Page 6 of Seducing the Marquess (Lords and Ladies in Love 1)

“Good afternoon, Lady Devon. Did you find books for your pleasure?” The older man greeted her as she laid her books on the counter.

For your pleasure?

She forced down a giggle. Did he know she had tucked the scandalous book into her reticule? Why had he used that particular phrase? With a lavender-scented handkerchief, she gently dabbed her upper lip where beads of moisture had formed. Lord, she never perspired. A life of crime was certainly not for her.

“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Webster.” Rattled even further by her shaky voice, she shoved the two books across the counter. “I will take these, if you please.”

He reached for the books and grinned. “I had no idea you were interested in the Aborigines, my lady.”

She gasped at the title of the book the man held out to her.

The Habits and Culture of the Aborigines by Lord Stephen Manors.

Dear heavens, was that the book she’d picked up? “Yes, as a matter of fact, I thought …well…to…to broaden my knowledge of the world,” she finished lamely.

“Very commendable, my lady.” He wrote some figures on a piece of paper and added them up. “That will be fifteen shillings.”

Eugenia stared at him aghast. How could she go into her reticule for her money? She wanted to stomp her foot at forgetting this part of the transaction. How would she do that with the man standing there staring at her?

Heat rose to her face until she felt as though she would combust. “Um, this is so silly.” She gave him a strained laugh. “But it seems I left my money at home. Could you please place this on my account—if I have one, that is?” She’d always paid for her books. In some small way it made her feel as though she had some control over her life, even though her pin money came from her husband.

“Of course, of course, my lady. Lord Devon maintains an account, and I will be happy to add your purchase to his.”

“Th-th-thank you.” One more swipe on her upper lip with her handkerchief. Since she could not go into her reticule for her money, she was indeed flat-out stealing the naughty book, after all. Before she could give too much consideration to her actions, she fled the store.

Head down, she hurried away, her mind in a jumble, not really sure which way she was walking. She had even left her poor maid, Sally, still browsing the shelves of the bookstore.

She’d walked only—nay, practically ran—about a half a block when she nearly crashed into a pair of fawn breeches, silver waistcoat, and dark brown jacket. Her eyes climbed up the figure to meet a pair of very familiar dark brown eyes. His brows rose, and he gaped at her. “Eugenia? Is everything all right, my dear?”

…

Devon stared down at his wife. His flustered wife. Something he’d never seen in six months of courting and five months of marriage. She was panting heavily, there was a light film of perspiration on her upper lip, and her face was as red as the apples being sold from the fruit cart across the street.

She regarded him, her mouth agape. Something else he’d never seen before. The poor woman was obviously in a bit of distress. “Eugenia? Is something amiss?”

Eugenia shook her head, almost as if to clear it. “No. No, nothing at all, my lord. I am fine. Just taking a stroll.” She cast him a grin that would give a small child nightmares.

“I don’t wish to contradict you, my dear, but you are flushed and seem out of sorts, and galloping along, rather than strolling. Perhaps I might escort you to Gunter’s for an ice?”

She glanced at the reticule that dangled from her wrist, and her red face paled. What the devil was going on with his usually unflappable wife? “Yes, my lord. That would be quite pleasant.”

Devon extended his elbow, which she gripped, glancing over her shoulder as if expecting to be snatched away. Very strange.

Due to the temperature of the day there was a considerable crowd outside the store. He escorted Eugenia to a small table under a tree where the air was cooler. That might help to calm her. He shook his head. Never had he experienced a need to calm Eugenia. She was…well, he had never liked the moniker the ton had bestowed on her. The Ice Queen.

She appeared a bit more composed when he joined her with the ice. She fanned herself and smiled brightly at him as he placed the ice in front of her. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. Much.” Why did he think she was lying? She kept glancing at her reticule as if she expected it to jump up and bite her. When she took a taste of h

er ice, a small piece stayed on the corner of her mouth. Distracted, she didn’t seem to even notice. He motioned with his finger to his mouth.

“What?”

“Your mouth.”

“What about my mouth?”

“You have a piece of ice stuck there.”