Chapter Nineteen
T adworth House was on the edge of St. James’s Square and did not stand out from the rest in any noticeable fashion.
Until you stepped inside.
Kitty had never seen so much green, from the glass chandelier to the lime velvet curtains to the embroidered cushions all sporting toads of one type or another. The paintings were also on theme: mostly ponds and fens. The footman’s livery was in the same eye-watering shade of lime. The butler’s shoes were green.
It was a lot to take in. And this was from a woman who had snuck through Sir Reginald’s House of a Hundred Cabbages.
Kitty smiled up at Devil, who watched her expectantly as they waited for Lord Tadworth to join them. “I love it.”
“I shall summon a doctor posthaste,” he said drily.
For a man who terrified all of London, he was surprisingly funny and considerate. Considerate even despite the unsated arousal still pulsing between her thighs. The Devil had many tricks.
One of those tricks had gotten them through the front door and into Lord Tadworth’s spectacular library. Two stories of books soared around them, the oak polished to a smooth, warm finish underfoot. There were soft grooves worked into the wood, betraying Lord Tadworth’s regular path strolling through his beloved collection. Reading chairs sat near the hearth, padded and welcoming. A line of tables dissected the center, set with oil lamps between large terrariums filled with sand and dirt and greenery.
“Welcome, welcome,” Lord Tadworth bellowed from the doorway.
Kitty liked him immediately. His whiskers were as wild as promised, the same white as his bushy eyebrows. He wore spectacles and a waistcoat of faded green damask. He blinked at Kitty. “A lady, eh? Can’t remember the last time I had a lady in my library.”
Kitty curtsied. “Lord Tadworth.”
“Miss Caldecott is my fiancée,” Devil said, with more than a hint of warning.
“Eh?” Lord Tadworth said.
“I said Miss Caldecott is my fiancée,” Devil repeated, a touch louder.
Lord Tadworth blinked at him and then turned slightly to wink at Kitty. Kitty instantly wanted to trade in her angry, blustering grandfather for this eccentric old man who loved toads and teased the devil. “Want some tea?” he barked. “Of course you do.” He pulled the bell, not waiting for a response.
“You have an impressive library,” Kitty said. The bulk of his collection had been bound in leather, all dyed his signature green and with gold lettering.
Very helpful of him, actually. It would be simple enough to see which books were newly purchased from another library.
He frowned at her. A peridot pin flashed from the folds of his green cravat. “Miss Caldecott, did you say?”
“Yes.”
“You own that bookstore.”
Devil’s stance turned threatening with barely a muscle twitch. “And?”
“I’m not selling any of my books,” Lord Tadworth said stubbornly. “I don’t care if the Devil himself demands it. Call in my debt early if you must.”
“No one is forcing you to sell your books,” Kitty said fiercely. “Who would do that?”
“Every single one of my children,” he muttered. “Think the estate is already theirs, don’t they? Bah.”
Kitty realized his debt must have been incurred by purchasing new books or marble statues of toads. She shook her head. “I’m not here to take your books,” she promised. “Only to look at them, if I may. It’s rare to find another collector as avid as I am.” Avid. Obsessive. Fanatical. Close enough.
“Well, if that’s the truth, then.”
“It is, I promise.”
“I like you.”
“I like you too, Lord Tadworth.”
Devil cleared his throat, amused.
“Settle down,” Lord Tadworth muttered. “I’m too old for her. But you’re lucky, young man. I had the best calves in town in my youth. And I still have most of my teeth.”
Kitty grinned at him. “I believe it. May I walk around?”
“Go ahead, go ahead, then. Start in the top-right corner—that’s where the nature guides are. Did you know toads can puff themselves up to appear threatening?” He peered into one of the terrariums. “And they don’t drink water. They absorb it through their skin. Fascinating creatures.”
“I confess I’ve never really considered them.”
“Well, come over here, girl,” Lord Tadworth said. “They tend to hide during the day, but we’ll see if we can lure one out with some crickets. You’re not squeamish, are you?”
Kitty thought of the state of the pavement outside her door before Devil sent his men to lurk about menacingly. “Not anymore.”
“Good, good.”
He dug through the grit inside the terrarium like a proud father about to show off his newborn baby. He might be a recluse for reasons Kitty did not know, but he was also lonely. She wondered if she could conjure up a reason to visit him again. Perhaps bring him a book of poetry about toads. Had anyone written such a thing? She would have to ask around.
“Here’s one,” he said, booming with excitement. He immediately lowered his impressive voice. “Oh, pardon, my darling. Didn’t mean to shout at you.”
The toad in his palm did not look particularly concerned. Nor particularly impressed. He was mottled with several shades of green and brown, round eyes bulging. The curve of his mouth made him look grumpy. “Oh, he’s lovely,” Kitty said. “Very expressive.”
“I’ve named him King Arthur.”
“My sister has a hedgehog named Galahad.”
“Ha! Clever girl. Is she older than you?”
“Younger by a great many years, I’m afraid.”
“Ah well. Hedgehogs eat frogs. Not sure about toads. Best not risk it.” He lifted King Arthur with a twinkle in his eye. “Do you want to hold him?”
He clearly thought it was a good jest, that she would flinch away.
“Certainly,” she said instead. She would have kissed the damned toad if it meant having a proper look through his books. Evie was worth kissing a dozen toads.
She flattened her hand and encouraged the toad to slide into her palm. His skin was bumpy and drier than she would have thought. His toes were long and tickled as he stretched, considering the climb up her arm. He tottered like a milk-drunk child.
Lord Tadworth positively beamed at her.
When King Arthur started to get a little too jumpy, Lord Tadworth reclaimed him and set him carefully back into his terrarium. Devil passed her his handkerchief before she could wipe her hands on her skirt. She scrubbed her palms as Lord Tadworth led her to a washbasin.
“You’ve got to scrub up better than that and dry well if you’re going to touch my books,” he said.
She did as she was bidden as he continued to rattle off more facts about toads. He would keep her here talking about them for the rest of the visit if she let him. She would never find Lady Caroline’s books.
And she knew Lord Tadworth’s type of reader. Books were cared for like delicate flowers, barely opened even to read them. Kept from sunlight and dust and fingertips. Kitty on the other hand, preferred to devour her books. She liked them to be well loved, the pages softened, with creases where a beloved passage was read and reread. It was a map left behind by the reader. A love letter of sorts.
Clearly, this particular opinion would get her booted right out on her backside into the street. Even if she had held a toad. He would hover, wincing every time she flipped through pages a little too quickly.
“Lord Birmingham was just telling me he was keen to learn about toads,” she said. “Perhaps you might show him more while I look at your books?”
“Well, come along, then, my boy. Lots to see.”
“He gets bored in libraries,” Kitty called down as she darted up the staircase. She had no idea if that was true.
“Blasphemy,” Lord Tadworth muttered. “You’ll never get her to marry you like that.”
Devil’s gaze tracked her, pinned her. Promised retribution.
She just grinned at him.
He shook his head and turned politely to Lord Tadworth.
“It’s my name, you see,” the elderly earl said. “They called me Toadworth when I was a boy and snuck toads and frogs into my shoes and my bed and even my supper bowl at Eton. It backfired, of course. I don’t mind being called Toad at all now.”
Kitty ignored the rows of matching green books, though the sheer number of them tempted her to linger. It was difficult not to reach for them, to read a few pages. She forced herself past rows of poetry and plays and more books on natural history than she could have even guessed existed in London. All of England. There were novels, too, she was gratified to see. The critics said novels were bad for the female brain, that they caused anxiety and headaches. Poppycock. Novels were good for the soul. They were simply another way to make friends, to see the world. To rest .
And here they were. Shelves of novels, none of them in matching leather bindings. She searched, finding nothing but prose and poetry.
And then: The Delights of the Duchess , volume six.
She had found Lady Caroline’s note and scrawled symbol in another volume of the same series. Anticipation caught in her throat as she reached for it. Lord Tadworth was still talking to Devil about toad habitats. He had forgotten all about her. She bent over the book, shielding it as she thumbed through the pages. Please, please let there be something. Anything.
In this volume, the duchess explored her very wicked desires for the duke’s valet.
Lady Caroline had dog-eared a few pages.
And she’d also scrawled a note.
This is my favorite of the series thus far. I point you to chapter fifty-five. I’m sending this copy with Agnes. I would hate for your maman to open it accidentally!
Who was Agnes? Did Lady Caroline merely enjoy reading about being trapped in an artist’s studio in a snowstorm with a handsome man, or was there some other clue to the chapter?
Kitty dropped the book into her reticule, vowing to return it as soon as Evie was safe from Lord Portsmouth.
Whenever that might be.