Page 100 of For a Scot's Heart Only

"My overpayment is a reward for your assistance.”

“Of course, sir. All you had to do was tell me, if it’s wooing you’re about.” She took his money, dropping the coins in her petticoat pocket. “Anything you want me to say on your behalf?”

How refreshing, having a young maid for an ally.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

The orange girl nodded sagely. “My brother, Roger, has the same problem. A laundress has his head in the clouds, she does. Of course, you’remucholder than my brother.”

Apparently, his ally thought love was inconceivable among her elders.

“Not that you don’t have a fine appearance to recommend you,” she said hastily.

“Cupid has taken his sweet time with me,” he intoned. “Fortunately, he’s overlooked how long in the tooth I am.”

She giggled. “Does the lady know how you feel?”

He glanced heavenward.So many ways to answer that.

The orange girl, who couldn’t be more than fifteen, patted his sleeve. “Leave it to me, sir. I’ll put in a good word. Something romantic...” Her youthful eyes lit up. “Maybe a gift from a mysterious but honorable gentleman. And then you can walk in and surprise her.”

“Excellent.”

He watched her go, her step light as she made her way into Fletcher’s House of Corsets and Stays. Had he ever been that fanciful? He leaned a shoulder against the street lamp. Hunting the siren of White Cross Street was tricky business. No map existed for this journey. They’d agreed to passion-filled nights. The problem was he wanted Mary Fletcher’s days.

He was becoming a reckless man. Caution was necessary. Today must be a negotiation for more time. Anything else would scare her off.

Drays passed, their harnesses jingling. A chandler stepped out and swept the sidewalk in front of his door. Foggy wisps still clung to the road. He removed his hat and smoothed his hair. A mother and her twin daughters ambled into the corset shop, the doorbell jingling merrily. A sweet sound. He brushed a speck of lint off his blue wool waistcoat, his best. West and Sons employees would think he wore it for today’s commerce. He wore it for her. Ironed it himself at the crack of dawn to his housekeeper’s dismay.

The doorbell jingled again. The orange girl popped out of the shop, dimpling and tucking her basket under her arm as she approached Thomas.

“She was delighted, sir. I made sure to put in averygood word for you.”

The maid dipped a curtsey and headed off with a skip.

“Out of the mouth of babes,” he said under his breath. “Courting it is.”

Thomas braced himself. His first daytime visit was business. His second (this one) was obvious. The corset maker who vowed to never marry would have an inkling what he was about. Striding to her shop door, he was resolved. Whatever it took. Pleasant conversation, indulging entertainments, or scorching passion. Mary Fletcher would rethink her vow and pledge her troth to him.

He’d never been so decided in his life.

The shop door rang his entrance. Mary was at the window, daylight blessing her. Her hands slowed on whatever frippery she was arranging as if she sensed him. When she turned, his feet stalled. She was a true siren. Serene. Luminous. Her lips parting, her skin glowing, a lone curl brushing her cheek.

A twinge bloomed in his chest. Mary Fletcher was the source of his joy, filling his heart.

Her slight nod hooked him. An awareness, their time had come.

They were two souls who’d find each other, no matter what seas they had to cross. He’d never forget this moment, this pleasure rippling through him.

“Mr. West. Good morning.”

He removed his hat. “Good morning, Miss Fletcher.”

They both took an unwise step toward each other. The draw was magnetic. Fisting his hand into the small of his back, he faced an immutable fact—he had it bad for her.

“Thank you for the kind gift of oranges.” She folded both hands demurely. “With my sister visiting kin in Southwark, I’m not sure that I’ll be able to eat them all.”

“I could help.”