"His story is far more interesting than the books of glorious conquests and great leaders that I have committed to memory. He seems more alive."
"Yes." His expression was one of satisfaction. As if she managed to please him with her response. "The simple story of a simple man who speaks to all."
Her eyes widened in a deliberately provoking manner. "Why, Sebastian, that was very nearly poetic."
"Do you think so?" he murmured, his fingers moving to softly stroke her cheek. "It must be the dimples."
She shivered, desperately wishing they were back in the dark garden rather than in a proper library where the housekeeper might walk in any moment. Perhaps then he would kiss her as she longed for him to do.
"I do not think you are nearly so dull and tedious as you desire others to believe," she murmured in tones less steady than she would have desired.
His fingers paused and Amelia could physically feel the frustrated desire that raced through his blood. It scared through him with the same intensity that burned within her. And yet, while the need was almost tangible, beneath the ache was a fierce tenderness that tugged at her heart. How could any woman resist such a combination?
Unfortunately, she was also aware that through it all was the thread of finely honed steel that was his de-termination. For whatever reason, he was battling to keep his emotions in check.
She swallowed her disappointment as he reluctantly turned his attention back toward the shelves.
"Let me see, what else can I tempt you with?" He touched a thick, ornately bound book. "Ah, the Kitah al-Fawa'id."
It took a considerable effort to clear her clouded thoughts. Dear heavens, she must be bewitched, she thought inanely. That could be the only explanation for the utter certainty that she was connected to this man to her very soul.
"What is that?" she managed to question in doggedly light tones.
"A book on nautical technology written in 1490 by Ibn Majid, an Arab sailor."
"Ugh." She did not have to pretend her distaste. Her interest shifted toward a more intriguing book bound in handsome red leather. "What of that one?"
He lifted his brows, taking the book from the shelf and carefully opening it for her inspection.
"Very fine taste, my dear. That is the Institutio Oratoria. It speaks of the fundamentals essential to educate the citizens of the Roman Empire."
The subject held little more appeal than nautical technology. Perhaps even less. It was the realization that the script was not in English that captured her attention.
Her own father had considered himself somewhat of a scholar. He kept a decent library, and possessed a handful of rare documents. He was even well respected for his speeches in the House of Lords. But for all hit admired cleverness he could not hope to achieve the skilled intelligence of this master. She wondered if any gentleman in all of England could do so.
A hint of uncertainty shadowed her heart. Who was this Sebastian St. Ives?
"Precisely how many languages do you speak?" she demanded with a faint frown.
His smile remained but Amelia was certain there was a guarded quality to his beautiful eyes.
"No more than any well-studied gentleman."
"That is no answer."
He closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. In the process he managed to hide his expression.
"Does it truly matter?"
"It is yet another mystery that surrounds you." She regarded his profile with a searching gaze.
"I know nothing of you. You do not speak of your family, or your past. I do not even know where you come from or why you settled in London."
"Perhaps we should return downstairs and ensure that William is still occupied with his kittens."
Her disquiet only increased at his obvious attempt to deflect her interest.
"What is it you hide from me, Sebastian?" she demanded in low tones.