Then he met Mr. Bono and had the overwhelming desire to shove them both back inside the carriage. The man was standing at the doorway to the warehouse, a smile of welcome on his face. He was tall, dressed immaculately, and was, by any account, handsome as sin. He also had a way of looking at the women that raised Robert’s every protective instinct.
“Mrs. Mortimer! How very delightful it is to see you again.” He stepped forward and took her hand in greeting. The dressmaker allowed it, even seemed to smile in welcome, but Robert could see the tension in her body as the man pressed the back of her hand to his lips.
“It is always an adventure seeing you as well,” she said dryly. “Allow me to present Lord Redhill and his sister, Lady Gwen.”
The man immediately changed his attention to Robert’s sister, clasping her hand in a nearly reverent embrace. “Exquisite, my lady. Welcome,” he said as he pressed his lips to Gwen’s hand. If it weren’t for the gloves she wore, Robert would have had a hard time allowing even this intimacy. Which was ridiculous, since the gentleman had acted—so far—only in a most proper manner. Especially as he finally released Gwen to bow politely before Robert. “My lord.”
Robert gave him the barest of nods as he looked about. “Which is your warehouse?” he asked, doing his best to keep his voice urbane. They were surrounded on all sides by the dark, ugly buildings.
“Why, all of them!” Mr. Bono said with a sweeping gesture. “Did not Mrs. Mortimer explain? I am the only place to find the most exquisite items. Unique purchases from around the world. Treasures, my lady,” he said to Gwen. “Around every turn, veritable treasures from China, India, and even some countries as you have never heard of before.”
“Oh, my!” Gwen gasped. “Truly?”
Before Mr. Bono could answer, Mrs. Mortimer stepped forward. “Your silks, please. We are shopping for silks today.”
“Excellent choice,” the man returned. “Most excellent. Come along. I shall show you what has arrived just today.”
They followed docilely enough, the ladies, Robert, and Jack. The coachman would not leave the horses and knew to keep a pistol in his lap just in case. But that would not help the ladies any as they stepped into the dark interior of a massive warehouse.
“Mind your step!” Mr. Bono called as he gestured to four of his workers. They were filthy brutes who smelled terrible, but they held aloft lamps as Bono led them on a meandering path through furniture, crates of odd metal lamps, and even a pen of roosting chickens.
“Just got a parcel of them from a farmer who had too many.”
The chickens, he supposed.
“But what you ladies want is back ’ere, but then you know that, don’t ye, Mrs. Mortimer? She and I, we been back ’ere many a time, ain’t we?” He made it sound like he and the dressmaker had been doing much more than selecting fabrics, and Robert could see Mrs. Mortimer stiffen at the innuendo. But she didn’t say anything, which led Robert to believe that such suggestive banter was typical of the man. Which made Robert like him less and less.
They continued to wander through a maze of items, the pathways getting narrower and narrower. And then, abruptly, a woman appeared beside him. She was clean and had big fat curls of hair and a dark red dress cut down almost to her belly. It would take the work of a moment to rid her of that gown, as she no doubt knew.
“Oh, guv,” she cooed as she stepped between him and the ladies. “There be a better cut of cloth just over there.”
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he said stiffly as he tried to push past her. But there was no room to move. He’d have to climb over crates of what he thought might be onions and turnips.
“Coo, gov’ner, you won’t be far from yer ladies. Just over there.”
There might be men who’d be tempted. She smelled good, and her charms were more than ample, but Robert wasn’t in the least bit interested. And the women were moving farther away. So he did the only thing he could think of.
He smiled as warmly as he could manage. He stepped close to her and put his hands on her waist. As expected, she melted forward. Which gave him the leverage he needed to lift her high up in the air, around the crates, though she did bang her leg on one, and set her firmly down behind him.
“No, thank you, ma’am. Sorry about your leg.” Then he turned and hurried forward to catch up with the others. Which was when he noticed that he wasn’t the only one being trapped in the tight confines. The lanes around the bolts of fabrics were so narrow that only one person could pass at a time.
Gwen was in the lead, inspecting the various fabrics as best she could in the lamplight. Mrs. Mortimer came next, doing her best to point out flaws in the cloth where it was damaged by water or vermin. Mr. Bono stood right behind Mrs. Mortimer, protesting whatever flaws she saw, as any merchant might. It was all very civilized except for one thing. At first Robert couldn’t be sure he was seeing correctly, but a minute’s observation showed him the truth.
Mr. Bono was fondling Mrs. Mortimer. It might appear that he was leaning forward to point out the sumptuousness of some bit of velvet, but as he did it, his opposite hand slid down the lady’s buttocks. Robert didn’t for one moment think she welcomed his attention. Her attire and attitude toward Mr. Bono had been absolutely neutral. And yet, she stood there and accepted his caresses without complaint.
Or at least not without obvious objection. As Robert was maneuvering his way forward, he saw her “accidentally” elbow the bastard backward. At one point, Mr. Bono even gasped and shied his booted foot sideways, as Mrs. Mortimer must have stomped on it. But she was in a doomed position. The pathway was such that there was no room at all. Mr. Bono must, of course, touch her. And she must, of course, tolerate it if she wished to purchase his goods.
And all the while, Gwen kept a running prattle about this fabric and the other, obviously unaware of what was happening right beside her. Fortunately, Robert was not so oblivious.
He reached forward and grabbed the man by his collar. Or at least he intended to. Before he could grab hold, one of the lamp holders shoved out a billy stick and it cracked into his wrist.
“Oh, yer lordship! Begging your pardon!” cried the man. “I thought to hit a fly.”
“The hell you did,” Robert grumbled. Damn, his hand was numb from the wrist down. He glared around him. Everyone looked the picture of innocence, from Johnny Bono all the way through his four burly lantern carriers. Everyone, that is, except Mrs. Mortimer, who understood exactly what was happening and had turned a mortified dark red. Meanwhile, Robert turned a dark eye to his sister. “Gwen,” he said sternly, “we are done with this cad. You will—”
“Aw, now, your lordship,” interrupted Mr. Bono. “I expect you saw my bit o’ fun with Mrs. Mortimer and took the wrong idea. Why, she and me, we be the best of friends, and she’s used to a bit o’ fun from me. Gets a might bit insulted, she does, if there ain’t no touches between friends. And as you can see, it’s close in here. Hard to avoid, but I can be seeing as how you’d get the wrong idea.”
“It’s close in here by your design, Mr. Bono. And I have no interest—”
“But your sis ’ere been loving the silks and velvets. Best on the docks, an’ I’ll give you a good price. Don’t be misunderstanding me an’ Mrs. Mortimer. Ain’t that right, Mrs. Mort? You and me, we do this ever’ time.”
Robert could not clearly see the dressmaker’s face. Mr. Bono was standing directly in front of her, his expression hidden. Robert didn’t need to see it, though, to know exactly what was happening. The man was giving her a hard look, silently threatening her unless she complied. He almost smiled. Given the way she had spoken to Robert throughout their acquaintance, he looked forward to the set-down she was about to give the man. But it never came.
“O-of course, my lord,” she stammered, her voice audible but not invested with the power he usually heard from her. “Mr. Bono and I are old friends. And friends are allowed certain liberties. In fact,” she said, turning a winning smile up to Mr. Bono, “I find him most masterful. The way he manages all his domain. It quite turns my head.”
Robert stared at the woman. He could not be more shocked if she had turned green and sprouted horns. Was it possible? Could he have misread the situation so drastically? She couldn’t possibly want this man’s attention, and yet her expression was almost…dreamy as she looked at Mr. Bono.
