"Come on," she said, tugging his arm again. She led him to an
open stairway that rose to the second floor. He saw various
equestrian products as they climbed the stairs. Saddles hung over
the rail encircling the upper level, and rows of boots lined the
wall, with riding crops, helmets, and assorted garments displayed
throughout. He trailed after her as she strode to the rear wall
and stopped before a case of leather riding gloves. She spun,
hands at rest behind her on either side of the display case. "Do
you know about Swaine Adeney?" she said, playfully affecting a
British accent. "It was founded in London in 1750. They are the
exclusive suppliers of fine equestrian products to the royal
family."
"May I help you?" asked a young, dark-haired woman wrapped
tightly in a tweed outfit.
Laurence turned serious. "I'd like a pair of these gloves." She
tapped her finger on the glass in front of a simple brown pair.
Matthew swallowed. Gloves. The thought of Laurence hiding her
beautiful hands inside a pair of gloves prickled his skin with a
sensation that was very close to terror. He thought of Greta. Her
gloves, so many gloves. Leather, wool, and cotton. Suede,
cashmere, and silk. Oh, he thought with dread, those especially,
which she had worn to bed every night since the accident...
"Do you like them, Matthew?" Laurence said, flexing ten
delicately gloved fingers before him.
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