I yanked back my hand, whirling to meet the stranger who had suddenly appeared by my side and wantedmybook. Mussed hair, dark brows, and a pair of deep-set dark eyes arrested my gaze. His firm jaw tightened, and his lips pursed into a sharp line. But my eyes were not done. They dropped to his well-fitted jacket over his athletic shoulders and chest, oddly streaked with dirt. He could have been a hero in a gothic novel.
I did not fully understand the entire picture before me, but what I knew was enough. This disheveled man, handsome though he may be, did not deserve a first quarto any more than I did. In fact, I could arguethat I would take better care of it if his ill-kempt attire were proof of anything. First quartos were historic relics of literature.
His scowl deepened, and with the war speed of Ares, we both reached for the book again. This time our hands both met the book’s spine—mine at the bottom and his at the top. We yanked it from the shelf, but there was no clear victor. Indeed, there was hardly enough space for a proper tug-of-war.
“Ladies first,” I argued, pulling it toward me.
“Ah, but chivalry must step aside for fairness. I clearly had the book first.” He drew the book closer to him this time, coincidentally pressing the back of my hand to his rather firm chest.
I tried to pull the book away, but he was much stronger than me. “That cannot be possible. We both reached it at the same time.”
His jaw worked together—I might have been watching with rapid interest. Only, of course, because I had not been this close to a man before and not because I was ogling him. At least, I did not think so, even if I was oddly fascinated by his every feature, including a freckle on his sharp jawline.
Ahem, not that I noticed.
After a moment, I found my voice. “I suppose we are at an impasse.”
His brows tightened and then relaxed again. “Unfortunately, we cannot share it.” The tension suddenly left the death grip between us, and the stranger released his end of the book. “Forgive me, it’s yours. I became excited and did not act in the manner of a gentleman.” He took a purposeful step back, allowing me breathing room.
I glanced down at the cover.Romeo and Juliet. The most historic star-crossed lovers of all time. And it was mine. I swallowed. This man’s generosity sent a wave of guilt crashing through my resolve. “Are youcertain you want to give it to me?” He was a true gentleman to relinquish such a prize, but what did that make me? Abominably selfish?
“Will you at least humor me and tell me the date it was published?” he asked.
“Indeed,” I whispered, opening the book. I held it out for him to see the date.
He let out a low whistle. “1597. She’s a beauty.”
I liked that he called the collection ashe, giving it a feminine note, and with an air of respect that he no doubt offered to all the ladies of his acquaintance. I could not even blame him for his rudeness moments ago because his passion aligned with my own. Indeed, I was the one with her manners in question.
“You . . . you should take it.” I could barely force the words out. I wanted this copy. I wanted it far more than I wanted Clodwick.
“You don’t mean that, and we both know it,” he said. “There is a bench outside the shop. You can excuse any guilt you feel by letting me peruse your copy for a few minutes after you purchase it.”
I smiled. “For such a small favor, I feel quite indebted. Thank you.”
The gentleman retreated from the shop to wait for me outside while I found my way to the proprietor of the shop, seated behind a counter. He paused his work in mending a broken spine long enough to help me.
“Find another gem, Miss Delafield?”
As Quillsbury was on the other side of Surrey from Writcombe, I had frequented the shop with my yearly visits to my sister. Enough time, it seemed, to become well acquainted with Mr. Wordsworth. “A gem, indeed.” I held up the book to show it to him.
Mr. Wordsworth’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, I thought that one might catch your eye.”
“You know my taste well.” As I did not carry enough pin money to pay in full, I requested the cost be added to my sister’s tab, which thankfully was in good standing. I would have to request money from Papa, but I knew he would indulge me. Although he did not like it known about my writing for the protection of my reputation, I had inherited my love of books from him.
After paying for the book and wishing Mr. Wordsworth well, I let myself out of the shop. Tabitha stood outside in deep conversation with an older woman I did not recognize. I pointed to the bench behind her, and she nodded.
The gentleman stood at the opposite end of it. “Please, have a seat, Miss Page.”
“Miss Page?” I frowned. Had he confused me with someone else?
His grin was disarming. Intriguing. Marvelous. For a fleeting moment, words were flying through my head with the utmost clarity.
“Forgive me,” he said. “As we have no mutual acquaintance to introduce us, I took the liberty of coming up with a name for you myself: Miss First Page. Seeing as all I know about you would fit in a few paragraphs, it felt fitting.”
I laughed at his cleverness and took a seat, handing him my new book. “Then you can be Mr. Prologue—the beginning of our acquaintance.”
“Brief acquaintance, I’m afraid. I am only passing through town.”
