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“Yes. I’d like to make an informed decision.”
“I have an appointment on the docks, but I’ll take a quick look around.” They made their way to the staircase. “Why were your friends looking at me like that?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“They were staring searchingly. As if they knew something about me, as if you’d already described me to them.”
“I may have mentioned you in my letters from Cornwall.”
“You told them how handsome I was.”
“More like how arrogant and obstructive to my work.”
“Admit it, you told them I was distractingly virile.”
“Humph. You have an inspection to make, Wright.” She walked ahead of him up the stairs, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the curve of her backside—well, at least he imagined her curves under all those layers of petticoats.
Duke’s sister. No trespassing.
“I hope your brother returns soon,” he said as they climbed the curving central staircase. At least the staircase was in good repair. “My ship leaves in a fortnight, and I must speak with him in person.”
“You said it was something about Gibbons?”
“I believe he’s embezzling from your brother.”
She stopped walking at the first-floor landing and faced him. “Really? That’s a serious accusation.”
“I have proof.” He patted his pocket. He’d pilfered a receipt from Gibbons’s desk that showed the discrepancies in the bookkeeping.
“Then my brother needs to know immediately upon his return. He trusts Gibbons completely and has granted him wide latitude to make decisions on his behalf.”
“I don’t want my father implicated in any way when the theft is uncovered.”
“I’m sure my brother will return any day now and you may present your evidence.”
The landing led on one side to a drawing room stuffed with mismatched furniture, and on the other to a small back room with well-scrubbed walls, sparse furniture, and several bookshelves. The room was light and airy with none of the clutter evident in the rest of the house.
Lady Beatrice entered the room, her eyes lighting with approval. “A reading room. This must be where Mr. Castle kept the more rare volumes of his personal collection.”
Ford bounced on a few floorboards. “Seems safe from damp.”
She walked to the window, the light teasing the flames in her hair to life. “And there’s a view of the Thames!”
He moved to stand beside her. “A view of coal barges.”
“You see coal barges, I see a river undulating into the distance. The perfect view for writing. I’d place my desk right here by the window.”
Please don’t talk about desks.“So you will keep the property?”
“My mother told me that she’d heard rumors of scandal attached to the shop, and she assumed it was because Aunt Matilda had taken a lover. She has no idea about the bawdy books, or she never would have allowed me to visit the shop.”
“But that’s exactly what your friend Miss Mayberry was saying—youown it, not your mother.”
“You don’t know my mother, Wright. When I’m in London she controls what I wear, what I eat, whatI think, everything. If one word of this reached her . . . let’s just say that hell hath no fury like a Mayfair mother protecting her daughter from scandal.”
“She sounds quite formidable.”
“She’s not to be crossed, not in matters of propriety or taste. When in London, I’m under her rule. She’s obsessed with finding a brilliant match for me. But here...” She spread her arms wide as if she wanted to hug all of the books to her bosom. The movement lifted her breasts, giving him an enticing hint of lush curves. “Here I could be as bookish as I please. This could be my literary haven. My little slice of freedom.”
