Page 39 of Never a Duchess
Devon held Mina’s hand, a sensual energy radiating from the besotted couple, which only made Lillian acutely aware of the hot-blooded Scot whose thigh touched hers.
“We need to concoct a story,” she whispered to Dounreay once they’d alighted outside Valmary’s. Thankfully, the Masters had decided to wait in the carriage. “We must decide what to say to my brother.”
“Dinnae fret. I shall deal with Roxburgh.”
“How?”
“By offering the assurances he requires. Although we’ll need to proceed with care if we’re to continue our research.”
Relief came like a lifesaving burst of oxygen in her crushed chest. Thank heavens! He did want to kiss her again. So much so, he would pretend to offer marriage if caught.
They might have continued the conversation, but Mr Valmary yanked open the shop door and ushered customers out like a shepherd did lazy sheep from a pen.
“We’re closing for the day,” the perfumer said in a flustered yet eloquent English accent. “We will be open as usual tomorrow.”
The cloying smell of heavy perfume wafted into the air as women groaned and complained and tried to place their orders from the doorstep.
“But I need Queen Violette for my pomander.”
A young woman waved frantically. “I need a bottle of White Rose. My mistress will have my guts for garters if I return home empty-handed.”
“Come back tomorrow. Good day.”
Dounreay grasped Lillian’s hand. He pushed through the group and wedged his booted foot between the door and the jamb. “I must speak to the owner as a matter of urgency.”
Clearly, he did not know that the handsome olive-skinned gentleman was Mr Valmary. The perfumer’s swathe of sable hair had just a light peppering of grey, but ladies came in droves when they knew Mr Valmary was serving behind the counter.
“I am Valmary, Your Grace!” Mr Valmary’s dark eyes widened as the crowd grew more volatile. “Please, I must shut the door before there’s a stampede.”
A frown marred Dounreay’s brow. “Have we met?”
Ladies started pushing and jabbing Lillian in the back, trying to barge their way into the exclusive perfumery.
“I was here first,” one moaned.
“I beg to differ,” another replied. “You were behind me in the queue.”
Mr Valmary told them all to be quiet or he would ban them from his shop permanently. He turned to Dounreay and lowered his voice. “I assure you, regardless of what that devil said, it was not my doing.”
Dounreay drew on his aristocratic breeding to take command of the situation. “Ye’ll let me inside so we can discuss this matter, or there will be the devil to pay.”
“Then hurry.”
Dounreay wrapped his arm around Lillian’s waist and hauled her into the shop when Mr Valmary opened the door. There was a mad scramble to close it quickly and keep the horde of irate patrons at bay.
“That beggar Baudelaire closed his shop this morning,” Mr Valmary panted, tugging the cuffs of his coat sleeves and ignoring the women knocking on the window. “We’ve been unable to cope with the demand.”
Dounreay wasn’t interested in the perfumer’s problems. He towered over the fellow. “How do ye know me? And what wasnae yer doing? The incident in Ludgate Hill?”
“The magistrate visited Baudelaire’s. I was told Lord MacTavish suffered some sort of poisoning after smelling the samples. A constable came to warn of a potential problem with supplies.” He gestured to the extravagant display of glass and porcelain bottles. “I will have to destroy half my stock unless we can locate the contaminated batch.”
“That doesnae answer my questions,” Dounreay growled, looking nothing short of magnificent in his temper.
Despite being confident and charismatic, Mr Valmary struggled under the weight of the duke’s stare. “I—I supplied the perfume for the ladies’ retiring room at the ball Lord MacTavish held in your honour. Lady MacTavish shops here. Your name is on many ladies’ lips.”
“And ye think I’m here because Baudelaire blamed ye for the poisoning?”
It was a logical assumption.
