"Undisturbed or uncatalogued?" she pressed, moving closer to the cabinet with the kind of casual interest that fooled precisely no one. "Because there's rather a significant difference between the two."
"Both, in this instance." Graves positioned himself between her and the cabinet with the immovability of a man who'd spent decades perfecting the art of denial. "Perhaps you might focus your considerable energies on the agricultural treatises that require attention in the south corner."
Agricultural treatises. As if she were some simple-minded creature who could be distracted by discussions of crop rotation and animal husbandry. "How thoughtful of you to direct my considerable energies, Mr. Graves, though I believe I'm quite capable of determining my own priorities."
"Not in this matter, miss." His tone brooked no argument, which naturally made Eveline want to argue even more strenuously. "His Grace was quite clear that these particular volumes are not suitable for... that is, they are not part of your purview."
"My purview being what, exactly? Books with pictures? Volumes that don'tthreaten to corrupt my feminine virtue with their dangerous ideas?" She could feel heat rising to her cheeks, the familiar burn of indignation that came whenever someone suggested her mind couldn't handle certain knowledge. "Perhaps His Grace fears I might swoon at the sight of an unauthorized semicolon?"
Something that might have been amusement flickered across Graves's weathered features before being ruthlessly suppressed. "His Grace's concerns are his own, miss. I merely convey his wishes."
"His wishes being that I pretend an entire cabinet of books doesn't exist?"
"If necessary."
She spent the rest of the day attempting to focus on the admittedly chaotic geography section, but her gaze kept drifting to that locked cabinet with its promise of forbidden knowledge. What could possibly be so scandalous that the Duke felt compelled to lock it away from her apparently corruptible eyes? Political treatises? Radical philosophy? French novels of the sort that made matrons fan themselves while pretending not to have read every word?
The mystery gnawed at her through the afternoon, making it impossible to concentrate on differentiating between various editions of Geography, and by the time four o'clock arrived, she was practically vibrating with frustrated curiosity.
"You look like someone forced you to eat your books rather than read them," Harriet observed when they met for tea at Gunter's, their weekly tradition that had become Eveline's primary connection to respectable society. "What has the mysterious Duke done now?"
"There's a locked cabinet in the library," Eveline said without preamble, stabbing at her lavender ice with unnecessary violence. "Graves informed me this morning that its contents are 'not for a lady's eyes,' as if my eyes might spontaneously combust from exposure to inappropriate literature."
Harriet's eyes lit with the kind of delight usually reserved for particularly good gossip. "A locked cabinet? How deliciously Gothic! Do you think it contains evidence of dark family secrets? Perhaps the previous duke was secretly a pirate, or the duchess ran a gambling den in the conservatory?"
"More likely it contains books someone has decided are too dangerous for my delicate feminine constitution," Eveline replied, though the pirate theory had considerable appeal. "Probably radical political texts or scientific treatises that dare suggest women possess functioning brains."
"Or," Harriet leaned forward conspiratorially, "it could be something far more scandalous. You know what they say about gentlemen's private libraries."
"That they're poorly organized and covered in dust?"
"That they often contain materials of an... educational nature." Harriet's eyebrows waggled suggestively. "The kind of education not provided at finishing schools."
Eveline felt heat creep up her neck. "You think the Duke of Everleigh keeps... that sort of material... in his library?"
"Where else would he keep it? Under his mattress like a schoolboy?" Harriet took a delicate bite of her ice, managing to look both proper and mischievoussimultaneously. "Every gentleman has such a collection, or so my married sister informs me. French prints, Italian poetry, those medical texts with the anatomical illustrations that are supposedly for scientific purposes but which gentlemen seem uncommonly interested in studying."
"The Duke doesn't strike me as the type to collect such books," Eveline said, though she found herself imagining Adrian's long fingers turning pages of... well, of whatever might be in such books.
"All men are the type, according to my sister. The proper ones are often the worst—all that repression has to find outlet somewhere." Harriet studied her friend with increasing amusement. "You're blushing."
"I'm not blushing. The ice is cold."
"Ice doesn't make one turn that particular shade of pink." Harriet's grin widened. "You're imagining what's in that cabinet, aren't you? The proper Miss Whitcombe, scholar of ancient texts, is sitting here wondering about the Duke's collection of inappropriate literature."
"I'm wondering about his collection of potentially important texts that are being kept from legitimate scholarly investigation," Eveline corrected with as much dignity as she could muster.
"Of course you are." Harriet's tone suggested complete disbelief. "A true bluestocking would have read them already, you know. Have you gone tame, Eveline? Has employment domesticated your fierce warrior of knowledge?"
The words stung more than Eveline cared to admit. "I haven't gone tame. I simply haven't had the opportunity..."
"The opportunity? The Eveline I know would have made the opportunity. The Eveline who corrected the Archbishop's Latin wouldn't let a locked cabinet stop her from accessing books." Harriet's jesting had taken on an edge of genuine surprise. "Unless you're afraid of what you might find?"
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"Then prove it." Harriet sat back with the air of someone who'd just thrown down a gauntlet. "Show that duke that no mere lock can keep a determined scholar from her research."
Eveline opened her mouth to protest that breaking into her employer's private cabinet would be wrong, inappropriate, grounds for immediate dismissal, but then closed it again. Because Harriet was right, wasn't she? The old Eveline, the one who'd stormed into Everleigh Manor demanding an interview, wouldn't have been stopped by something as mundane as a lock and Graves's disapproval.
