Page 6 of My Favorite Mistake
A guinea.That was a full month’s wages. And she knew she could never have it. Setting aside the fact that her family was counting on her to send money back home, it was a terrible idea for anyone to spend a whole month’s worth of wages on a parasol, of all things. But this parasol looked like sunshine and happiness atop a cheerful white stick, and even though she knew with absolute certainty that it would never be hers, she found herself asking, “Are you here every week?”
“I’m not, miss.”
“Once a month, perhaps?”
His eyes softened. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never been out this way before. And I don’t think I’ll be coming back.”
Oh, of all the tarnal luck—she’d never see that parasol again!No. It was good luck, is what it was, because then she wouldn’t be tempted into any foolishness.
She gave the parasol one last mournful look.
Someone came up behind her. “I’ll take the yellow one.”
The man’s voice was so deep and so rich, she actually shivered. Slowly she turned, curious to see who the parasol’s new owner might be.
And if Fanny had thought she longed for that parasol, she was in for a shock.
Because she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted the man who stood before her.
This man made the words tall, dark, and handsome blush like a schoolgirl. Black hair, one lock of which draped artfully across his forehead, making her hands itch to smooth it back into place. Storm-grey eyes that felt like they were burning her alive. The sort of shoulders you couldn’t help but stare at. Two days of scruff on his jaw, which suited him marvelously (she rather suspected he knew just how well it did). And beneath the scruff, soft, sensuous lips she yearned to feel on her mouth, her neck, her breasts.
Other places, too. Places that had started tothrob.
“Are you all right?” he asked in that absurdly deep voice, and Fanny realized with a start that she’d been standing there gaping at him with her mouth open, and—hearts alive, was that spittle running down her chin?
She dabbed hastily at her jaw and turned away, but not before she saw one corner of his mouth quirk up.
Perfect. The most handsome man she’d ever seen, and he’d caught her slavering over him!
He was speaking to the peddler. “How much do I owe you?”
“One guinea.”
Fanny slipped away while he was counting out some coins, as she’d embarrassed herself quite enough for one Saturday. Behind her, she heard the man in the red coat offering to wrap the parasol—her parasol—in paper.
“No need. If I could just take it now—thank you.”
She heard the pad of a few quick steps and glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, it was Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, following behind her. She started walking faster.
“Did you know that your hips shake when you’re trying to run away? Makes for a nice view.”
She jerked to a halt, and he came around to face her. He had the smuggest grin she’d ever seen. “Nick Cradduck.” He stuck out his hand.
She glanced him up and down but didn’t remove her hands from where they’d settled on her hips. She’d seen her share of men like this—too handsome for their own good and too used to having women fall at their feet.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She stuck out her chin. “Trouble is what your name is.”
He had the nerve to laugh. “You’ve got me all wrong. I’m a respectable member of the community. No, really,” he said in response to her snort, “I train horses over at Lord Finnemore’s stables.”
“Hmm,” she said, still not moving to take his hand.
He shrugged, then ran that hand through his silky black hair and let it fall by his side. “You’re new here. Why don’t I show you ’round the village?”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Was he really going to make her spell it out? She nodded at the yellow parasol he’d propped up on his shoulder. “I don’t suppose you bought that for your mother?”
