“What are you saying?” she asked, her nervousness apparent.
He shrugged, his broad shoulders drawing her notice. “You were sopassionateabout whatever it was you were talking about with the manager. You had me dying to know what you were about.”
Catherine felt the heat of embarrassment and knew her cheeks were red. “It’s true, I was seeking a position there at the Temple,” she admitted. “Mr. Allen eventually agreed to hire me, although he would only commit to a fortnight. I have to prove myself, you see.”
Mr. Higby lifted his head and said, “Ah, the three pounds is what he agreed to pay you, and the fortnight was your probationary time,” he reasoned. When he saw her look of dismay, he added, “I only heard ‘three pounds’ and ‘a fortnight.’”
Catherine’s eyes rounded. “Oh, dear.”
“What?”
“You must have thought we were negotiating something quite different.” Her cheeks burned hotter at the thought that any others paying witness to her discussion with Mr. Allen might think he was arranging for her to be his mistress.
For a moment, confusion crossed Matthew’s face and thenhesuddenly reddened. “Oh, no. It—I mean,that—never crossed my mind.” He winced. “And now you have me experiencing jealousy and the profound desire to pummel Mr. Allen with my fists.”
Catherine’s brows shot up, possibly to her hairline, if she were any judge of it. “Jealousy?” she whispered. She watched as Mr. Higby used his thumb and forefinger to tug one of hisearlobes. A thought of what it might feel like to nibble that curved, tender flesh had her remembering she had read about it in a book. A young lady had grasped a man’s earlobe between her teeth in an effort to bite him, and instead it had rendered her—and him—to the vagaries of their forbidden desires.
The most amazing sensation cascaded through Catherine’s abdomen, and she gasped softly.
“Is there something wrong with my ear?” Mr. Higby asked, his forefinger tracing the whorl before he used the flat of his hand to cover it completely.
Shaking her head, Catherine returned her attention to his face. “Nothing at all. Your… tugging on it had me wondering if it was bothering you is all.”
His brows furrowed, as if he was considering how to respond. “Old habit,” he admitted. “From when I was younger.”
“You experienced aches in your ears?” she guessed.
He nodded. “Just this one,” he said, waving to his right ear. “And only in the winters, or when it was wet and rainy.” He dipped his head as if embarrassed by the admission.
“Oh, dear. Then almost all the time?”
He chuckled, his expression displaying joy that had her heart hammering in her chest and flutterbies dancing about in her stomach. She was so intrigued by the dimple that appeared at the base of his right cheek, she nearly lifted a finger to poke at it.
Slowly sobering, he regarded first her left ear and then her right with a critical eye. “Something tells me you never suffered an earache,” he guessed.
She shook her head. “I did not, but then I wasn’t a sickly child.”
“Well, neither was I,” he claimed. “Well, except for the earaches.”
“And now?”
He continued to stare at her, as if he were memorizing every feature of her face. “I cannot remember the last time I experienced one.”
“I’m very glad for you.”
“Glad enough you might consider allowing me to court you?” he asked.
Catherine couldn’t help the unexpected thrill she felt at hearing his words. “How could I turn down such a request from a bookworm?”
He displayed a grimace. “How, indeed?” he countered.
“Using the term ‘bookworm’ was not meant with any sort of disrespect,” she hurried to say. “Quite the opposite. And you shouldn’t be concerned if your only reading is of novels. Contrary to what my father believes, fictional tales are every bit as important as the books written to inform or educate.”
“You read novels?”
“I do. Although I occasionally read those published by Minerva Press, I am not particularly taken by gothic novels,” she replied. “I am not fond of horror.”
“Neither am I. Receiving the daily post is enough horror for me,” he claimed.
