“And what of love, Miss Carruthers? What of that siren’s song drawing destined partners together forever?”
Patience gave him the look he deserved for promoting such nonsense. “Love is a fleeting inducement and one unworthy of trust. If more people were sensible of its perils…”
“Then there would be far fewer people,” Mr. Beckham concluded cheerfully. “Do you not wish for children, Miss Carruthers?”
Patience felt her color rising. “That is a most inappropriate query, sir.”
“And yet I remain intrigued by your reply.” He watched her with an intensity that heated her to her toes. Patience knew she should feel fortunate that reckless young men seldom engaged in such conversations with her, yet she felt curiously invigorated by his attention.
She could not even think of a suitably dismissive reply. His eyes twinkled as her flush deepened and she swore the man was going to laugh.
“What a delightful honor to provide your amusement,” she said tartly.
“Oh, I am the one honored, Miss Carruthers. Did you know that you blush in the most beguiling way?”
“Sir!”
He leaned on the counter between them. “I am, in fact, utterly beguiled.”
Patience was very aware that this exchange would be drawn shortly to a close, one way or the other. She spoke clearly, so others could hear. “The poetry section, sir, is to the right of the pillar there, while historical sagas are on the opposite wall. I trust you will find something similar toChilde Haroldin one location or the other, or another volume to snare your interest.”
“What about more books like that one?” he asked and she glanced at him. “The one that is actually inside the binding.” He dropped his voice to a dangerous whisper and he watched her closely as he spoke. “Harris’s List of Covent Garden Ladies.”
Goodness. Is that what it was? Patience could not hide her shock at the prospect of holding a copy of that guide of courtesans and whores. She glanced down at it, curious indeed. Were its contents as scandalous as they were reputed to be?
“Aha! You know it! There is nothing, in my view, so refreshing than an educated lady.”
“Statistically, very few young women benefit from the advantage of a formal education in our society,” Patience found herself saying. When agitated, she invariably provided unwelcome statistics. “While young men, particularly those of the upper classes, routinely have tutors at a young age then attend school. Many even proceed to university to complete their educations, leaving their sisters to take dancing lessons from a governess.”
“My sister studies French, German, Latin and Italian but tends to neglect her dancing lessons.”
Patience thought she might like his sister.
“But you change the subject, Miss Carruthers. Have you read the volume in question?” Mr. Beckham murmured wickedly, the words recalling her to the situation. “If not, I could summarize it for you.”
“We do not lend or sell such volumes, sir,” she said crisply. “This work clearly does not belong here and I thank you for doing your part in seeing it reunited with its rightful owner.”
He looked left and right, then leaned over the counter, the very image of devilry. “Will you read it first, Miss Carruthers? We might arrange to meet and compare observations on the text.”
Patience barely resisted the urge to cast the book at him—but then he might abscond with it and keep it, which meant she would have no opportunity to read it herself.
Or return it to Catherine.
How had Catherine even come to have such a work in her possession?
“You make the most scandalous suggestions, Mr. Beckham. I do believe several moments have passed, perhaps even seven, and I would not detain you from your engagement with your mother. Good day.” Instead of turning to the next customer, Patience retreated into the back of the shop, where the printing presses were running noisily.
She told herself that she was not truly hiding from an aristocrat overly convinced of his own merit, but that there was no other way to terminate the conversation. Mr. Beckham seemed oddly determined to speak with her at length.
In fact, she glanced back to find his gaze still locked upon her. He lingered at the counter for long moments, apparently awaiting her return. The man must believe himself to be irresistible. He certainly had a rare ability to disconcert her, a talent possessed by very few.
He was unlike other persons of her acquaintance.
He had simply surprised her.
Patience glared at him, then retreated into her father’s office when the audacious rogue winked at her.
She peeked out a moment later to see the back of Mr. Beckham’s impeccably tailored dark blue jacket as he left the bookstore. Goodness, his shoulders were broad and she could not help but like that he was so tall. He was handsome even from the rear and even better, he would not see her looking at him. She watched as he tipped his hat to a pair of ladies entering the shop, then caught her breath when he suddenly glanced back one last time. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile when their gazes caught and her heart skipped in the same moment.
