Seduction & Scandal. Charlotte Featherstone

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СКАЧАТЬ Herr Von Schraeder’s magic is exceptionally potent, I believe the citizens of London have seen the last of him,” he muttered, guiding her with a hand on the small of her back, to the safety of the apothecary’s storefront.

      “What do you mean, sir?” she asked. As she looked over her shoulder at the cart, she saw Herr Von Schraeder’s assistant come flying out, bellowing something.

      “I believe it was the apothecary you were seeking,” Black replied as he pulled open the door and ushered her through. The bells tinkled, drowning out the rest of the assistant’s words as he ran from Von Schraeder’s cart.

      “How did you know I was coming here?” she demanded, her gaze narrowing, just as a fresh flush of gooseflesh erupted on her skin.

      “Jacobson’s apothecary is most famous. I guessed that perhaps it was him that brought you to this side of the city.”

      “Oh.” She flushed and looked down at her gloved fingers, which were wrapping around the braided cording of her reticule. “Forgive me, my lord, if I seemed short just now. I have a terrible headache, I’m afraid.”

      Pulling his spectacles from his face, he caught her chin in his gloved hand and angled her face to the waning afternoon light that filtered in through the large window of the apothecary.

      “You’re pale, Miss Fairmont. I don’t like it.”

      “Well, I can’t help it,” she snapped, not knowing whether to be touched or embarrassed by his frankness.

      “It worries me to see you suffering,” he murmured, his thumb grazing against the apple of her cheek. “Is there anything I might do to relieve you of it?”

      She was touched. Not only by his words, which seemed to be spoken without artifice, but also by the concern she saw in his eyes. “No, my lord. I’ve tried everything, and nothing seems to relieve it, except for Mr. Jacobson’s wonderful bergamot tonic.”

      Two elderly matrons waiting at the counter were watching them with unconcealed interest. Black dropped his hand at the same moment Isabella took a discreet step back.

      “I will drive you home,” he announced.

      “Oh, no, I’ve brought a footman with me. He’s …” Isabella peered through the gold-foil lettering on the window, grateful to see that the young man was still flirting with the shopgirl. “He’s right over there.”

      Black followed the direction of her hand. “He seems rather inept in his duty of watching out for you, Miss Fairmont. No, I will see you returned safely home.”

      “Ah, good day, Miss Fairmont,” Mr. Jacobson’s son, George, called from behind the counter. “What brings you here today?”

      “Good day to you, Mr. Jacobson,” she returned, even as she stole a glance at Lord Black. Who, she was startled to discover, was watching her intently from behind the rims of his spectacles, which he’d put back on.

      She really rather liked him in those, she mused, despite the fact it was no longer sunny.

      Wiping his hands on his apron, George asked, “Another sleeping tonic, by chance?”

      “Yes. Please.”

      “A tincture of laudanum and bergamot, alongside a dose of the valerian herb?”

      “That’s right.”

      Black’s expression was as dark as his name and he was watching her with unrelenting curiosity.

      “That is a very dangerous concoction, Isabella,” he whispered into her ear. “Very dangerous.”

      “I’m aware of that, but I’m very careful to measure it out exactly as Mr. Jacobson prescribes.”

      He turned her face to his, his fingers resting beneath her chin. “Do you know how many lives Death has claimed after taking tonics like this? Thousands, Isabella.”

      She shivered. “I know what I am doing. I suffered almost daily for nearly a year with these headaches, and … dreams,” she whispered before hurrying on. “I’m quite able to follow a prescription, my lord. I’m not a child. And furthermore it is the only thing that has helped.”

      “Here ye are, Miss Fairmont. Two spoonfuls at bedtime ought to do the trick. And if you find you’re not resting well, take one during the daytime.”

      Reaching into her reticule, Isabella pulled out some coins and set them on the counter. “Thank you, Mr. Jacobson.”

      He nodded and came around the counter, holding open the door to her. “Good day, Miss Fairmont.”

      Sweeping out onto the sidewalk, Black moved in to stand beside her. The sidewalk was bustling, and she was bumped from behind by a steely body. The bottle of medicine fell from her grasp, only to be caught in the palm of a black-gloved hand.

      Black.

      Straightening, he held out his hand where the bottle of medicine was cradled in his palm. “I should have let the bottle smash onto the street, but then you would only have gone back inside and ordered another one. Wouldn’t you?”

      “Yes, I am afraid I would. I am desperate after all. I’ve had this headache since last night, ever since I returned from the maze—” She stopped, embarrassed to have mentioned what happened between them. She didn’t finish her thought, and instead shoved the bottle into her reticule.

      He watched from behind his spectacles, and Isabella felt his eyes burning through her clothes and skin until they pierced the very soul of her. Was he also recalling what had transpired between them? Had he been as affected as she?

      Ridiculous, she chided. She mustn’t let her thoughts stray into that dangerous territory. Passion was for novels. Not her life. What was it about this man that made her forget her own mantra?

      Taking a step back, she prepared to part from him, but he reached for her elbow and held her. “My carriage is just around the corner. Allow me to see you safely home. You, there, boy,” Black called as the newspaper boy who had sold her a copy of the Times ran past them. The lad stopped, his cheeks bright red, his blue eyes gleaming.

      “Did ye hear, me lord, that Herr Von Schraeder is dead! Dead!” the boy cried. “I’ve got to be the first to make it back to the offices. A whole pound if I’s the first to break a news story, and it’s no secret that the sham magician was not liked. What if it were murder?” the lad crowed with enthusiasm. “I bet they’d pay me more than a pound if he were done in.”

      Black pulled him back by his collar. “I’ll give you a fiver if you would be so kind as to cross the street and give this to that man in the blue-and-white livery.”

      “The man talking with Sally?” the boy inquired.

      “That’s the man.” Black handed the boy his calling card. “Tell him that I have Miss Fairmont and I will be bringing her home. She’s not well. Be quick about it,” Black demanded as he slipped the boy a five-pound note. “And see that the task is done before you go screaming in the streets of Von Schraeder’s murder.”

      “Right away, my lord.” The boy grinned, then ran as fast СКАЧАТЬ