“Pritchard responded to my letter,” he said, gesturing with a piece of parchment.
Ellis straightened and angled herself slightly toward him, relieved he seemed not to be aware of her notice. On Monday, they’d dispatched a letter to Oliver Pritchard, the librarian they employed in Oxford. Keele and Mr. Lacey had discussed making him the head librarian on New Bond Street but first wanted to ascertain whether he was interested.
“What does he say?” Ellis asked.
“He’s quite enthusiastic about the prospect.” Keele set the letter on the desk, grimacing faintly. Then he pressed his hand against his forehead before wiping it down over his eyes. “Unfortunately, that means I have to determine what to do with Mr. Inman, the librarian at New Bond Street.”
Ellis knew Mr. Inman from when she’d visited the library with Min, but she hadn’t told Keele that. She didn’t want him to know anything so specific about the life she’d led before coming to work for him. He already knew too much, since he was aware of her friendship with Pandora and other influential—as he called them—people.
“I assumed Inman was retiring, and that was why you were seeking a replacement,” she said. “Is that not the case?”
Keele shook his head. “Pritchard is an exceptionally good librarian—he’s grown the subscriptions at Oxford exponentially. We’d like to see him in charge at our largest branch.” He frowned. “But I hate to displace Inman. He’s been with the New Bond Street branch since Josiah opened it over a decade ago.”
“That is a dilemma,” she said softly.
Roman sat forward in his chair and leaned toward her over the desk. “Do you have any suggestions for how I might deal with this situation? Inman is past sixty. Shouldn’t he want to retire?”
As it happened, Ellis knew Mr. Inman wished to spend more time with his children and grandchildren, particularly after his wife had died last year. However, she couldn’t tell Keele any of that without revealing how she knew. “He may. I would say that people like to feel valued, especially at the end of their service. Perhaps if you made his retirement seem like an honor that he’s earned, he might embrace it.”
“I know he’s widowed,” Keele said. “I’m concerned he appreciates having this job to fill his days.”
“Perhaps you could give him something to do that takes less time,” Ellis suggested.
“That’s a good idea. Inman has been an extraordinary asset to Lacey and Company. I would truly hate to lose him entirely.” He thought for a moment before meeting her gaze once more. “Do you have any thoughts as to what he could do?”
Ellis lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps he can be a consulting librarian. He could host literary discussions in one of the reading rooms. You could even name the room after him. I imagine he would feel very honored.”
Keele grinned, and Ellis felt as though she were floating. The room around them disappeared, leaving her in just the glorious warmth of his smile.
“You are a genius, Ellis.”
“Thank you.” She liked his compliments more than she should, and now she was back to thinking about how attracted she was to him. Perhaps that was because he was staring at her mouth.
He suddenly stood and leaned further over the desk. What was he doing? Had he somehow read her thoughts, felt the same attraction, and decided to act upon it?
Reaching out, he nearly put his thumb to her lower lip. But he froze just before he made contact with her flesh. Their eyes met and held. Her breath caught.
Again, the room stilled and faded. Ellis felt a pull toward Keele, like a magnet drawing her. She parted her lips.
He blinked. The spell dissipated, and the study returned. Ellis took a breath.
“Forgive me.” He withdrew his hand and sat back down. “You’ve ink on your lip. At least, I think it’s ink.”
Oh. “That happens sometimes when I’m writing.” She turned her body toward her desk once more and shifted her focus to her work. “I’ll tidy it when I’m finished with this letter. I’ve only a few lines left.”
“Should I get you a mirror to keep in your desk?” he asked. “So that you can ensure you don’t have ink on your face in future?”
“No,” she replied quickly, self-conscious that her appearance was lacking, which was ridiculous, because she didn’t even look like herself. He’d never even seen her as a woman. What did it matter if his secretary had ink on his lip?
She hurriedly finished the letter, then practically jumped to her feet. “Please excuse me for a few minutes.”
“Please don’t worry about the ink,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.”
She couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m quite comfortable.” How asinine that sounded.
Her heart had not slowed to a regular pace since he’d nearly touched her, and she realized it had nothing to do with the ink on her face and everything to do with how much she wanted him to touch her. The reason she needed to leave right now was not to clean her face, though she would, but to calm herself and cool the heat rising within her. This attraction she felt for her employer was dangerous, and she could not afford to lose her job. She simply had to stop thinking of him as an alluring gentleman.
That would be much easier if he could just stop being one.
