Page 73 of The Lady Tempts an Heir
The rain had turned to slush an hour ago, but Helena was on a mission and could not go home until she had finished it, much to the consternation of Ostler. He’d silently endured their morning at the new London Home for Young Women with his typical grace, standing sentry as she had directed a furniture delivery. Their first twenty-five women, along with their children, had been settled into their flats the previous week, with another twenty-five due in two days. There was still much to do before they could be settled properly, but the incessant rain that had started at midday had ensured that another wagon load of furniture would have to wait until tomorrow to be delivered.
She should have returned home, but with a couple of hours to spare, she made a stop she had been wanting to make for weeks. It was probably ill-advised, but here she was stepping into the very masculine shop of Truefitt and Hill on St. James’s. The warm scents of leather and spice greeted her as a man looked up at her from behind the counter. Ostler paused to shake off the umbrella before following her in with a severe expression on his face.
“Good afternoon, my lady,” said the man behind the counter. “How can I help?” His surprised expression had quickly settled into polite inquisitiveness.
“I...” She found herself tongue-tied. The store was a barbershop that also traded in cologne and other grooming products for men, so she had never found a reason to come here before today. She was slightly out of her element and at a loss to explain her visit without giving herself away. Her longing for Max had brought her here. “My father, Lord Farthington, is one of your patrons.”
“Oh, why yes, his lordship is here often.” The man straightened, suddenly more interested in her.
“I thought so. I hope you can help me. I am looking for a gift for him and my brother, and I hoped you knew what cologne they both prefer.”
“Of course.” He pulled out a leather-bound ledger from beneath the counter and flipped through some pages. “Here it is. Lord Farthington prefers a bay rum.” He walked across the room to a display case and took out a green bottle. “This, my lady.” He splashed a drop on a small piece of parchment and held it out for her.
The pungent scent had her wrinkling her nose. It was one she didn’t like. “Yes, that’s it.”
He nodded and set it on the counter before moving to consult the book again. As he did, she let her gaze roam over the hundreds of small bottles in the case. One of them had to be the scent Max wore. She could kick herself for not asking him about it, but it was hardly something that came up over polite discussion. The first nights after he left, she had been able to close her eyes and remember his smell. She could feel the warmth of his skin against her and the way butterflies took flight in her stomach when she breathed him in. But that had been fading lately. She had told herself that it was a good thing, that she had to move on with her life. But she hadn’t listened. So here she was in this shop desperately hoping to find him here among the bottles so that she could take him home and sleep with his scent on her pillow tonight. No, she might put it on her skin so that she could close her eyes and pretend that he had touched her.
The scandalous thought had her blushing in the middle of the store. Before she knew what she was doing, she was uncorking bottles and smelling their contents, intent on finding the one that smelled most like Max.
“My lady?” The clerk drew up short as he approached. “Lord Rivendale wears this one.” He picked up a brown bottle. “It’s from Grant and Company with leather base notes.”
She nodded without looking at him. “Yes, I’ll take that one, too.” She wrinkled her nose at one that smelled like licorice and put it back on the shelf. “Do you have something richer? Something like...” She bit her lip as she thought of a proper description for her memory of Max’s cologne. “Orange blossom, perhaps, or bergamot with a smoky tinge. Something deep and warm.”
Setting the bottle for her brother beside the one for her father, he said, “You’ll be looking for something in this area.” He indicated a row near the top filled with green and blue bottles. “Bergamot, lemon, orange blossom with a hint of leather.” He selected one and removed the lid, holding it out for her.
Too crisp. It needed more texture. “No, not that one.”
They tried three more before she found it. The unassuming square bottle was made of thick blue glass. As soon as she breathed in, she recalled burying her face in Max’s neck as he moved over her, breathing him in as his groan born of sheer lust filled her ears. She flushed all the way down to the tips of her toes. She was certain her eyes must be dilated with remembered pleasure, so she kept her head tilted downward as she clutched the bottle.
“Would you... would you like that one?” the man asked.
“Yes.” Her voice was hoarse and low. “Please wrap it up with the others,” she said, louder this time.
“Very good, your ladyship.”
Traffic and rain made the drive home very slow. She tried not to think of the cologne or the scandalous things she planned to do with it later while sitting across from Ostler, but she wasn’t successful. As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop outside her home, she bounded out. If Huxley hadn’t stopped her inside, she would have run to her room.
“Telegram for you, ma’am.” He held out a yellow sheet of paper. When she looked at him in question, he added, “The telegraph boy brought it round earlier this afternoon.”
To: Lady Helena March, 43 Berkeley Square, London
I miss you STOP How long must I wait QUERY
From: Mr. Maxwell Crenshaw, Crenshaw Iron Works, New York, NY
Tears wet her eyes before she could stop them. Part of her had made herself believe that he had already moved on. He’d sent a few letters since returning home. One regarding Hereford’s death. One in response to her query about his Christmas plans—he’d spent the day with extended family. Another to let her know that his negotiations with his employees had resulted in avoiding a strike. His letters were so calm, friendly, and direct to the point that she hadn’t believed he ached for her as she did for him.
Holding the package with the cologne tight against her chest, she let herself imagine what it would be like to end this misery for both of them. To tell him that he didn’t have to wait at all. It would be as near to bliss as she would ever get.
“Will there be a reply, milady?”
Helena blinked back the ache of tears and said, “Yes, I’ll write one out.”
He gave an abbreviated bow. “I’ll have it sent immediately.”
Hurrying to her desk, she pulled out a plain sheet of paper and wrote,One month is not enough.When enough time had passed, he would come to his senses and realize he wanted his legacy more than he wanted her. She was certain of that.
His reply came via telegram later that night.How long?
