t tried to tell him otherwise until after he’d pleasured her.
Which was really rather poor of her.
Today, she and Willa had been having tea at a lovely shop around the corner, discussing Josephine’s next move with Lavisham, when she had caught sight of her quarry leaving the tobacconist’s.
Lavisham wasn’t difficult to spot in a crowd, not with the way he lumbered about like some great golden bear that had just lefthibernation. Several ladies, one old enough to be Josephine’s grandmother, paused to ogle him discreetly.
Disgusting.
Yes, Lavisham was quite glorious, stomping about with his muscled thighs, broad shoulders and chiseled features. Also, his backside, which was somewhat spectacular.
Entirely spectacular. I may have clasped a buttock the other night.
Pushing aside such thoughts, she turned to Willa and nodded before striding down the street in Lavisham’s direction. Willa attempted to follow as best she could, but Josephine’s stride was much longer given her stature, and her poor friend trailed behind, nearly sprinting to keep up with her.
Willa was terrified Josephine would cause a scene on Bond Street which would result in her banishment to Aunt Priscilla and a future in lace tatting.
Josephine followed a few steps behind Lavisham as he walked in the direction of his waiting carriage. He was humming a tune, one she didn’t recognize.
Now or never, Josephine.
“Your Grace,” she said, somewhat breathless from trying to catch up to the duke. “May I have a word?”
Lavisham paused and turned, boredom etched on his handsome features. He looked down his once-broken nose at her. “Do I have a choice in the matter, my lady?”
“You do not.” Josephine stepped forward but in her eagerness, she didn’t bother to pay attention to the uneven cobblestones. Stumbling, she awkwardly spun about like a windmill. Her bosom surged against the confines of her dress, impudently swaying before Lavisham and every other man on the street.
Good lord, I’m going to fall, and one will pop out.
Josephine half-tumbled into Lavisham, who, in trying to catch her, dropped the package he carried. Her half-boot skidded a bit, kicking the package into a nearby muddy puddle.
Oh. Dear. God.
The twine on the package snapped, spilling several pouches of what smelled like expensive tobacco. The finely ground leaves spread across the water of the puddle, floating about and mixing with the dirt of the street.
“Oh, Your Grace.” Josephine jumped back at the contact of his arm against her breast. The shock of his touch had something twisting about pleasantly in her midsection. “Your tobacco.”
Eyes narrowed, Lavisham took her in, lips half-tilted.
Was he amused? Overly annoyed? Difficult to tell.
“Myruinedtobacco,” Lavisham growled. “A special blend created just for me. Which is now, ruined, Lady Josephine.”
Good lord, but he was glorious, standing in the middle of Bond Street, frowning at her. Also…somewhat terrifying.
“Could we…scoop it out?” She tried to move towards the puddle but realized Lavisham still had a tight hold on her arm.
“I don’t think”—he frowned, looking at her with those brilliant blue eyes—“that will help matters.” A pained sound came from him. “Unfortunately, I don’t think anything will.”
Retreat, Josephine.
“I wanted to speak to you about the brooch. Perhaps we can come to terms. I sent you a note?—”
