Page 58

“ Y es, this will do nicely.” Lord Cross paused in front of the glass windows fronting Lock’s Hatters, tilting his new hat this way and that until he was satisfied with the angle.

A beaver hat, of all damnable things. Johnathan’s life was in turmoil, and all Cross could think about was having a new beaver hat.

“You should purchase your own hat, Melrose. The Wellington, I think. The lower brim will help hide your face from the gossips.”

Johnathan came to a dead stop in the middle of St. James’s Street. “Amused, are you, Cross? Well, as long as you’re entertained, I have nothing more to wish for!”

Cross gave him a guilty look. “Er, well, I wouldn’t say entertained, exactly?—”

“I don’t understand how this happened.” Johnathan trailed after Cross as they made their way back toward Johnathan’s carriage on Jermyn Street. “I’m still not certain I understand what did happen.”

He’d ruined a lady whose face he’d never seen, his name was on the lips of every gossip in London, and Lady Christine was in such a rage she’d thrown a silver hairbrush across her bedchamber and hit her lady’s maid in the forehead.

At least, according to The Morning Post , she had.

“It’s nothing so puzzling. You’re not the first gentleman to be caught in an indiscretion, but you’re Melrose . You never do anything shocking, least of all a scandalous debauchery.” Cross cocked his head, considering it. “At a ball , in a library .”

“Yes, thank you for the clarification, Cross. Do you know I can count on one hand the number of indiscretions I’ve had since I turned of age?

” Johnathan held up his hand, fingers splayed to illustrate his point.

“But the instant I venture a single toe out of line, the entire Upper Ten Thousand is upon me like dozens of buzzards picking apart a carcass.”

“Unfortunately, this is just the sort of scandal the ton delights in. It does seem rather unfair, though. I daresay it will reach equilibrium eventually, however. I’ve found things usually do.”

Johnathan gave him a sour look. “That’s philosophical of you, Cross, and like most philosophical observations, utterly useless.”

“I only mean to observe that the ton has been waiting with bated breath for you to dip a toe into the marriage mart. Now you’ve ruined their hopes, it’s not so surprising you find yourself at the mercy of…what did you call them?”

“Buzzards.”

“Yes, that’s very good, though I’d liken them to a swarm of piranhas myself. Have you ever seen piranhas strip the flesh off their prey? It’s fascinating. Not that it matters,” Cross added hastily, at Johnathan’s darkening scowl. “Where to now, Melrose? Shall we go to White’s?”

“And listen to the likes of Lord Quigley snickering behind my back? God, no. I may never set foot inside that wretched place again.”

They turned the corner, and Johnathan, who had been winding his way toward Jermyn Street, glimpsed the door of the shop he intended to visit as soon as he was rid of Cross.

Dozens of jars and glass bottles were artfully arranged in the window, and above it, on a royal blue background in gold script was a single word.

Floris.

Johnathan was about to suggest Cross go on to White’s without him when suddenly his friend asked, “What did you make of the Templeton sisters, Melrose?”

Johnathan glanced at him in surprise. Cross rarely showed any curiosity about anyone. “Clever, both of them. Lovely, too. If it weren’t for the scandal, Juliet Templeton would be this season’s belle.”

Cross grunted. “She’s much too pert for my liking.”

“Oh, you seemed to like her well enough. It looked to me as if you admired her, however reluctantly, which is rare enough.”

Cross raised an eyebrow. “On the contrary, Melrose. I admire a great many ladies, until they open their mouths.”

“But Juliet Templeton has such a pretty mouth. Or are we pretending you didn’t notice?”

It hadn’t been Juliet Templeton who’d caught Johnathan’s attention, however.

That smudge of dirt on Emmeline Templeton’s nose…

There was more to that young lady than met the?—

“What in the world …look, Melrose. Isn’t that Miss Emmeline Templeton?”

Johnathan followed Cross’s gaze, and his mouth dropped open. There, just emerging from a carriage was indeed a lady who looked very much like Emmeline Templeton. He watched as she closed the carriage door behind her, hurried down the street, and disappeared inside Floris.

Alone . “What the devil is she doing? Where is Lady Fosberry?”

Cross was frowning. “You don’t suppose she’d allow Miss Templeton to go out alone?”

“No, Lady Fosberry knows better than that.”

“Perhaps Miss Templeton is lost.”

It hadn’t looked like it. In fact, she’d seemed to know exactly what she was doing.

Still, something was amiss. Johnathan couldn’t imagine how she’d managed to escape Lady Fosberry’s watchful eye, but it wouldn’t do for Emmeline Templeton to wander about the streets alone.

“You go ahead to White’s, Cross, and check the betting book while you’re there, will you? I’ll see to Miss Templeton.”

“Yes, all right. Come to my townhouse when you’ve finished.” Cross doffed his new beaver hat, and went back toward St. James’s Street.

Johnathan waited until his friend was out of sight, then cast a furtive glance up and down Jermyn Street. Miraculously, it was early enough that there were few people about to witness Miss Templeton’s impropriety, but her luck wouldn’t last.

He crossed the street and peered through the window of Floris, half-expecting to see Lady Fosberry and Juliet Templeton already inside, but there was only the shopkeeper, and one customer.

Emmeline Templeton.

A dozen different scents assailed Johnathan when he stepped inside, some heavy and cloying, others delicate and complex, but he didn’t detect the Lady in Lavender’s rose scent, which was proving mysteriously elusive.

“…a scent for my youngest sister, but so many of the scents are too heavy for a young girl.”

She’d exchanged her dreadful lace cap for a sensible straw bonnet, and her dusty pinafore for a shapeless, dark brown cloak.

Neither garment flattered her—by design, Johnathan suspected.

Her clothing was meant to disguise her, so she might slip by unnoticed.

Miss Emmeline Templeton might be determined to avoid attention, but it was too late for that.

He’d seen her now.

She wasn’t a beauty, exactly, nor was she fashionable. Hers wasn’t a face that would command the notice of every gentleman in a ballroom, but there was a lovely, winsome expressiveness there he found appealing.

Now she’d caught Johnathan’s eye, she held it.

“I understand you perfectly, miss. Let’s see what we can find, shall we?

” The shopkeeper rummaged through some cabinets and placed an array of plain, unmarked glass bottles on the polished wooden counter.

“See what you make of these.” He dipped a bit of paper into one of the bottles, then held it out to her. “One like this, perhaps?”

She took it between gloved fingers, raised it to her nose and took a dainty sniff. “Parma violet, with jasmine, and just a touch of…” She brought the paper to her nose again. “Vanilla?”

“Just so!” The shopkeeper beamed, pleased. “Why, how singular. I don’t know one person in a dozen who could have caught that hint of vanilla. You’ve got an accomplished nose, miss.”

An accomplished nose ? Was there such a thing?

“It is subtle, isn’t it? Vanilla is such an overwhelming scent, too. How are they able to keep it from overpowering the other scents?”

The shopkeeper leaned over the counter and lowered his voice, as if imparting the greatest of secrets. “Just the lightest touch of coriander tempers the sweetness.”

“Does it, indeed? Why, that’s ingenious, Mr. Beale,” she replied with a laugh. “I wonder how they ever came up with such an idea?”

“Trial and error, miss, trial and error. The creation of a perfume is an art, you know.”

“A science as well, I think. Now, this one, Mr. Beale. Bergamot. One can tell by the hint of citrus—and it’s paired with…” she paused to take another sniff. “Sandalwood. I think gentlemen must appreciate this scent, Mr. Beale?”

Johnathan drew closer, fascinated. She had a lovely voice, very soft, and as smooth as treacle dripping lazily from the end of a spoon.

“Indeed, it’s a favorite of the young aristocratic set, particularly viscounts, for some reason, but a great many of the finest gentlemen about town wear this scent.”

“Ah, I see. I had in mind something like this for my younger sister.” She dipped her gloved fingers into the reticule dangling from her wrist, and drew out…a bit of paper? Johnathan couldn’t quite see it, but it looked like?—

The scent of roses wafted over him as she handed the paper to Mr. Beale, making his nose twitch. That scent, it was rather like…Johnathan’s eyes widened in shock.

It wasn’t a bit of paper at all, but a fold of linen with a scent that, to Johnathan’s untrained nose, was identical to the scent that clung to the violet ribbon folded carefully in his coat pocket.

The ribbon he’d found on the floor of Lady Fosberry’s library, right after the Lady in Lavender had fled.

He stared at Emmeline Templeton, dumbfounded.

She was the Lady in Lavender? Emmeline Templeton, the meek little mouse who’d hardly said a word to him in the drawing room this morning, who hadn’t betrayed with so much as a gasp or twitch that she was the lady who’d kissed him with such tantalizing enthusiasm in Lady Fosberry’s library?

It didn’t make sense. Of all the ladies in London, she was the last he would have suspected, the last he would have imagined capable of such consuming passion.

“…recognize the scent?” Emmeline Templeton was saying.

“Let’s see, shall we?” Mr. Beale brought the square of linen to his nose and gave it an experimental sniff. “Ah, that’s lovely!”

Miss Templeton beamed at him. “Do you really think so?”