Chapter Thirteen #2
A yearly fee of forty-two shillings entitled a member to take out twelve books from the circulating library.
Visitors could browse the collection, and if they found a novel they wanted to own, a special arrangement could be made with the bookseller to purchase the book.
It was beneficial for both the patrons and the bookshop.
It wasn’t just popular novels that were available for borrowing.
The library collection included a vast number of research books.
Nora already owned two treatises on shells, both gifts from her father.
Approaching the library clerk, she eagerly requested Sir Hans Sloane’s, A Voyage to the Islands of Madeira, Barbados, Nieves, St Christopher and Jamaica; and Martin Lister’s Historia Conchyliorum.
Ralston wanted to read the many newspaper subscriptions.
They made their way to a reading room where tables and comfortable armchairs and settees were arranged before a fireplace with a marble mantel.
A large window allowed for plenty of sunlight.
Patrons could peruse newspapers, magazines and books in casual comfort here.
And any books they’d requested were fetched by a clerk and delivered to the reading room.
The door opened and a servant wheeled in a tray and offered both coffee and tea to those reading or waiting for their reading material to be delivered.
Nora could spend an entire afternoon here, drinking tea and flipping through books on seashells.
Ralston waited for her to be seated on a sofa and then sat beside her.
His thigh brushed her skirts, and muscles she wasn’t usually aware of tightened inside her.
Her skin tingled as if he had caressed her flesh.
Desire hummed though her, making her shift on the cushion.
What was it about him that caused her to react so swiftly?
Whatever it was, these powerful feelings occurred too easily and too often.
They made her tremble and struggle to find solid ground, even though she was sitting.
A clerk with ink-stained fingers delivered their books and papers and just as quietly left the room. Nora flipped through the book by Martin Lister first.
‘Did you know the Dowager Duchess of Portland had the largest collection of shells in Europe?’ Nora asked.
Ralston lowered his paper. ‘Wasn’t she quite eccentric?’
‘Quite so. Upon her death, her estate had over four thousand separate lots for auction.’
‘Hmm,’ he said, his attention returning to his paper. ‘This caricature of the Prince Regent is quite entertaining.’
Nora leaned close to look at what had captured his attention.
Her eyes widened at Candace’s artwork in The Morning Post. Prinny sat at his dining table with friends stuffing coins into his mouth, his fleshy jowls drawn even larger.
Candace had said she’d sold her work under a nom de plume to a printer, but she’d never thought that printer would turn around and swiftly sell it to a major publication like the one Ralston was reading.
She sucked in a breath in surprise. She wondered if even Candace knew it was in today’s publication.
Nora swallowed, holding back any audible gasps. She’d promised to keep her sister’s secret. Taking a quick breath, she said in a controlled voice. ‘The artwork is amazing.’
‘And quite humourous,’ Ralston drawled.
They spent a good part of the afternoon sharing what they’d read.
He flipped through the Saint James Chronicle, New Lloyd’s Evening Post and The Observer.
Her book were thicker and took her more time to browse.
All the while, she was highly aware of him—the scent of his sandalwood cologne, the touch of his thigh as he reached for another newspaper, the curve of his lips as he found something else humourous in the pages.
Even the rumble of his voice when he leaned close to share what he read.
If he looked at her with the slightest hunger, she wasn’t certain that she’d be able to resist him.
It wasn’t just lust either. It was even more dangerous.
Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she liked their time together—how much it made her feel connected to him.
These unwanted emotions tugged at her chest, treacherous.
She needed to get up and step away from him.
She closed her two books and rose. ‘I’m going to request another, and I hope they have it.’
He glanced up. ‘Shall I go with you?’
She shook her head. ‘Thank you, but no. I’ll be back soon enough.’
She took a calming breath as she waited for an available clerk at the circulation desk. Looking up with wonder, she admired the books on display. A feast of available knowledge.
‘Miss Nora Magarian.’
She turned to find Baron Umbridge standing behind her.
‘Pardon. I believe I should say Lady Ralston.’
She blinked, still not quite comprehending that he was in the library.
She found her voice. He looked older to her, his belly bigger beneath his coat, and crow’s feet by his eyes.
He’d combed strands of his thinning fair hair across a shiny scalp.
‘Lord Umbridge. Are you borrowing books?’ It was a silly question. Why else would he be here?
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m selling them. I do not need them in my home any longer. I’m newly married.’
She blinked once again, not making the connection. Why would he no longer need books because he’d wed?
As if he read her mind, he explained. ‘I found my wife reading novels too many times. I do not wish to fill her head with ideas.’
‘I don’t understand, my lord. What possible ideas?’
‘She should be focused on giving me an heir and her duties to me, not reading petty romance novels.’
Nora felt nauseated for the new Baroness. Another emotion swiftly arose and took its place, a simmering anger. ‘I’ve never heard of reading preventing a lady from having children. Perhaps, it is due to the husband.’
‘What nonsense!’ His watery blue eyes flashed with annoyance in his fleshy face. Nora opened her mouth then shut it when the library clerk returned with her book. Baron Umbridge’s scowl of disapproval was unmistakable as he eyed the heavy book in her hands.
It was impossible not to compare the Baron with the Earl.
It wasn’t just old versus young. Rather, the men’s actions displayed their true nature.
Ralston had brought her here to read and spend a pleasurable afternoon together.
Umbridge sold his books and prohibited his young wife from reading. He treated her like a brooding mare.
She’d escaped that fate. Before she said something she’d regret, she made her excuses and returned to the reading room and to her husband.
Ralston stood and his grin greeted her. ‘Good! They had your book.’ A lock of hair fell rakishly across his forehead and gave him a boyish appeal.
She wanted to hug him. To kiss him. Her lips parted. ‘Ralston, I—’
‘Yes?’
She did what she wanted. Standing on tip toe, she tugged his head to hers and pressed her lips to his.
It was daring in a public place, but she didn’t care.
Not after her encounter with Umbridge. Her fingers buried in the rich, thickness of Ralston’s hair as her lips brushed his.
His arms came around her to hold her close and deepen the kiss.
In the recesses of her mind, she knew they risked discovery.
It was scandalous. Exciting. And oh, so arousing. She kissed him as she longed to be kissed, slow and leisurely. When satin brushed against broadcloth, her nipples hardened beneath her shift. Desire hummed through her, making her weak.
A low growl emanating from his chest. He pulled back a hair’s breadth. ‘Nora, you will drive me to distraction.’
She felt a thrill that she could excite him the way she felt herself. His lips captured hers once more and devoured her. She shrank against him, grateful for the strength of his arms.
He abruptly pulled back. Nora blinked, slow to understand, then heard the sound of voices.
Just then two bespectacled white-haired ladies entered the reading room.
‘Good day,’ they said as they settled on comfortable chairs by the window and opened their books.
‘Good day.’ Ralston’s voice was smooth.
Nora’s heart raced as she struggled to gain her composure. Thank goodness, he’d heard them coming! He shot her a humorous grin, took her arm and returned her to the sofa.
‘They didn’t see anything. You have nothing to fear,’ he murmured.
As she looked into his eyes, she didn’t agree. She had much to fear. Not discovery by two elderly matrons, but by the handsome, intelligent man sitting beside her. Her husband.
Nora gathered herself.
‘I spoke with one of the patrons about your work with seashells while you were gone. I hadn’t had a chance to tell you before that kiss.’ His expression was devilishly charming.
‘Oh? What did the patron say?’
‘He suggested a visit to the British Museum.’
‘The museum?’ He’d mentioned her work to others? She was still comprehending this fact when he added. ‘There is an exhibit of a traveler—Hugh Cuming, I believe.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Hugh Cuming! He is a renowned explorer and famous shell collector. His curiosity cabinets are overfilled with seashells from faraway exotic lands.’
‘Then it would be my pleasure to escort you to the museum one afternoon.’
Her breath stalled in her lungs. ‘I’d like that very much.’
Ralston stood and flashed a grin. ‘Are you ready to leave?’
A fluttering stirred deep in her chest. She was reminded that he had a busy schedule and had his own work to do to prepare for his bill.
He’d carved time out of his day to escort her here for a pleasant afternoon.
For her to read her books. Not for his wife to kiss him in a reading room.
Still, she didn’t regret her actions. Not one bit.
As they returned to the carriage and the wheels of the conveyance jostled over the street, a tangle of confusion and emotions knotted in her chest. Protecting her heart was becoming increasingly difficult.
And that frightened her most of all.