The balls they’d attended the previous evening, while a shared torture in terms of the crowds, hadn’t otherwise tested them; he and Stacie had fallen into the pattern of easy interaction they’d established over the past week—that of an acknowledged couple. As his goal was to make their supposedly temporary charade permanent, knowing that under pressure, Stacie defaulted to that role—indeed, had sought refuge in it—underscored his belief that he was making real and steady progress.
He’d expected her to say something about the moments in the folly and had waited—on tenterhooks, to some degree—to see what tack she would take. Would she recoil and insist on keeping him at a distance henceforth? He’d been fairly certain she hadn’t succumbed to any missish panic, but given it had been such an unexpectedly intense exchange, he hadn’t felt confident in predicting what tack she might take.
Her straightforward acceptance—that the eruption of passion had occurred, that the connection between them was there—and her admission that she wasn’t sorry to have learned that had been music to his ears.
He waited patiently while she purchased two pairs of gloves, then, feeling in charity with the world, bought a pair for himself. She stuffed her purchases into her reticule, he slipped his pair into his pocket, and they left the little glover smiling.
Stepping onto the pavement, he caught her hand, wound her arm in his, and started them walking down Old Bond Street. When she looked up at him, faint suspicion in her eyes, he smiled easily. “Have you anywhere else you need to visit?”
Somewhat warily, she admitted, “No.”
His smile deepened. “In that case, now we’re here, we might as well be seen doing those things engaged couples do.”
She arched her brows and looked at the shops lining the street ahead. “What did you have in mind?”
He paused as if considering the options before them. “Jewelers,” he announced. “Engaged couples visit jewelers, don’t they?”
“I suppose they do.”
They stopped at two smaller establishments before he opened the door of Aspreys Emporium and ushered her inside.
They gravitated to the jewelry section. A clerk waiting behind the counter saw them and came forward to greet them. Stacie smiled and told the young man, “We’re just looking.”
Frederick caught the clerk’s eyes and, with his head, indicated the cases of more valuable pieces located farther into the shop.
The clerk perked up and looked at Stacie. “Of course, my lady—I rather fancy the pieces that will interest a discerning lady such as yourself will be found in the cases over here.”
Stacie followed the clerk to the cases in question and instantly became absorbed. Frederick hid a grin and watched her, drinking in the delight she didn’t try to hide—even if she thought this was a charade, what woman didn’t enjoy looking at good jewelry? Assure
d that his latest impulsive idea would work, he scanned the contents of the cases himself.
It didn’t take long for him to guess what would appeal to her most. A lovely ruby ring, with a matching bracelet, earrings, and necklace in a delicate gold setting lay displayed on a bed of black velvet toward the rear of the case. Eventually, Stacie’s eyes found the set. He leaned a hip against the case, then bent his head to hers; following her gaze, he suggested, “Why don’t you try them on?”
She turned her head and, at close quarters, met his eyes.
He held her gaze in barely veiled challenge, then lightly raised one shoulder. “Why not?”
The clerk bustled to the rear of the case and opened it. “The ruby parure? An excellent choice, my lady. It will look exceptionally well on you.”
The man wasn’t spouting nonsense; the gems looked utterly perfect on Stacie, as if they’d been created specifically for her.
And she liked them; Frederick could tell by the way her countenance lit as she preened before the oval mirror the clerk fetched. Despite believing this was all for show, she couldn’t resist the rich color of the gems or their fabulous fire. The clerk fussed and insisted she don the entire set, and despite the high neckline of her walking dress, the result was truly stunning. If she wore the set with one of her ball gowns, she would draw every eye—female as well as male.
Frederick took due note that, despite her slender fingers, the ring sat well and wasn’t too loose.
Eventually, with a reluctance she couldn’t hide, Stacie removed the jewels and returned them to the black-velvet-lined case. “Thank you.” She pushed the case toward the clerk. “They are lovely, but we’ll need to consider others before deciding.”
The clerk’s face fell.
Frederick waited until Stacie turned toward the door to catch the clerk’s eye, flip a calling card his way, look pointedly at the case in his hands, and fractionally nod. The man’s eyes widened. Frederick didn’t wait to see more; he trailed Stacie to the door, opened it for her, and followed her outside.
On the pavement, she retook his arm and sighed. “Those rubies were lovely, but I feel for that poor clerk. He was so disappointed.”
Frederick patted her hand and led her on. “I’m sure he’ll recover.”
In planning his campaign, Frederick had gambled that, by Saturday evening, he would have advanced his cause sufficiently that a visit to a performance of the Royal Opera Company at Covent Garden would be not only a viable outing but also a productive one.
Productive in the sense of consolidating all the advances he’d made to that point.