“Goodnight,” I mutter and rush inside my room, slamming the door behind me harder than I intended. My legs are weak and trembling as I scurry to my bed. I fall upon the plush blankets and cast a glance around the room to ensure Daphne is still out. With no sign of my furry roommate, I plunge one hand under the hem of my chemise, seeking the slick aching center of me. The other hand I bring to my lips, pressing them to the place William kissed, stifling my panting breaths while I work my much-needed release.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EDWINA
The next morning, I leave the comfort of the Verity Hotel for the first time since arriving in the city of Vernon. Three things surprise me next. The first is that our destination is right across the street, at a bookshop. The second is that even though I’ve seen no break in the snowfall outside my hotel room window, only the lightest, most perfect dusting of fluff coats the streets, and the sidewalks aren’t at all slick, filthy, or icy. It’s nothing like the snow in Bretton, wreaking havoc on the roads, sending coaches and automobiles careening into each other.
The third thing that surprises me is the massive line that starts at the bookshop door and winds all the way around the next corner. Maybe that shouldn’t come as a shock. This may be the first time I’ve seen a line out the door in advance of our signing, but William has been popular everywhere we’ve gone, whether it’s a signing, a party, or a pub.
“Let’s go around back and enter through the alley,” Monty says as we cross the street from the hotel. Today, I am not on time, having woken up a half hour later than I was supposed to. William and Daphne are already inside, so it’s just me and the publicist. Thankfully, I still have twenty minutes to spare before the signing begins.
Monty leads me down the opposite end of the street from where the line is going, then guides me behind the row of buildings to a snow-dusted alley. I rub my gloved hands over my arms to generate heat. Even in my warmest wool coat and the long-sleeved tartan day dress I wear beneath it, the chill is pervasive. We stop at a door and Monty raps his knuckles on it. My breath comes out in misty puffs of air as I bounce on the balls of my feet—anything to distract myself from the cold.
The door opens and an elderly man with gray hair and watery blue eyes greets us. “Come in, come in!”
I could weep from the delectable warmth that surrounds me as we step into the back room of the bookshop. Crates upon crates fill nearly all the available space, some haphazardly stacked, but there’s a charm to the clutter. Not to mention the scent of paper that always sets me at ease. How could it not? The smell of books is universally loved and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.
Monty introduces me to the man. His name is Mr. Cordell and he’s the owner of the bookshop.
“It’s such a pleasure, Miss Danforth,” he says, his tone gentle yet refined. His expression turns bashful. “I’m a big fan of yours. TheGoverness in Loveseries is one of my all-time favorites.”
My mouth falls open. “Really? Which book of mine do you like best?”
“Oh, don’t make me choose. But please allow me to take your coat and gloves. Then I’ll warm you up with a nice cup of cider.” He grins and his eyes crinkle at the corners.
What an adorable man. A kindred spirit if I’ve ever met one.
I hand over my outerwear, which he hangs on one of three coat racks that stand in the back room amongst the crates. He places my dark-green coat beside a much larger black one. I can’t help wondering if that’s William’s. Monty didn’t bother to wear a coat to cross the street, so there’s nothing of his to take. Mr. Cordell leads us out of the back room and into the main portion of the bookshop.
The first sight of bookshelves has me relaxing even further. My eyes dart this way and that to take it all in. The shop is nearly as cluttered as the back room was, with overstuffed shelves, clusters of bookcases used to section off different genres, and tables stacked with featured titles. Handwritten notes are interspersed throughout the shelves with personalized recommendations from Mr. Cordell or the other employees.
The bookshop may not have the whimsy of Flight of Fancy or the elegance of the university library, but there’s a charm to it that makes this my favorite stop yet.
“We’re over here,” Monty says, peeking out from behind a bookcase. I must have gotten distracted in my admiration of the shop, for I have no recollection of losing him or Mr. Cordell. I hurry over to Monty and the maze of shelves opens to the most beautiful sight I could ever hope to see. The romance section. It consists of an entire wall of shelves flanked by two smaller bookcases to create a comfortable little nook. Two tables are set inside it, where William and I will be signing. Spines in every color march along the shelves, and I nearly have a heart attack at the sight of myGoverness in Loveseries featured with their covers facing out and taking up four whole shelves directly behind our tables.
Movement draws my eye to where Daphne’s tiny paw sets a copy ofThe Governess and the Faeon the table from behind. I’m about to help her but Monty does first.
“I told you not to unpack the crates alone,” he mutters as he crouches behind the table and stacks my books, several at a time, upon it.
I still can’t see much of Daphne behind the table, but I catch her monotone. “I wouldn’t have had to if you were on time.”
“Weenie.”
I stiffen at the sound of William’s voice. My pulse skitters. With all the composure I can manage, I face him. His appearance greatly contrasts with how he looked last night. Though his hair maintains the same reckless abandon it normally does, it’s less mussed. His blue eyes are clear instead of heavy-lidded. He wears a full suit, charcoal gray this time, and his cravat is neatly tied. The jewelry in his ears is now silver, the same shade as his brocade waistcoat.
There’s no sign of discomfort or embarrassment in his posture or the crooked curl of his lips. Why would there be? He may have taunted me to use my free pass while he was inebriated, but it’s not like he wouldn’t do that while sober. And even though I flustered him when he caught sight of me in my chemise, he recovered faster than I did.
I’m the one who stayed flustered. I’m the one who busied my hands between my legs while thinking of him, something I’ve never done before. By that, I mean I normally fantasize about imaginary lovers, letting scenes from my books play out in my mind. Last night, though…
I absently rub my fingers over the back of my hand. The place he kissed. The placeIkissed while I came last night. My breaths grow shallow at the memory.
Thank heavens he can’t read my mind.
“Mr. Cordell asked me to give you this.” He hands me a porcelain mug, one of two he’s holding.
I accept it, looking anywhere but at him. The steaming mug fills the air with the delectable scent of apples and cinnamon.The taste is even better, tart and sweet with the perfect balance of spice. I take another sip, letting it distract me from the heat of William’s proximity.
“Did you see the line?” he asks, tone casual.
