Her chocolate house. If he forgot himself in her presence for a moment, there it was to remind him.
He was tempting fate by forming any connection to such a woman. Hadn’t he learned his lesson?
“For you to decide if you have the energy to take on another commitment then,” he said briskly. “But I thought we agreed it would be a small volume. And you’re free to copy anything you need from my book for the overlapping subjects. There’s no need to spend months on something you’re only using as a tool to promote your other venture.”
“The idea may have started with Bishop’s, but if I’m going to do this, then I’ll do it properly. Could we compromise and say two months?”
“Very well.” At least she was industrious. Maybe she really would write the book.
“Excellent. Now, I was wondering how you compile your list of attractions. Have you selected every place in your guide from personal experience, or do you rely on the recommendations of friends?” She was watching him with such effortless trust that it made Lyman uncomfortable. Miss Danby presumed him to be wise, when he could barely hold his own life together. She must not have heard the stories. She would never look at him that way if she had. “I wouldn’t want to cut corners, but if I’m going to include shops, I can hardly go out and buy something everywhere to compare.”
“I could help you shop.” It was Miss Annabelle who spoke, her voice hopeful, but at her sister’s look she sighed and returned to her reading.
“I’ve been to every place I mentioned,” Lyman explained. “But I confer with friends as well, to make sure my experience matches theirs.”
“You can’t have been toeveryplace,” she insisted. “You’ve included both White’s and Brooks’s, but surely you don’t have memberships to both.”
And they were back to gambling clubs again. They couldn’t seem to escape the topic for more than a minute.
“Nearlyevery one,” he corrected.
“Which is your club?”
Was this how she sized men up? She probably thought of little else. A woman didn’t build her own club unless she’s been seduced by the game.
“Neither.”
“Beg pardon?” Miss Danby seemed not to believe what she’d heard.
Perhaps they’d best get this out of the way.
“I object to gambling.”
“Oh.” Understanding came over her face. “Isthatwhy you dislike me?”
“I don’t dislike you,” Lyman replied, startled. She was so unguarded. Not merely plainspoken, as he was. It was as though she were incapable of shielding her heart from the slights of others.
He had a horrible premonition he would hurt her before this was over, if he hadn’t done so already. She seemed determined to seek out her own ruination, and what man was more apt to bring it about than him?
The room suddenly seemed not to have enough air.
“Yes, you do.” Miss Danby tried to laugh, but it rang hollow. Her tone was carefully light as she continued. “I must say I don’t care for it.”
No, she wouldn’t. She was in every way pleasing—her looks, her spirit, her wit. She probably had a collection of admirers. He should offer her some compliment to reassure her of her virtues and set their conversation back to right. But the words wouldn’t come.
“You make me uneasy,” he admitted. “That’s not the same thing.”
Her sister was watching them with something like shock in her eyes, but when Lyman spotted her, they darted back down to her book.
“Do you feel the same way about male gamblers, or is it because I’m a woman?”
“The same way about all gamblers.”
“You must avoid half of London then. And here I’d assumed the author of such a book must be a bon vivant.”
His father had used those words to describe him, once.
“We’re getting off track.” Lyman cleaned his spectacles on his handkerchief, mostly to give himself somewhere else to look. It was hard to meet her eye, suddenly. “This meeting is supposed to be about your book. If you don’t have anything more important to ask me, perhaps I should be on my way.”
