Etta rolled her eyes. ‘I was vaguely hoping to buy some books, but it turns out all the shops are closed. Which is extremely annoying.’
He sighed. ‘Well, yes, itisSunday.’
She bristled with the injustice of it. ‘Well, what are you doing out and about then if it’s Sunday and we’re all supposed to be sitting around praying to Jesus and stuff?’
Max rubbed his temples again and looked genuinely frustrated. It was a good look for him, Etta decided.
‘Off to see your mates, maybe. Or … your lady friend?’
She’d taken it too far; he looked appalled. ‘Hetty!’
‘You can call me Etta. I’m Etta.’
‘Etta, then! Oh god – Miss Bainbridge, I mean. You can’t— You can’t say things like that!’
Etta examined him closely. She wasn’t sure she liked this conversation. It was very much following the Ladies Do Not pattern her mother was so fond of.
‘Aren’t we childhood friends or something? Ugh. It feels like I’m not allowed to talk aboutanythingin this place.’
Max had gone back to rubbing his temples. ‘Miss Bainbridge, you must learn to behave. You can’t go around asking about “lady friends” – which I donothave – and you certainly can’t wander around London unattended. On any day of the week.’
‘Well, I’m not alone now, am I? You’re here. And since you’re Lord something-or-other—’
‘Stanhope.’
‘Well,’ Etta continued, ‘since you’reLord Stanhope, can’t you get this bookshop to magically open? My father’s library has absolutely nothing worth reading, and the piano music here is just awful.’
Etta heard a mild groan escape his lips. Very manly lips, she thought, gazing at him. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen. So why was she not doing her usual thing, blushing her face off and stammering?
She’d absolutely never seen him before that night in the cellar – she knew for sure – but she felt comfortable around him. He just seemed … Right. Just right. Like the porridge Goldilocks ended up eating. Warm, comforting. She could be herself around him – a brand-new feeling, and one she had stopped hoping to find anywhere in life, let alone so far from home.
Etta felt a zip of excitement as she nudged him in the side. ‘Come on. If anyone can get this bookshop open, it’s you,’ she cajoled, eyes shining.
For a moment, Max looked at Etta like he wanted to eat her up. Then he seemed to recall himself and ran a hand distractedly through his hair, completing the overall look of a deeply ruffled man. He took a deep breath. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said, in a vaguely desperate voice. ‘I can’t exactly leave you out on the street unchaperoned. I’m already here to meet Higgins anyway.’
Etta cheered, wholly inappropriately, as he knocked on the door. Higgins, who must have heard them talking from his rooms upstairs, was already hurrying through the shop towards them.
‘Lord Stanhope! How excellent to see you. And … Miss—?’
‘Yes, good afternoon, Higgins. I’ve brought Miss Bainbridge.’ Max ushered her inside brusquely. ‘I don’t suppose you could help her find the books she’s looking for, could you? And perhaps one of your sons might kindly run to the Bainbridges’ London residence at St Peter’s Square and alert her parents as to her whereabouts – I believe her maid has taken a wrong turn.’
The older man looked disapprovingly at Etta; evidently them being here together was not the done thing. Oh dear. But Mr Higgins took his cue from Max thankfully.
‘Not a problem, my lord,’ he said. ‘Perhaps my daughter could help the young lady while we discuss that book you ordered. I’ve had a letter back, and it is all most mysterious.’
Etta loved a mystery more than almost anything in the world. ‘Oooh, what’s mysterious?’
‘Miss Bainbridge, no,’ Max said, goaded into mild exasperation. ‘Stay here with Miss Higgins and choose your books. I’ll be back for you shortly. Do not even think of leaving without me.’
Etta glared at him, turning pointedly towards a slightly intimidated Miss Higgins. ‘Tell me, Miss Higgins. Do you have anything naughty?’
Max appeared to grit his teeth, but gestured to Higgins to lead the way.
Etta turned back to Higgins’ daughter. ‘No really, though, do you have anything naughty?’
Miss Higgins giggled, and Etta instantly knew she had found a kindred spirit. She was blissfully piling armfuls of classic novels onto the elegant wooden counter when she next heard Max’s voice emanating from Higgins’ office in the back. The bookshop had exceeded her expectations; she had rarely been so excited – first editions of Jane Austen novels! – but her ears pricked up nonetheless.
‘Going to be named? So you’re telling me they haven’t gone to print yet?’
