“Excuse me,” she said called out a third time, suppressing the urge to reach across the counter and grab the clerk by the collar. “I would like?—"
“Can I help you?”
Maddy started at the sound of a male voice, rich like Lady Em’s good brandy, with much the same effect. Recovering, she looked to her left, caught off guard by the man with stunning whisky-coloured eyes who had somehow managed to appear at her side without her notice. She cast a quick glance around, looking for whomever was the object if his question, because men with eyes like that—or any, in fact—did not pay much attention to Madeline Murray. At least not the good kind.
But given he was standing close enough that the bottom of her skirts nearly brushed the tips of his shoes, and he seemed to be waiting for a reply, it dawned on Maddy that he was speaking to her.
“No,” she said, angry at herself for allowing this man to distract her. Then, recalling some lesson about social niceties from Elouise, Maddy nodded at the man one more. “No thank you.”
“I think you do,” he replied with the confidence of a man who, with his impeccably tailored suit and objectively handsome face, probably never had to fight to command attention when he desired it. Every woman and a few men were gawking at him. And not in the way they gawked at Maddy. The attention this man attracted was nothing less than fascination. And no wonder. Lady Em, one of Everwell’s two matrons, might describe him as “well put together.” But Maddy had a job to do, which did not include being sidetracked by a man gifted with a face seemingly created to tempt the most pious to sin.
She turned back to the counter, where the clerk seemed to notice her at last. The wiry man with fair skin, curly brown hair, and a nose made to peer down at people, looked her way with an expression that, to her astonishment, had turned from indifference to obliging. Maddy didn’t have time to contemplate the rationale for this miraculous turn, but she needed to exploit it.
“Good morning,” she said, and started pointing to the locked glass fronted case. “Can you please…”
She trailed off as the clerk, who seemed a second ago to finally see her, walked past her again, turning his attention to someone standing next to her.
Maddy let go a string of silent curses.
“Good morning,” came that same voice, as smooth as butter.
“How can I help you sir?” the clerk asked.
Unable to help herself, Maddy turned to watch the exchange, wondering what sort of unholy spell this man had unleashed.
“I believe this lovely lady needs your assistance,” the gentleman beside her said.
Maddy paused, craning her neck to see the damsel in distress he was so eager to help.
“Of course,” the clerk replied turned to Maddy, looking at her for all the world as if she’d just appeared out of nowhere. “How may I help you?”
Maddy blinked, realizing almost too late that she was the object of this gentleman’s attention. She froze, suddenly uncertain, before the clerk politely cleared his throat. The sound cut through her confusion, allowing her to re-focus on the job at hand. She needed that book, and the only way to get it was through the man in front of her. Normally when confronted with an obstacle, Maddy’s job was to swing a fist, or perhaps even level a blade at someone if the stakes were high enough.
Right now, unfortunately, she had to be pleasant.
“Thank you,” she said, forcing her lips into what she hoped was a passable smile. “I believe you have a copy of Blake’s Poetical Sketches. I would like to view it.”
The clerk blinked, and Maddy knew full well why.
“I’m not…” He faltered, then regarded Maddy with more care. She’d been in MacAskill’s too many times for him not to be familiar with who she was. And no librarian working at a charity school would have easy access to the funds required to purchase a rare volume that normally belonged on the shelves of academic institutions or in the private libraries of wealthy collectors.
“Is there a problem?” the man asked of the clerk, the slightest edge of impatience in his voice. By the cut of his suit, he looked as though he might very well be the type of man to have a library full of first editions and rare volumes of books sitting on shelves just because he could.
“Of course not,” the clerk said brightly, clearly not eager to put himself on the wrong side of this well-dressed stranger. Turning around, he pulled out a ring of keys and opened the locked cabinet.
Maddy found herself leaning forward, scanning the shelves which held a small collection of books of all sizes, from those so small they could fit the palm of her hand, to oversized volumes. Some were bound in leather, others cloth. Most were so old the spines had no identifying marks to alert the reader to the contents. What she wouldn’t give to spend time with each and every one of these.
He returned to the counter with the book and slid it in front of her. Normally it was Gemma, or even Elouise who performed the sleight of hand. Poetics was a rare tome—worth, according to some, more than the entire contents in the shop. Carefully, she opened the book to verify its contents.
The clerk was nearby, appropriately watchful.
And so was the stranger, who leaned on the counter as if he owned the place. She’d never met a man with such an easy charm—nor one so insistent on getting her attention. It had the perplexing effect of making her annoyed and fascinated all at once.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s a book,” she replied.
He chuckled to himself, a low, warm sound that settled on her ear and rippled through her body. Her intentionally curt reply seemed to amuse him. Perhaps most men would take that as an invitation to leave. It had been her intention. Instead, he picked up the priceless volume as easily as if he were picking up a newspaper worth a few pennies and held it out of her reach.
