Page 12

Lady Andover turned as he approached, her shawl slipping a little off her shoulder. Her gaze dropped to the glasses. “I thought you might be thirsty,” he said, holding one out.

“Thank you.” She accepted it, her fingers brushing his. The touch traveled up his arm. “You were very attentive to Miss Bell.”

“I failed her once,” he admitted

“Only once?” She arched a brow.

“Did you notice?” he asked, his brows lifting.

Her mouth curved over the rim of her glass. “I thought it kinder not to.”

He laughed quietly, the sound warm in the small room. “Then I am grateful.”

She seemed pleased, a soft light kindling in her eyes. He stepped closer to the shelves, leaving room between them, and looked at the book beneath her hand, its spine worn and faded. “Have you found something worth reading?”

“I am not certain yet. I was trying to remember whether I had read it before,” she said, tapping the cover with one finger.

“What do you remember?” he asked.

She narrowed her gaze as she studied the tome. “Someone being very unhappy in a castle.”

“That narrows the possibilities considerably,” he said dryly.

She glanced at him, amusement warming her face and crinkling the corners of her eyes. “I believe there was a storm as well.”

“Then we shall have it identified before morning,” he deadpanned.

She laughed and drew her hand away from the book. He liked the sound more each time he heard it, a bright, unguarded ripple. It was quieter here, without the conversation of a dozen people requiring her attention. She no longer held her shoulders quite so carefully, the tension easing from her neck.

“Do you enjoy novels?” she asked, turning to face him fully.

“Some,” he said. “My sister used to lend them to me and insist I discuss them afterward.”

“Used to?” she asked.

His lips twitched as he admitted, “She discovered I had been reading the endings first.”

Lady Andover looked properly disapproving, pursing her lips. “Why would you do that?”

“To learn whether the rest was likely to be worth the trouble.” He had little patience for boring books. He needed something to keep him entertained from start to finish.

Her mouth gaped open. She stared at him for several seconds before saying. “But you would already know what happened.”

“I have since been made aware of my objectionable behavior,” he said, shaking his head ruefully.

“I hope she stopped lending them to you.” She sighed. “What a travesty.”

“For several months.” He leaned a shoulder against the end of the bookcase, crossing his ankles. “She relented when she wanted someone to agree that the heroine in a particular book had chosen the wrong man.”

“Had she?” Lady Andover asked.

“Certainly,” he nodded. “The other fellow owned the better house.”

Lady Andover’s smile widened before she looked down into her lemonade, a delighted flush rising in her cheeks. “That is a dreadful reason.”

He smiled. “It was not the answer my sister wanted either.”

“Did you give her another reason?” she asked.