Waltz With a Stranger by Pamela Sherwood Page A

the shop: a slender, moderately tall young woman, with golden hair and the faint tracery of a scar on one otherwise flawless cheek.
    Aurelia.
    James stopped in his tracks, watching her. She wore a walking dress in a deep, rich shade between navy and cobalt blue, and a black straw hat trimmed with ostrich plumes that made her hair gleam more brightly by contrast. Her dangling earrings were twists of gold, hung with bits of some blue stone—lapis lazuli, perhaps.
    It was not, he thought with an inward smile, the sort of outfit a woman trying to escape notice wore. Indeed, more than a few passersby cast an admiring glance in her direction, though Aurelia paid them no heed, intent as she was on the book in her hand. She looked like a child sorely tempted by a sweet but determined not to succumb until her meat and greens were eaten.
    James stepped directly into her path. “Miss Aurelia.”
    She glanced up from her book, her blue eyes widening. “Lord Trevenan! Good morning. I’m surprised to see you out and about so early.”
    “I might say the same,” he countered. “What brings you here at this hour of the day?”
    “I have some shopping to do.”
    “Alone? Shouldn’t you have brought your maid with you?”
    “Poor Suzanne’s got a cold. The English climate doesn’t seem to agree with her. So I thought it would be a kindness to leave her at home. I’m not going anywhere out of the ordinary,” she added, a touch defensively. “It’s silly having someone follow you around on perfectly mundane errands just because you happen to be female.”
    James sighed. “It may be silly, but it’s for your own safety,” he pointed out. “I’m surprised Amy didn’t insist on accompanying you.”
    “Amy had business of her own to attend to this morning,” Aurelia replied. “Besides, the sort of shopping I had in mind is best done without her. I need to buy her a birthday present.”
    “Good Lord!” he exclaimed, startled by his own forgetfulness. “Of course. And I need to do the same.” He paused, realizing that—in the absence of the twins’ father and brother—he’d become, in some fashion, the man of the family. In which case, offering Aurelia his escort was the only right thing to do. “Perhaps we might go shopping together,” he suggested. “I could use some advice on what your sister might like as a gift.”
    He could tell from the faint glint in her eyes that she’d seen through his motives, but, to his relief, she raised no objection. “All right. Did you have anything already in mind for her?”
    “Well, I’d thought to start at Hatchards. Would that be for Amy, by any chance?” He indicated the book she still held, angling his head to read the title. “ Tristram of Lyonesse ?”
    Aurelia flushed. “That would be for me, actually. I’m fond of poetry. Amy prefers novels, but I didn’t see anything that might appeal to her, at least not today.” She tucked the book into her reticule. “You could go in and look around yourself, if you like.”
    He shook his head. “I trust your judgment here. Let’s move on, shall we?”
    She glanced at him quizzically. “Where should we go next?”
    “I was rather hoping you might have some suggestions,” he confessed, feeling like a schoolboy caught not knowing his lessons. “I don’t do a great deal of shopping in London. In fact, I tend to avoid it whenever possible. So I’m afraid I have only the most general idea of where to look for things.”
    “I see.” To her credit, Aurelia did not laugh, although her lips quivered suspiciously for a moment. “Well, my father and brother don’t care much for shopping either, so you’re in good company,” she said diplomatically. “I suppose we could try the Burlington Arcade; they have lots of shops to choose from. We should be able to find something for her there.”
    “An excellent idea,” James said, feeling considerable relief—not least because he actually knew where the Burlington Arcade