Page 23 of Her Sort of Scoundrel
“This was a good idea,” Granford told Fiona when Miss Forbes stepped over to examine the array of gloves.
“I thought it would give her a little taste of everything, and modiste shops can become close quarters if they’re busy. Other ladies observing and judging isn’t what she needs right now.”
“Your intuition is always correct,” he told her.
Fiona thought the assessment far too complimentary. “You don’t have to pretend I’m perfect because you’re afraid I’ll go back to being angry.”
He laughed, that deep, rumbling chuckle that never failed to make her want to smile too.
“What if I simply think the world of you and want to express it?”
From any other man, she’d consider the sentiment to be akin to simpering, but there was an earnestness in his tone that made her throat dry.
“Name one of my flaws,” she commanded.
He chuckled again and tipped his head, examining her as if looking for some physical detail he might critique. Yet every spot he focused on—her lips, her eyes, her chin, her hair—she could perceive nothing but appreciation in his gaze.
“You’re stubborn,” he finally said.
“Undeniably true.” Heaven knew she’d tenaciously longed for him despite every reasonable argument against her feelings. “There, now, that wasn’t so hard.”
“I think it’s only fair you offer up a critique of my character in turn.”
They’d done this in the past. If some topic came up—some preference or quirk—they’d ask the other to reciprocate with one of their own.
“You’re impulsive,” she told him.
He arched a brow.
“Or at least you used to be,” she amended.
“I used to be,” he agreed. “I’ve tamed my impulses now.”
They walked together as Miss Forbes progressed through the display cases, giving her room but keeping a watchful eye.
“What irony that you’ve tamed your impulses just when I’ve given myself permission to indulge my own.”
Granford almost stumbled his next step. She’d shocked him, judging by his widened gaze. He turned to her, drew closer, and opened his mouth to speak but Miss Forbes cut in.
“You both must come and see this!” She was breathless and waved her hand to urge them forward. “Did you know they had one of these when you suggested the trip, Lady Fiona?”
Turning a corner to follow Miss Forbes, Fiona noted the contraption that had her so excited. She’d heard of it, the first “moving staircase” in England. Two ladies stood at the bottom, seemingly debating whether to give the machine a try.
“Shall we?” Miss Forbes asked with an eagerness that made it clear she longed to ride to the upper floor whether they wished to or not.
“We can take the stairs if you prefer,” Granford told Fiona quietly. “I recall what you said about heights.”
“The slope is long. I can manage.” For some reason, she felt the need to prove herself to him, even in this small way.
They joined the queue—the two ladies and a married couple stood at the bottom as two other ladies made their way up. Fiona felt a rush of anxiety as they approached the staircase. She noted then that it wasn’t truly a staircase at all, more of a conveyer belt that wobbled and dipped a bit with the weight of its passengers. Thankfully, the whole contraption was enclosed, and there was a polished silver rail to help those ascending maintain their balance.
“Such a marvel,” Miss Forbes enthused as a store employee guided her onto the belt.
“Can we all go at once?” Granford asked the young man.
“Indeed, sir, spaced out sufficiently in single file.” The employee seemed to read something in Fiona’s expression and added, “It’s entirely safe, madame.”
“I’m sure it is.” Fiona tried for a smile, but she was distracted by the sight of Miss Forbes mounting the woven leather belt.
