Chapter Two #2
him that he found himself determined to explore.
Coming to Goddard House, even when the lady of the residence was thankfully out, had made him irritable and on guard. The
lady librarian’s presence changed all of that. She’d altered the whole energy of the room when she’d swept in and shouted
at him.
“Apologize first,” she demanded, one delicate brow arched high.
Dom’s brow shot up too. “To her ladyship?” He shook his head. “Not necessary. She asked me to come and have a go at . . .”
He flicked a hand toward the discard pile he’d started. “Sorting the wheat from the chaff, if you will.”
That information shocked her. Her thick lashes fluttered as she blinked. She was dismayed, maybe even disappointed. There
was the slightest tremble of her chin, and he immediately wanted to take back what he’d said.
Seeing even a bit of her righteous fury dimmed made him feel like the miscreant she seemed to think he was. If she was Lady
Goddard’s hired librarian, he had made a proper muck of her efforts. All of the volumes he’d pulled down had been arranged alphabetically by author, and now
that he thought of it, they’d been grouped by topic as well.
“None of it is chaff,” she said, regaining a bit of her vehemence.
She cast her gaze over at the pile and her expression softened, as if she was looking at objects that deserved reverence and care.
“A book is such an effort to produce, for the writer, the binder, those who set the print. And while some of these may not fetch much from a bookseller—”
“They won’t fetch much of anything, Miss . . .” He gave her a faux frown, then shrugged. “I still don’t know your name.”
She took a step closer. “Even if no one wished to buy them, they could be donated. Many who cannot afford fine leather-bound
books would love to have one to read.”
Color rose in her cheeks as she warmed to her subject. She leaned closer, lifting a finger to point at him.
“And,” she said, that damning finger of hers almost touching his chest, “if Lady Goddard asked you to assess the books, I
highly doubt she wished you to treat them so carelessly. You may have damaged spines, bent pages, ripped the thread in the
binding. They are her inheritance, sir, whatever you may think of them.”
Dom looked down at her finger and felt the oddest flash of disappointment that she wasn’t touching him. He was tempted to
lean toward her but knew she’d balk. Yet he wondered if her touch would electrify him. If all that fierce emotion of hers
could jolt the parts of him that felt deadened and bring them back to life.
Her finger was ink-stained, he noted. Had she penned some fervent letter to a lover or set about writing a list of every little
way she intended to conquer Lady Goddard’s library today? The latter, he decided.
When he looked up again, he studied her face. She was close enough for him to see freckles spread across her cheeks in a delightfully
disarrayed pattern. The flashes of sunflower-yellow in her green eyes. The little wisps of hair that had escaped pins to frame
her smooth cheeks. Then his gaze fell to her mouth. Good lord, such a lush confection.
He’d wanted to kiss plenty of women upon first sight. Lust had never been anything he avoided. And despite the debacle with Lady Goddard, it was usually effortlessly mutual. Women were attracted to him, and he rarely minded living up to the roguish reputation he’d acquired.
“Do I have something on my face, sir?” she asked, her words sharp and laced with irritation. A spark lit her eyes.
He’d taken it for heat, for a simmer of interest much like he felt for her.
“You’re staring quite rudely,” she added with a bit less ire.
He was staring like an addlepated fool. Good grief, it wasn’t like him to tip from flirtation straight into boorishness. He’d
been treated rudely by her employer in this very room, and he had no interest in subjecting any woman to that.
“Forgive me,” he said with true regret. “You’re lovely, and I—” He stopped because she made that noise again. That odd squawk
she’d emitted a few times already. Then she scoffed as if he’d made the most outlandish claim she’d ever heard.
Miss Librarian was not used to being complimented, it seemed, and for such a beauty, that was a mystery.
He’d miscalculated badly. The last thing he wished to do was cause her embarrassment.
She was breathing fast, though a bit of her fire toward him seemed to have ebbed. Now she was simply looking at him warily,
as if trying to anticipate what he might do next.
Dom stepped away from her and went to retrieve the books he’d tossed onto the carpet. Perhaps that had been badly done of
him. He’d taken his dislike of Lady Goddard out on the innocent volumes that were, as Miss Librarian pointed out, the product
of a great deal of work by wordsmiths and craftsmen.
He hadn’t gotten far with sorting through the collection, but he’d had enough of ruffling the feathers of a pretty librarian and dreading the appearance of Lady Goddard at any moment.
“What are you doing?” she asked, as quietly as she’d said anything to him thus far.
“I made a mess of your efforts at organizing.” After he’d stacked the dozen or so volumes onto a table in the center of the
room and collected his suit coat from where he’d tossed it on a chair, he glanced back at her. “I’m sorry for that.”
Those pink lips of hers fell open a bit.
“See those on the left edge of the top two shelves? Those will fetch her a fine price, and there’s a seven-volume set of Shakespeare
from 1733 among them that I could take on consignment at Princes if she likes. I know a bard enthusiast who’d snap them up.
Tell her that, will you?” He gestured to the rows of books in Lady Goddard’s library. “I’ll let you get back to your work.”
The urge to reach for her hand or some other form of leave-taking that would give him an excuse to approach her once more
nearly overwhelmed him.
But he’d unsettled the young lady enough. He needed to forget about her vivid green eyes and perfect lips.
He had a Viking hoard to find in Norfolk.