He followed to stand beside her as he held his hand out to the right. “Yes, and these are on ancient Rome.”
Her face lit with excitement. “Let me guess.” She pointed to the following bookcase. “Are those on Egypt?”
She learned quickly. He barely kept from smiling with pleasure. “Indeed, they are.”
She strode past the next six sections then stopped. “Oh my, we are only in Anglo-Saxon times.” She skimmed the shelves and those in the next section. “But where are theBeowulfverses? Surely you must have a copy of Turner’s literature.” She looked over her shoulder at him, her lock falling over the bare skin of her back and past the neckline of her dress to rest at the top of her shoulder blade.
Alexander Pope’s question in his comic poemRape of the Lockin which a gentleman did indeed desire a woman so much that he cut off her lock, suddenly made sense to him.Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel A well-bred lord t’ assault a gentle belle?The answer could not be expressed in words and was perhaps why he always thought the poem not worth the time. But now he understood how a simple lock could bring a man to great wanting.
“Your Grace?”
What were they discussing? Pope? No,Beowulf. He must stay focused. He raised his brow. “I do. In fact, I have those verses as well as the more recent translated ones by Professor Conybeare, one of my former teachers at Oxford. Those are in my literature section.”
She turned fully around at that, “You have more verses? I would so enjoy reading those. I found the ones by Turner to be rather a tease. I was unaware that more had been accomplished. Are they in English or Latin?”
Her enthusiasm was rare, even among the few scholars he’d met with. It triggered a like response in himself. “Conybeare translated them into Latin and English. I have the Latin, but he’s promised to send me the English version, if you’d like to wait.”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t bear to wait. The Latin version is fine.”
Of course, she’d said she read Latin. Stifling the urge to run up to the second floor and pull the pamphlet from the shelves, he forced himself to remember his plan. He pointed across the room. “On that side I have geography, flora and fauna, mechanical science, medical science, chemical science, and some mathematics,” he grimaced. “On that wall is astronomy, philosophy, and religion.” He purposefully strolled toward his desk, watching her to see if she’d shy away from the obvious space where his book had been.
As they approached, her eyes scanned the shelves. “This is twice the size of the rest of your shelving, but it has an odd assortment of subjects. Are these books waiting to be shelved in their appropriate place? We have a small table at home that often has four or five books that need shelving, but not nearly this many.” Her perusal didn’t appear to be any more or less interested than the other shelves she’d seen.
Either she was an adept actress, or she hadn’t taken the book. He stopped before the open space on the shelf to explain, never taking his gaze off her. “You are partially correct. These on the lower four shelves still need to find a permanent home. The ones on the upper four shelves are ones I use often or enjoy rereading.”
She lifted her hand to touch a book in front of her. Her brows raised. “You enjoy rereadingPamela?”
His gaze snapped to the intricately designed leather volume. “No. That’s Elsbeth.” He sighed. “I have told her that is not fit reading for her, but she fancies herself a Pamela.”
Lady Joanna smiled. “Don’t be disappointed in her. Though I’m surprised Lady Astor allowed her to read such a salacious novel, there are far worse heroines for her to fancy herself. At least Pamela is virtuous. When I was young, I was positively sure I wanted to be like Robinson Crusoe.”
“But that’s a man.” He didn’t refrain from revealing his shock.
She laughed, a full-throated sound that had his body reacting to her very womanly pleasure. “That’s exactly what my mother said. I assure you, I did not want to be a man, but I did want to create my own living conditions and prove I could survive.” Humor danced in her hazel gaze. “Don’t worry. I soon realized that no respectable woman would have the capability to survive that long alone without books to read.” She laughed again.
A chuckle escaped him, her laughter contagious. “Now that you point out that particular detail, living on a deserted island is off my list of adventures.”
She grinned. “I’m glad I could assist in shortening your list. Is it a very long one?”
“No.” He shrugged. “I was never really the adventurous sort.” He gave her a sly smile. “I always had my head in a book. There were plenty of adventures there.” He sobered. “It’s less dangerous.” And deadly, as his mother discovered.
“I agree wholeheartedly.” She turned back to the shelves and touched the empty spot. “I see the treatise on polar caps was to be shelved. I hope it’s not an inconvenience that my father is reading it.” She looked down the room to where Lord Wakefield sat.
His mood changed as he watched her, but her head was turned. Even her lock of hair wasn’t in sight. For some reason, that bothered him. “Tell me, do you like The Butterfly?”
She faced him again. “Butterflies? I adore them. Why?”
The innocent response was not what he’d expected. One of the first illustrations in the stolen book referenced The Butterfly position. It would at the very least engender a blush from any lady. Recovering quickly, he pointed across the room. “I have a number of books on butterflies.”
She lowered her voice as if to impart a secret. “Actually, I would love to see what you have upstairs.”
He swallowed hard, the blatant anticipation in her eyes had him thinking of a much more intimate reward. “Yes, well, then let us ascend.”
“Wonderful. This is quite exciting.”
Her genuine happiness at the prospect struck a like feeling in himself. That’s not what he’d wanted to accomplish with the visit, but he wouldn’t acknowledge he didn’t like it. He didn’t have friends, only acquaintances. Life was better that way, no disappointment that someone didn’t live up to his expectations. Yet he guessed that what he felt with Lady Joanna was what a friendship would feel like. He was lucky that he didn’t have to worry about a woman being a friend.
Holding his palm out toward the stairs, he allowed her to precede him. Once at the top she stilled, staring at the shelves across the room.
