Reforming the Rake. Sarah Barnwell Elliott

      “Why on earth would you be trying to figure that out?”

      Lucy looked momentarily stricken, but recovered quickly. “I didn’t mean literally, Charles…I’m not actively trying to figure that out. It just makes one wonder, though, when a girl as pretty as she is doesn’t marry early on. She’s also quite wealthy, by the way.”

      “I never realized you were this much of a gossip, Lucy,” he said, shaking his head in bemusement.

      “I’m not. You’re the one asking all the questions, Charles.”

      “I certainly didn’t expect answers as thorough as these. How do you to know all this?”

      “I like to keep well informed. And, by the way, since you’re curious, she apparently can be found at Larrimor’s Bookshop on Tuesdays at two, almost without fail.” Lucy paused, her brother’s bewildered expression telling her that such precise information would require further explanation. “One of Lady Sinclair’s servants mentioned it to my maid…apparently this is when Mr. Larrimor gets his new shipments each week. My maid passed this information on to me because I’d told her that I intended to visit the shop myself. She thought, perhaps, that Miss Sinclair and I might make a small party of it.”

      Charles mulled this bit of information over slowly, then asked guardedly, “Almost without fail, you say?”

      “Yes…” Lucy drawled. He was taking the bait beautifully.

      “Perhaps I need a new book myself.”

      She grinned. “I thought you might say something like that.”

       Chapter Six

       A t two o’clock sharp on Tuesday afternoon, Beatrice was in the back room at Larrimor’s Bookshop, surrounded by several teetering piles of books. Mr. Larrimor had set aside these piles especially for her, having become familiar with her wide-ranging tastes.

      A single, small window let light into the dusty room, and Beatrice had to bend over and look quite closely at the volumes in order to read their titles. He’d provided her with an assortment of novels, memoirs, even gardening treatises…. She picked up one book for a closer look. It was titled The Life of William Kidd: A Sordid Tale, as Told by His Cabin Boy, Reginald Dawson. She smiled. She didn’t normally read books about pirates—that was a recent habit, one she’d begun only in relation to her writing. Pirates made excellent romantic heroes, and it stood to reason that she ought to know a thing or two about life at sea to write about the subject convincingly.

      Beatrice had just begun thumbing through the pages of the dusty tome when she heard muffled voices coming from the front of the store. She stepped closer to the hallway in order to hear better.

      She quickly wished she hadn’t.

      “Ah, hello, Lord Summerson. Can I help you with anything?” she heard Mr. Larrimor ask. Summerson. Could there be another Lord Summerson?

      “I’m just looking around, Mr. Larrimor,” a familiar voice responded. “I heard that you received your new shipments on Tuesdays and wondered if you had that book I ordered.”

      “I do. I’ll put it on the counter for you, but please, have a look through the back room to see if anything else catches your eye— I haven’t had time to bring everything out front yet.”

      In the back room, meanwhile, Beatrice had stopped breathing and gone into panic mode. She clutched her book tightly to her chest and pressed her spine against the shelf-lined wall. Thoughts of escape began racing through her head, but without any immediate solution. She was pretty much cornered in the book-strewn room, and she hadn’t a chance of getting out undetected.

      Unless…

      Beatrice looked wistfully at the window. It wasn’t so high up, really, and she was thin enough to fit through it. But she shook her head with regret. If it would have solved her problem, she could have just pulled over a chair, shinned up the wall, popped out the window like a cork and been on her way. Unfortunately, she knew it wouldn’t solve a thing. The window would deposit her directly into the middle of Bond Street. And Mr. Larrimor would surely be most concerned when he discovered she’d vanished. In his worry, he’d probably say something about it to Lord Summerson, who would know exactly where she went and why….

      She heard a creak of floorboards, followed by the soft sound of footsteps. There was no escape.

      “Hello.”

      “Hello,” she responded, turning back to the piles of books and trying to look unaffected by his presence.

      Charles disregarded her attempts to ignore him. He ambled forward until he stood next to her, then stopped. “You know,” he began, an apologetic note to his voice, “I think I neglected to introduce myself the other night.”

      She bit her lip, but turned to face him. “Perhaps.”

      He bowed slightly. “Charles Summerson.”

      Beatrice nodded again, not knowing what else to do. Charles said nothing. Just continued to look at her.

      She shifted uncomfortably, until she realized the reason he was looking at her was because it was her turn to speak. Still she said nothing.

      “I see you’ve gotten to the new shipment first,” he added with a smile designed to melt any obdurate female heart. “Find any good books?” Even as he asked this question he leaned in closer, trying to peer at the book she clutched in her hand.

      Beatrice only gripped it tighter to her chest. “No. I haven’t been here long.”

      “Oh. Well, then what are you holding?”

      “A book.” She wanted to slap herself as she uttered these idiotic words.

      He smiled patiently. “May I see it?”

      She shook her head. “No. I mean, that’s to say, you wouldn’t be very interested in it.”

      “I beg to differ. I am extremely interested,” Charles replied. He could have added that the more she declined, the more his interest grew.

      Beatrice didn’t know how she could avoid showing him her book. She supposed there was nothing wrong with it….

      She tentatively held it out for his perusal.

      He raised his eyebrows. “Now I really must beg to differ. That looks very interesting indeed…it actually looks rather improper. Do you like that sort of thing?”

      Beatrice blushed and shrugged. “A bit…. I was only looking.” She wouldn’t have told him the truth if her life depended on it.

      Charles smiled. He knew she wasn’t being entirely forthcoming. “Fascinating subject, isn’t it?”

      Beatrice just nodded weakly.

      “Are you sure it’s quite the thing for you to be reading?”

      She held the book close to her chest once again. “Oh, no. I think it will be fine. Mr. Larrimor recommended it.”

      Charles chuckled. “Never fear. I was only jesting.” He walked around the perimeter of the room, looking at the shelves. “Have you any suggestions, Miss Sinclair?”

      She put her book down on a table and bit her lip again. She was a voracious reader and would normally have had dozens of suggestions. For the moment, however, her mind was blank. “Hmm…do you like novels?”

      “I do, I must admit. I just finished reading Sense and Sensibility. My sister highly recommended it, and I must say I was rather skeptical, but…” Charles paused. “Have you read it?”

      She shook her head, bemused at the thought of this dashing and dangerous man reading romantic novels. “No. I haven’t.”

      “Perhaps I will lend it to you. That would be neighborly, wouldn’t it?”

      Beatrice gulped. “I suppose.