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Were they still talking about steam locomotives? Something about the mischievous glint in his eyes and the way he was perusing her lips made her think they weren’t.
Then what were they discussing...?Oh.
Mari had been raised in a school for girls. She’d heard a whispered thing or two about male...engines.
Was he flirting with her? It was wrong, of course, and should be stopped immediately.
And yet... she’d never been flirted with before.
It was exhilarating. As though she were walking along the edge of a cliff.
Danger calling to the pit of her stomach.
Warning her away and daring her to jump at the same time.
“I suppose it would depend on the perspective.” She flicked her gaze lower, daringly close to his breeches. “And it would probably require flattering lighting.”
His snort of laughter caught her off guard.
“There’s more to you than meets the eye, Perkins.”
“My name isMissPerkins, if you please. I won’t be referred to solely by my surname.”
“It’s the done thing,” he said in a clipped tone.
“It may well be the done thing to reduce your servants to surnames, to view them as necessary items of furniture, meant to support your weight and never bend or break, but I find it demeaning.”
“MissPerkins, you’re welcome to pillage my bookshelves, but then be so kind as to leave me in peace. I’ve had a very long and disappointing day.”
He stalked to his desk.
She’d been dismissed. Which was better than being besieged, wasn’t it?
A dim part of her brain wasn’t too sure about that.
Edgar turned up the lamp at his desk. He’d come to the library to work on his engine design, and his mind had caught fire, not with engineering solutions, but with a blaze of attraction.
He couldn’t just reason it away, the tingling at the base of his skull, the itching in his palms. The heightened awareness.
Not just an awareness of her body, though that was pleasing enough—slender, yet curvaceous, garbed in the same black gown but with a white apron over the top.
Not simply her beauty. Her quick tongue and even quicker mind.
The way she spoke to him without flattery or deference.
He liked her intelligence and fearlessness.
Something new. Something worth knowing.
First the tender scene he’d witnessed with the children and then the achingly perfect feel of her slim curves pressed against him.
Can’t keep your hands to yourself, can you?
To think about anything other than Miss Perkins’s pert backside, he got out his paints and began coloring the wheels of a model engine.
Or at least he attempted to paint them. His brush kept missing the mark whenever his gaze wandered back to Miss Perkins.
She was taking her time choosing books for the children.
