Her heart lurched at the sensual way his voice stroked her name. Lily flushed and hurried into the shop before she said or did something unforgivable.
Chapter Five
Almost two hours after his first encounter with Mrs. Layton—no, Lily, Oliver reminded himself—he was still by her side and content to remain there. He had woken up with the need to spend the day with his guests to see if he could unearth any clues to his lover’s identity. Breakfast had been a farce, and a peculiar worry had slithered through him. Of the dozen ladies that had been present, none had pulled at him. It was insupportable any present could have been the woman in the secret passageway. Oliver had then decided to take a long ride to clear his head and had been quite pleased to encounter the alluring Mrs. Lily Layton.
She was different from the ladies at breakfast, in a manner that seemed elusive. Her cultured tones spoke of a fine education, her manners were exemplary, ladylike most certainty, but she seemed sturdier. And he did not refer to her mouthwateringly sensual curves. Her grace as she dealt with Mr. Crauford’s sanctimonious attitude was admirable and hinted of a backbone. It was entirely strange that Oliver liked her warm company so much.
He’d ignored her puzzled mien as he escorted her from shop to shop, as she bought lengths of calico and laces, some meat pies, knitted stockings for her father, a shawl for her mother, and fruit cake for her nieces. She was too polite to ask why he was accompanying her, perhaps, and she had been scandalized and amused when he took up and carried her basket of assorted goods for her family, who resided nearby. He’d learned her family was made up of her parents and her sister’s family, which was comprised of two darling children and an astonishingly wonderful husband, who was the local doctor.
Everywhere she went, someone greeted her and paused to exchange some pleasantries. Some recognized him and hadn?
?t been able to stop staring, and a few had been aghast upon introduction and had scurried away to impart the gossip.
“You are well loved,” he murmured, as the current vicar’s wife, Mrs. Bainsmith, ended their conversation with several curtsies in his direction before hurrying toward the small bookshop at the corner of the street.
Lily shot him a side-eyed glance. “I was born and raised in this village. The only time I left was right after the vicar died. I resided with one of my cousins in Lambeth for eleven months before I returned.”
“You’ve never explored London?”
“Certainly not to its full potential,” she said with a light laugh. “The few times I visited my aunt in Cheapside, I snuck away to visit the shops on High Holborn and Bond Street, where the best dressmakers, tailors, and haberdashers are. I quite scandalized my aunt when I ventured to the fashionable area on my own.”
He lifted his chin to the sketchbook clutched in her arms. “For that?”
“Yes.”
Several shops past, she had removed her sketchbook to make space for her items and had been quite reluctant for him to carry it for her. He hadn’t insisted, not that he thought she would have caved. Lily seemed like the sort of woman to know herself, considering her refusal of Mr. Crauford’s marriage proposal. A strange thing, that. In his experience, a woman of her modest means would have eagerly consented to be the man’s wife.
“May I see?”
Vulnerability flashed in her eyes. “My drawings?”
“Only if you are inclined to share.”
After a slight hesitation, she held the book out to him. Oliver traded her the basket for it and flipped it open. There were several sketches of dresses, a few he had seen women of high society wearing and others that clearly were not in existence. The lines and style were elegant and creative. “These are very good.”
“You know of women’s fashion?”
“Enough to know these are exquisite.”
A smile lit her entire face, and her unique prettiness stuck him. Christ. Her hair gleamed like copper under the sun, and stubborn tendrils had managed to escape her chignon and curl around her cheeks most becomingly. The jolt he felt through his heart was quite unexpected, the twitch in his cock appalling. She had finely arched brows, high cheekbones, and wide and sensual lips.
He wanted to kiss her without consequence.
Wicked images flicked through his mind at the speed of a runaway carriage. Mrs. Layton’s lips around his cock, how they would glisten when he kissed and nibbled on them.
Good God, what was wrong with him?
“I believe so, too. The dress your mother wore to last night’s supper—I created it,” she murmured, pride and satisfaction evident in her tone. “The countess had been reluctant to wear it until she saw my creation.”
He recalled the dark green beauty his mother had worn with such grace. “You are incredibly talented.”
Lily beamed. “Thank you. I am hoping your mother will be kind enough to recommend me to her set. I am determined to become a sought-after modiste.”
He handed her back the drawings and collected the basket once more. “It must have cost you a lot of money to make a dress my mother approved of.”
“Almost a year’s savings,” she replied with a light laugh, walking ahead once more. “But that is the cost of doing business.”
“Did my mother compensate you for your creation?”