Instead, she’d been somewhat overwhelmed. It had been a wild night. However, before Mr. Steele’s lips could meet hers, her sisters had interfered. One of them—Dara or Elise, she never learned which—had clubbed him over the head with a hefty piece of wood. He had dropped like a bag of sand, and they had been proud of themselves. They believed they had rescued Gwendolyn.
After the clubbing, there was nothing to do but run. Few men were happy being bashed over the head. Furthermore, Gwendolyn had also been concerned about what Mr. Steelehadasked for in payment for his help—a favor. At the time, she’d believed it a rather inappropriate price. She had even attempted to return the money he had loaned her out of her winnings. He’d refused. He had insisted he preferred a favor.
However, since their arrival in London, Gwendolyn had crossed paths with Mr. Steele several times, and the more she saw him, the more she realized exactly how attracted she was to him.
He was more than handsome and worldly. He was a mystery. He wove in and out of Society at will, and his name was spoken in a hushed whisper by both upper and lower classes. She’d come to believe there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do.
She no longer minded owing him that favor. Someday he would ask her for it and expect her to comply. Gwendolyn couldn’t wait.
And if he ever tried to kiss her again, he’d not escape her a second time.
But he’d better act soon. She couldn’t put Dara off forever. Especially if Elise returned to London and joined forces with her. They might sway Gwendolyn. An unmarried woman’s life was a boring one. Other than Hatchard’s and shopping, there was little Gwendolyn could do with just a maid for an escort. The truth was, Gwendolyn wasn’t eager to marry. Her heart longed for adventure and challenges like the characters in her favorite novels. She didn’t want the life of a gentlewoman where the biggest thrill was marriage, followed by children, old age, and death. Her sisters might find this path suitable; Gwendolyn did not.
Most of all, along with adventure, Gwendolyn wanted Mr. Steele. It was that simple. No other man would do. She admired the way he determined his own destiny. She envied his freedom to do as he pleased. Gwendolyn was perfectly at peace being alone, but if she was to share her life, then she wanted someoneexciting.
And if Dara knew what her oldest sister was thinking, she would lock Gwendolyn up in a trunk and ship her back to Ireland.
Therefore, if ever there was a woman needing a good book to hold the problems of life at bay, it was Gwendolyn. She prayed Hatchard’s had that Maria Edgeworth novel that had been sent to a subscriber in the country several months ago. She had been impatiently waiting for its return. She couldn’t understand why they hadn’t just purchased another copy for their patrons. If the Edgeworth wasn’t there, she might seek out something on mythology. She adored the stories of the gods.
She left Molly outside on a bench by the front door. Gwendolyn delighted in the feel of paper and the smell of glue and bindings and could spend hours asking the clerks to take books down for her to consider. She did not want Molly’s sighs of boredom to interfere with her pleasure.
“Hello, Mr. Peters,” she sang out as she entered the shop. There were several clerks busy with customers and fussing with books behind thecounters. However, Mr. Peters always rushed to see to her needs, and she liked the extra attention.
“Miss Lanscarr, what a pleasure.” Mr. Peters was around her age. He had prominent ears that turned bright pink whenever she addressed him. Sometimes, to his great embarrassment, his voice would crack. “I was just thinking of sending you a note.”
“Really? Why?”
“We have a book here with your name on it.” He pointed to a ledger where a record of requests was kept.
“Has the Edgeworth finally come in?” She moved expectantly to the counter. “I seem to have been waiting for it forever.”
“It is a popular novel and, unfortunately, it hasnotbeen returned yet. Never fear, I’m watching for it for you. However, here is the other one you requested.” He turned and took a slim volume off a shelf.
“I’ve made no other requests,” Gwendolyn said, confused.
“It has your name on it. Of course, if there is a mistake, I can put it back—”
“No, no, let me see it,” Gwendolyn said, holding out her hand. “Perhaps I asked for something and forgot. That is possible.”
He smiled as if he didn’t believe she could ever make a mistake, and as he did so, he noticed the title of the book.“Oh—”He paused. “I—I just noticed the name of this book. Someone elseset it aside for you. I don’t believe this is proper reading for a gently reared woman.”
Proper reading? A chill of outrage went down her spine. No one supervised her reading, especially not the milk-and-water Mr. Peters. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked, too sweetly.
He turned the book around for her to read the title. “It’s Dante’sInferno.”
“Is it in the original Italian?” she queried haughtily.
Mr. Peters appeared confused. He shook his head. “It is the Boyd.”
“I have not read that one.”
“Have you read the Italian?”
Gwendolyn could not read Italian. “Of course.” She waved her flat hand impatiently, showing she expected the book.
His brow furrowed in concern as if she had fallen a notch in his estimation. She could live with that.
He handed the book over and then, his own back stiff, he busied himself behind the counter.
