To Taste Temptation (Legend of the Four Soldiers #1)(28)

Mr. Bentley paused, still bent over the crate. “Ah, I’m not sure....”

“I was told that he is working on some very fine creamware.” Mr. Hartley met the pottery merchant’s eyes and smiled.

“Well, as to that...” Mr. Bentley darted a look at a small crate by itself in the corner of the office. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Wedgwood is indeed experimenting with a creamware, but he is not yet ready to show it publicly. He hopes, in fact, to present it to the queen first.”

Emeline clapped her hands. “Really, Mr. Bentley, how exciting!”

The merchant’s face became even ruddier. “Thank you, ma’am. It is indeed.”

“But won’t you let us see this wonderful pottery?” Emeline leaned a little forward, letting her bosom swell over her square-cut bodice. “Please?”

The man turned red, and Emeline nearly grinned. She would never admit it in a million years, but she was enjoying this whole exchange enormously. Who knew trade could be such a battle of wits?

“Ah...” Mr. Bentley took out a handkerchief and swiped it nervously over his glistening brow. He shrugged. “Why not? If it pleases you, my lady.”

“Oh, it does.”

Having made up his mind, the merchant went to the small box in the corner and pried off the lid. He reached inside and took out something with great care before turning with it in his hands. Emeline held her breath. The teapot was very plain. As its name proclaimed, it was a rich cream color, almost yellowish, with straight classical lines and a pretty little spout.

Emeline held out her hands. “May I?”

The merchant placed it in her hands, and Emeline felt the lightness of the piece; the clay was thinner than she was used to. She turned it over to look at the maker’s mark. Wedgwood was stamped on the bottom.

“This is quite elegant,” she murmured softly.

She looked up in time to see Mr. Hartley watching her, and her breath caught. His eyes were hooded, his lips straight, but he had a possessive air about him. Somehow she knew: It pleased him that she shared in the discovery of the creamware teapot. Just as much as it pleased her. She and Mr. Hartley made an extraordinarily well-matched team. The thought made her uneasy. She shouldn’t enjoy bargaining. She shouldn’t like knowing that he valued her opinion.

She shouldn’t care at all.

Mr. Hartley’s eyes had narrowed. There was no pity there. Not one trace of compassion. It was as if a tame tomcat suddenly showed the catamount that lurked always beneath the purring facade. As if she was his prey.

He nodded once and turned to discuss terms with Mr. Bentley. The civilized veneer was back in place, but Mr. Bentley was having to marshal all his wits to keep up with the American’s hard bargaining, and the sums of money that Mr. Hartley so casually mentioned were enough to raise even Emeline’s eyebrows. She had no doubt that this was the man who had made a fortune out of his uncle’s business in only four years.

As the men haggled, Emeline bent over the teapot, tracing its elegant lines, and thought about the ladies of the Colonies who would pour tea from the pretty little spout. And she wondered: Why exactly had Mr. Hartley brought her here?

What had he meant to show her besides a beautiful teapot?

“IT’S JUST THAT I’m not sure about the neckline.” Rebecca stared into the mirror and tried without success to tug up the material at her bodice. There seemed to be a vast amount of her own skin revealed in the mirror.

“It’s quite all right, miss.” Her maid, Evans, didn’t even glance up as she bustled about the room, collecting the debris from Rebecca’s toilet.

Rebecca tugged one more time at her bodice and then gave up. Evans had been personally recommended by Lady Emeline, and if the maid said it was required that Rebecca go to her first London ball nude, Rebecca would follow her suggestion. She’d been to many dances and social events in Boston, of course, but Lady Emeline had made it quite clear that a London ball was an entirely different matter.

All this trouble over her only served to make Rebecca feel guilty. It’d been she who had badgered Samuel into taking her on this trip. Now, he apparently felt obliged to spend great sums of money on her so she’d be entertained in London. It wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind when she begged to accompany him. All she’d wanted was to spend some time with him. Perhaps learn to know her older brother just a little better. Rebecca wandered over to a chair as she thought.

“No,” the maid called.

Rebecca froze in an unladylike half-crouch over the chair.

Evans gave a strained smile. “We don’t want to wrinkle our skirts, do we?”

Rebecca straightened. “But when I sit in the carriage, surely—”

“Can’t be helped, can it?” the maid chirped. “More’s the pity, really. I don’t know why these clever gentlemen don’t invent a method for a lady to travel to a ball standing up.”

“Oh, yes?” Rebecca murmured faintly.

Evans was a small, dark-haired woman who was dauntingly fashionable. Her panniers were so wide, she could hardly do her duties as maid. Actually, Rebecca was rather terrified of her.

Although the maid seemed to be trying to be friendly. “Perhaps we can go downstairs and rest in the small sitting room? Not in the hallway, of course. A lady should never be seen to hang about waiting for her carriage to arrive.”