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Miranda shot Nate a look that said she did not want him leaving her with the clerk. He grinned. At the moment she was not thinking about Hazelwood. In truth he could see that she was a little cowed by the grandeur of the shop and would need to recover some of her spirit. He could help with that.

He leaned toward her behind the clerk’s back and whispered, “Just nod and smile, and try not to gape like a bumpkin. I’ll find you in a few minutes.”

She shot him a quick glare before she turned a bright smile to the clerk.

Lackington’s was nothing like her father’s dark and narrow premises. The huge shop held thousands of books in vast two-story blocks of shelves from floor to ceiling with more books stacked on the floor. Tall ladders attached to rails rolled along from one end of each long wall to the other. Clerks in tailcoats scampered up and down the ladders or assisted the ladies and gentlemen gathered around the large circular counter in the center of the store. Miranda, a shopkeeper’s daughter, would know just how to calculate the value of so much merchandise.

Nate found the histories, and glanced at the prices, but kept an eye on Miranda, as the clerk pulled a volume from the wall to show her. On another day, Nate could spend hours and too much money in the shop, but today, he made his way back to the large circular counter. He could see that Lackington’s kept only its first-rate, mint condition merchandise on the main floor. An inquiry of one of the clerks at the counter told him that if he and Miranda ascended the wide stairs to the lounging rooms, they would find the books cheaper, but, the clerk warned, in less good condition. The true bargains would be on the top floor.

As Nate approached them, he saw that Miranda’s clerk had spread out on a table a number of volumes for her to consider. He laughed to himself at the title that drew her eye, The Marchioness.

“She’ll have that one, I think,” he said to the clerk, pointing to The Spinster’s Journal.

The clerk frowned and looked at Miranda. “Miss?”

Nate could see that she was longing to break out with her usual abuse of him, but she mastered herself, and smiled, shook her head, and put her hand on the first book, a shy, feminine gesture that didn’t fool Nate. He laughed and directed the clerk to hold it for them at the counter, explaining that they were going to look for bargains on the upper floors.

As soon as they passed out of earshot, Miranda jabbed him hard in the ribs. “Nate Wilde, you beastly wretch, you make me want to sink through the floor.”

“I just don’t want you forgetting who you are, sister.”

“Thank goodness I am not your sister. I didn’t come from the Bread Street gutters.”

“Just don’t get your nose so high in the air that you trip.”

She glared at him, but looked down and lifted her skirts to manage the stairs. “Where are we going?”

“To find Lord Hazelwood’s book. It’ll be on one of the upper floors.”

In the end they found it on the third floor with a little help from a condescending clerk who had seemed to regard the book as a joke when Miranda asked for it. But he’d checked his catalogue and led them right to the little blue volume. A water stain marred the front cover, but the pages were intact and the book was complete.

“Is the lady in search of a husband?” he asked. Plainly, he’d noticed that Miranda’s accent was at odds with her appearance.

The man was a stick figure in a coat. Nate had both the breadth of shoulder and reach of arm to level the fellow with one good left. He settled for a bit of condescension. “My poor orphaned sister misses a mother’s guidance at this time of her life. It will be a comfort to her to consult a woman in such matters.”

At the main counter, he paid for Lord Hazelwood’s book and the novel Miranda coveted.

She looked surprised. He shrugged. “For your part in the assignment.” He couldn’t be more generous than that, and he had his reward. Her face lit up with its prettiest smile.

But back in the carriage, it was Hazelwood’s little blue volume she held in her lap as she traced the title with her fingertips.

“Do you think Lord Hazelwood will let me read it?”

“No harm in asking. You might be able to help him with the case if you know the book’s contents.”

“Are you going to read it?”

“Me! I don’t need a husband, do I?”

“But you’ll need a wife someday. You could learn how to court one properly.”

“A wife’s for old fellows in flannel waistcoats. I have to make my mark in the world before I marry.” He wasn’t about to let her know that he’d already picked the wife for him.

“Hah! As if you could make a mark in the world.”

“It’s what men do, and London’s the place to do it.”

“What about women, then?”