Ada’s stomach fluttered as anticipation raced through her. He stepped a bit closer, his thigh touching hers, and she became aware of his scent – an inviting aroma that brought to mind cool country air and lemonade drinks on hot summer days. It was wonderfully fresh in the otherwise stuffy shop, but before she was able to savor it too long, he disrupted her thoughts with his touch.
It was light and gentle, barely noticeable at all. But that didn’t stop her pulse from leaping with very keen awareness. He dabbed at her, wiping a little here and there while angling her head to one side.
“Looks like a paper cut,” he murmured while pressing his handkerchief to her brow. “Darn unlucky, I’d say.”
Ada said nothing. She couldn’t. Of all the ways in which she’d imagined her afternoon going, sitting here while some gorgeous stranger tended to her would not have occurred to her in a million years.
Not only because she avoided the shop during opening hours, but because she’d lived her entire life thus far without being noticed by any man. Least of all one as young and attractive as her would be rescuer.
She was her father’s youngest daughter and as such her dreams of love and marriage were limited to the stories she read. Her dowry might have been larger had her father still lived. Unfortunately, he’d died when Ada was twelve, before he’d managed to make the same provisions for her as he’d made for his two eldest daughters.
Which was fine. Ada actually liked the education she’d gained from her uncle. He’d taught her how to bind books and how to neatly emboss the covers.
She was content and happy helping him with his small business. It was the least she could do to repay the kindness he’d shown toward her. And considering the trouble he seemed to be having these days with his increasingly stiff joints, she was reluctant to leave.
Her gaze darted toward the door and a new concern began manifesting. How could he have forgotten to lock it?
“Miss?”
Ada blinked. Her attention snapped back to the stranger. “Yes?”
The edge of his mouth lifted with a hint of amusement. “If you keep a bit of pressure on the handkerchief, your wound will soon stop bleeding.”
Momentarily confused, she stared at him until he raised an inquisitive brow. “Oh. Right. Of course.”
Heavens, he must think she’d hit her head harder than what was the case.
Straightening in an attempt to conceal her flustered state, she raised her hand so she could take over from him. Their fingers brushed during the brief exchange, and it was as though she’d touched a hot kettle. She gasped and went utterly still.
If he noticed, he gave no indication. Instead, he stepped away and glanced around the shop before turning to face her once more. “I don’t suppose you know where the clerk might be?”
“Um…”
He returned to the spot where she’d stood when he’d first arrived and bent to pick up the fallen book. “Soldier of Fortune by Thomas Ashe. An interesting choice.”
Ada shrugged. “It’s one of the few novels I’ve not yet read.”
3
Anthony gaped at the young woman who sat behind the counter. A tendril of dark blonde hair had come loose from her coiffure to curl across her shoulder. Dressed in a simple gown cut from light green fabric, she might have struck him as plain had her eyes not been the first thing he’d noticed about her.
But the blueness of her gaze had arrested him and forced him to pay attention as soon as he’d gotten a better look.
In doing so, he’d noticed her delicate features comprised of high cheekbones, a slim nose, a softly curved upper lip, and an elegant neck. She’d been staring at the floor, at the book that had landed upon her head. Until she’d realized he’d rounded the bookcase and was standing beside her.
Her gaze had shifted, travelling the length of his body and causing his pulse to quicken. She’d raised her chin and his stomach had clenched when he’d spotted the blood on her brow. For reasons he could not explain, something about her – an innocent vulnerability he’d never encountered before – made him revolt against any harm coming to her.
Anthony dropped his gaze to the book in his hand and dismissed the notion. How ridiculous of him to have such musings about an absolute stranger.
“You’ve read the rest?” he asked when he became aware of the silence between them.
“With a few exceptions. Frankenstein and The Vampyre don’t appeal to me much, and there are some other works I’ve attempted without completing.”
“Your library must be impressive.”
She bit her lip, appeared to consider how best to respond, and finally sighed. “I live upstairs. My uncle owns the shop.”
“Really?” Not a Society miss then but someone whose story held much more interest.
