She shook her head. It was Catherine’s book, then, and the mystery of why her sister had such a volume in her possession could wait for a later interview.
Patience held fast to the book and smiled politely. “I thank you for bringing this error to my attention. I will ensure that the necessary corrections and repairs are made.”
“That is all you mean to say?”
“I cannot imagine what else I would say. It appears that no one was inconvenienced by the mistake, and by your own admission, there is no cause to send apologizes to your mother or sister.”
“But I was grievously affronted.” The wicked glint in his eyes hinted otherwise.
Patience gave him an icy look. “But a glance, sir, apprised me of the book’s content, and given your reputation, I hardly expect the content was a shock to you.”
He grinned. “Was it a shock to you, Miss Carruthers?”
“I hardly see that the reply is of any import at all.”
“Oh, but I see it as a very worthy question.” He leaned closer and she could not avert her gaze from his cursed confidence—or those eyes dancing with mischief. What would he say? He lowered his voice to a whisper that she found inappropriately seductive. “I must wonder whether you included that volume on purpose.”
Patience retreated a step. “To what end, sir?”
“To provoke me into thinking of you.” He tapped the counter with a fingertip. “Perhaps to create this very opportunity for discussion.”
Patience felt her mouth open and close again. She had no reply to such an audacious suggestion.
Mr. Beckham nodded with a surety in his own notion that was irksome beyond all. “Perhaps you wished to speak with me. Many young ladies do. I assure, you, Miss Carruthers, that I am yours to command.” He consulted his pocket watch as she was amazed by his high opinion of his own charms. “For the next seven minutes. After that, I will be obliged to attend my mother.” He closed the watch and returned it to his pocket and regarded her, his pert expression reminding her of a sparrow keeping track of a particularly tasty crumb.
“I did no such thing,” Patience said. “Though I am reluctant to confess as much lest you be overly disappointed in the measure of your own allure.”
He laughed, a loud and merry sound that made more than one patron turn to look. Patience felt her color rising. “Touché, Miss Carruthers. You put me in my place for making assumptions about your interest.”
“If I did include the book, it was by accident, though I have no recollection of so doing.”
“Then I should take it back, as perhaps it does not belong to Carruthers & Carruthers.”
Patience tightened her grip upon the volume. “We did have a report of a lost book of this title in the spring. I shall see it returned to its rightful owner.”
“May I witness that exchange?”
“To what purpose?”
“I imagine, Miss Carruthers, that you blush most emphatically.” His gaze swept over her, an appreciative gleam in his eyes. “You are so fair. It must be bewitching to watch, and I cannot imagine that you could return that volume without a blush or two.”
“Oh!” Patience felt her cheeks heat. “You are audacious beyond all, Mr. Beckham.”
“I know.” He grinned, then touched the brim of his hat. “Perhaps that is unlike other young men of your acquaintance.”
“You have no notion…”
“Why else would I surprise you so?” He gave a dramatic sigh. “I suppose that you have a very proper betrothal arrangement, to a very proper clerk who is a very suitable match for the proper daughter of a proper bookseller and publisher, and as such, is not a man to make such improperly bold suggestions.” He lifted a brow, which made him look disreputable indeed. The twinkle in his eyes did not mitigate the impression at all. “Perhaps you peruse such volumes with him?”
“I have no betrothed,” Patience said crisply. “I yearn for no man to take my hand within his, for I have books for companionship.”
“A book like that might keep you awake long into the night. It did as much for me.”
What was in that book? Patience wished she’d had more than a glance, but she wouldn’t open it while Mr. Beckham was still watching her. The deed would give him far too much satisfaction and he was already insufferably convinced that he could guess her every impulse.
It would have been so much more satisfactory if he had been mistaken.
She lifted her chin. “Everyone should be so fortunate as to be kept awake at night by a good book,” she said, not expecting his loud guffaw. Evidently, she had surprised him, for he strove to cover his amusement, though her father gave him a stern look from the back of the shop.
