He sidestepped to a rare open spot along the wall and did his best to disappear between a blue twill and a white satin.
“That will be difficult. Unless you plan on watching my fitting? I will be obliged to strip down to my shift.” Victoria cocked her head and looked up at him through her dark lashes. “It would be quite scandalous.”
His imagination took flight. What he wouldn’t give to see Victoria stripped from her gown. Her limbs would be pale but lithe. Her breasts full and supple, her nipples— He clipped the wings of his thoughts before something embarrassing took place in his breeches.
Was she toying with him on purpose? Did she understand the magnitude of her power over him? He narrowed his eyes. Her color was high, and she fidgeted with the ties of her reticule. She didn’t appear gleeful in her teasing. In fact, if he had to put a word to her mood, he would pick nervous.
Lady Hawkins sent a pointed look in their direction. Victoria left his side to discuss whatever ladies discussed with their modistes. They disappeared behind a curtain. Garrick checked in with Callum, who had noted nothing unusual, and then returned to the shop to wait. The young girl behind the counter kept tossing him glances. He was probably making the poor chit nervous. He ignored her.
What was taking so bloody long? He sidled closer to the curtain, taking care not to touch the delicate fabrics or laces along the way. Murmuring voices and Victoria’s husky laugh reassured him. No one had spirited her away.
Someone on the other side of the partition ruffled the velvet curtain on their way past. The movement shifted the fabric enough to reveal a narrow slit. Instinct took over, and Garrick focused on the scene beyond as if he were observing a clandestine meeting between his enemies.
His breath caught the same time his blood rushed faster, leaving him light-headed.
Victoria stood on a raised dais facing a tall looking glass. She wore a gown of evergreen. The sleeves were long and tightly fitted, but the bodice scooped enticingly low, revealing the top curves of her breasts. Vines and red berries were embroidered along the hem, cuffs, and the edge of the bodice. She had cast her bonnet aside, and her curly hair wisped around her face and down her nape in an artlessly sensual fashion.
“Are you sure the gown is not too revealing, Madame Beauvoir?” Lady Hawkins asked. “We don’t want the gentlemen at the house party to assume Victoria is desperate for an offer.”
“Even if she is, eh, my lady?” Madame Beauvoir’s French accent was fake, although well done.
If Garrick had to guess, the dressmaker was from the north of England. But who was he to begrudge a woman a new identity in order to make a living? Based on the concoction she’d fashioned for Victoria, the modiste was talented.
“The gown is tasteful and will draw the sort of attention you seek,” Madame Beauvoir said.
“I love it, Mother.” Victoria twirled and looked over her shoulder at herself in the looking glass.
“The color is quite becoming on you, dear. Wrap it up and have it delivered once the hem is adjusted, if you would, Madame Beauvoir.”
“It will be finished by this afternoon. Miss Hawkins can wear it to your evening’s entertainments, if she so desires. Would you like to order matching gloves and stockings?” The modiste and Lady Hawkins shifted to the side to discuss particulars while a young girl began undressing Victoria.
Garrick swallowed. He should look away. Their banter earlier had been in jest. Victoria’s life was not in any danger. His sanity, on the other hand, was being held at gunpoint. Victoria remained facing him as the girl worked the length of buttons in the back. The bodice began to gape and reveal more delectable skin and the gathered edge of a white shift.
Victoria ran her hands along the skirts, then looked up with a smile when the girl gently tugged one of the sleeves down. Her gaze swept over the slit in the curtain, and he pressed himself back against the wall out of sight.
If he’d been in the field, the possibility of exposure would have signaled his immediate retreat. A wise agent knew when to give up a position, no matter how tempting the information gleaned could be.
All wisdom deserted him. He peeked through the slit once more, expecting her to have turned and shielded herself from the inappropriateness of his spying, but she hadn’t. His position hadn’t been compromised.
The girl had tugged both sleeves off and was helping Victoria step out of the heavy skirts. Her posture offered a tantalizing view of the shadowy valley between her breasts. She straightened on the dais, her shoulders back, her gaze finding its way unerringly to his, unflinching and brazen.
He had been outflanked. Not only was she aware of his attentions, but she welcomed them. Her breathing paced his, shallow and rapid, the movement drawing his attention downward along the tempting curves of her body. Her stays pressed her full breasts high. The rise and fall of her chest against the thin fabric of her shift was decadent. Her nipples were barely covered, and he ruminated on their shape and color.
Her waist dipped above the curve of her hips, and the looking glass reflected her pert bottom. The shadow of her mons was visible through her shift. He allowed his gaze to wander all the way to her stocking-covered feet and then back up. In his mind’s eye, he lifted her shift higher and higher, exposing her calves, her knees, her thighs until…
“Anywhere else you would like to visit, my dear? We won’t be back until after the new year.” Lady Hawkins turned to Victoria while the modiste took the dress and disappeared into what Garrick assumed was her workroom.
Victoria blinked once, then shifted to face her mother while the shop girl helped her back into her yellow dress. “I should like to visit the milliner next door.”
Lady Hawkins hummed thoughtfully before saying, “This will be our fourth visit to the milliner in as many weeks. You have shown an unusually keen interest in bonnets lately, yet you never seem to have one on in the garden. Why is that?”
Garrick didn’t hear Victoria’s reply. He backpedaled toward the door, flummoxed by his lack of control and positively dumbfounded at Victoria’s boldness. He tried to summon shame or regret or some emotion that would blunt the arousal humming through him but failed.
Victoria was an innocent. The kiss they’d shared had been her first. How could he forget the tentative movement of her lips on his, and her gasp when his tongue coaxed hers out to play? She hadn’t known where to put her hands or what to do with the passion roiling through her like a storm.
Of course, that had been two years ago. Much could have happened since. Victoria wasn’t one to deny her curiosity. The thought was demoralizing and painful. Feeling suffocated by gewgaws and fripperies, he pushed his way outside and took a deep, bracing breath. The cold air made his lungs prickle and tamped down the unwarranted shot of jealousy. Lady Hawkins exited the modiste, followed by Victoria. Her head was down, her bonnet shielding her expression.
“Everything in order, Garrick?” Lady Hawkins asked.
In order? His entire universe was in utter and complete chaos.
“Yes, ma’am.” He inclined his head and didn’t meet her eyes in case she possessed a sliver of her husband’s uncanny ability to see through him to the image burned in his mind of her daughter wearing nothing but her unmentionables.
“We are paying a visit to the milliner next door.” Lady Hawkins looped her arm through Victoria’s, and this time he remained outside while the ladies did their shopping.