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“I gather I am not to call on you myself.”
Another small smile touched his mouth, but his eyes remained too indifferent. “No. You would be left with little to no reputation.”
Intrigued by that response she considered the address on the card once more. “Is this your place of business?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” She slipped the card into the pocket of her coat. “Though I might be unable to personally return your book, perhaps one day we might have a conversation about the themes. It is not every day I am invited to read about blood, gore and murder. My sensibilities, you know.”
His small smile bloomed outward, and she sucked in a sharp breath. The man was entirely too handsome.
“I will anticipate this conversation, Miss Ellie. Until I see you next.”
Unsure of what else to say, she dipped her head into a courteous nod when the carriage stopped, and the steps were knocked down for her. Eleanor exited the carriage, gripping the book to her chest. She stood there and watched his carriage rumble away, wondering exactly what had just happened.
CHAPTER6
Seeing her once more on the streets of Mayfair had been happenstance. With a soft, irritated grunt, Lucien admitted he had chosen to drive down that street in the hopes he might see her. But he really hadn’t expected it. Pressing his hand to his chest, he still recalled the furious way his heart had pounded when he recognized her. She had been with three other ladies that all looked remarkably alike, two almost an identical replica of Miss Ellie. But there had been something about her…perhaps the sweetness of her smile, or the way she wrinkled her nose…but he had immediately known the lady in the bright, sunshine yellow dress and bonnet was her.
His carriage had stopped, and he had waited, knowing if she continued walking he would ruthlessly close his thoughts on her and never wonder again. But she had fearlessly stepped forward, and since then he had been knotted up inside with no idea of his next step. That was so unlike him he was irritable. He was calm, logical, and found comfort in his numbers and ledgers. For the past few days they held no meaning or peace for him. Only want seemed to live within every crevice of his being.
A knock sounded.
“Come in.”
Their majordomo opened the door and walked in. “A package came for you earlier Mr. Lucien. You were not in, so I had Timothy place it in my office.”
A package? He reached for it, arching a brow at the enveloped slipped below the ribbon. “Thank you, Gibson.”
The man dipped into a bow and shuffled from the room, closing the door behind him. Slitting it open with the letter opener, Lucien unfolded the note.
Dear Mr. Glendevon,
Please see Ivanhoe, and my thanks for recommending this wildly entertaining read. Ivanhoe’s journey as he came to grips with his father disinheriting him for supporting the Norman King Richard Lionheart. I especially admired the love he felt for Lady Rowena, and I quite eagerly devoured the pages. I hardly slept and I shall have to blame you for my tiredness as I go about the day again today. I am afraid it is another round of shopping, an endless tedium and not the adventures and delight I initially assumed it would be.
Lucien chuckled, imagining how she had been amused when she wrote that bit. And suddenly in his eyes, he could see her, sitting before a small writing desk, her rich black hair loosely pinned atop her head and leaning forward writing. He returned to the letter.
That I am exhausted suggests I might fall asleep at the modiste and quite ruin myself. I found myself perusing my brother’s library and found a book I thought might be of interest to you. I do hope you enjoy it. I cannot say I look forward to discussing it should we meet again, but if you feel that you must, I shall lend a listening ear.
Yours,
Miss E. Fairbanks
Lucien chuckled, almost surprised at the burning rush of pleasure that went through him. Tearing open the package, he put aside the book he’d loaned her and considered the other. He inhaled sharply, it was a first edition ofTreatise of Algebra. That she would consider his interest and searched for a book she thought he might enjoy filled him with heady warmth.
“You have been darkly introspective of late,” his brother said from where he sat at his large desk. “It is interesting to see you smile.”
Lucien grunted.
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the one you will get,” Lucien said, flicking the quill between his thumb and forefinger.
His brother sighed, but Lucien did not remove his gaze from the quill he flicked in his hand. His mind was reaching and plotting, and at this moment all he wanted was the solution that would silence his awakened need.
“You do not like fruitless or pointless exercises,” Ollie said, finally tugging Lucien’s attention,
Staring at his brother, he asked, “What do you mean?”
