“He did. After I reminded him it was part of the bargain.”
Unaware the matchmaker had any contact with Cornelius Kingston—Titan only knew she had met with Mrs. Buxton—he considered what he knew about that widow. She had been anxious to gain an offer of marriage from the publisher. As much as she claimed to like Cornelius Kingston—the two had known one another for many years—Titan couldn’t help but think Mrs. Buxton was desperate to marry simply to alleviate her fear of poverty. The pensions for the widows of officers were not particularly generous.
But perhaps she really did feel affection for the old coot.
“May I suggest we allow this to play out without further… involvement?” he asked. “Miss Kingston was only promised employment for a fortnight at the Temple. Should Mr. Allen let her go at the end of that time, she will at least have the satisfaction of knowing she didn’t quit the position.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon narrowed her eyes before she sighed dramatically. “Oh, all right,” she agreed. “But only until then. She and Wingfield had better be married by this time next month. Then they can be off to Berkshire to spend their first Christmas together.”
Relieved she had agreed to the more relaxed timeline, Titan said, “Very good. I’ll fetch you another cup of tea.” Before he could reach for her cup and saucer, she held up a staying hand, and he paused.
“After Miss Kingston is wed, and if she is so inclined, and if her husband allows it, she can start her own publishing company.” When she noted Titan’s surprise, she added, “I know it may not seem like it, but I’m rooting for her. We need more women running businesses in this town.”
“Agreed,” he said. He lifted her empty cup and saucer from the desk and took his leave of her office, breathing a sigh of relief on behalf of Matthew.
Or maybe it was for Catherine Kingston.
He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he didn’t want to force this particular pairing. Matthew was one of the good ones, he remembered. Not a spoiled bone in his body, his nose always in a book. If he was pushed, he would retreat into his library and might never marry.
Where would that leave Miss Kingston?
Still a spinster, rearranging books for an ungrateful employer when she could be the proprietress of her very own publishing company.
This last thought had him bounding down the stairs, hoping one of the caddies was in need of a farthing.
Chapter Fourteen
Two Ices, One Surprise
Later that day near the Temple of the Muses
His gaze unfocusedas his town coach lumbered through the streets of London towards Finsbury Square, Matthew replayed his first meeting with Catherine in his mind.
He had done so several times the night before, which had had him tossing and turning in his bed until he’d been forced to take his member in hand. The release he had experienced whilst imagining her beneath him, her legs spread wide, her breasts bared and nipples taut, had been the most pleasure he had experienced since his days at university.
None of those encounters had been as satisfactory, though. None of them had left him feeling sated or particularly happy. Last night had been a wonder.
There had been that one moment in the bookshop when he was sure Catherine Kingston expected him to kiss her, if not on her lush lips, then on her cheek. Her hand had felt chilled when he first kissed it upon their meeting, but by the time they parted, it was warm and soft as satin.
He imagined how that hand would feel pressed against his bare skin. How it might feel wrapped around his turgid manhood, her thumb caressing the tip, coaxing him to readiness.
He adjusted his position in the squabs, realizing his manhood was reacting much as it had the night before. He would look the fool if he entered the Temple displaying the horn.
When the coach halted in front of the bookshop, Matthew winced at the thought Catherine might notice the faded coat of arms painted in gold on his coach door. When Cummings opened it, he instructed him to remain standing with the door open and to use his body to block the crest.
“Very good, sir,” the driver replied, his bushy brows furrowed in confusion.
Gathering his greatcoat tighter around his body—the winter chill had increased with each passing hour that day—Matthew hurried off to the front door of the establishment. Once he was inside, he glanced around at the various displays, thinking Catherine might be waiting for him. About to head for the set of stairs leading to the reading rooms, he inhaled sharply upon seeing her descending the steps.
Dressed in an emerald day gown with matching gloves, she carried her mantle over one arm, and a small emerald hat featuring a peacock feather dangled from the other hand. Her hair, styled in a riot of curls atop her head, gleamed red and gold beneath the chandeliers that lit the stair landing.
Swallowing hard, Matthew immediately regretted not having arranged for them to partake in a dinner. Sharing a meal at a restaurant would have allowed them to remain in one another’s company far longer than sharing an ice at Gunter’s Tea Shop. Thanks to the banknotes he had discovered, he even had enough funds to cover an extravagant meal with champagne.
Matthew knew the moment Catherine noticed him, for she paused in her descent and nodded in his direction before quickening her steps. She grinned when she saw him tug on his ear.
He bowed deeply and took her hand to his lips.
“Good evening, Mr. Higby,” she said, dipping a curtsy.
