The Scoundrel and I - Katharine Ashe Page 0,42

When he wasn’t robbing a Prince of the Church. “He is a ship captain, Gram. Or he was until recently. An actual war hero.”

“He sounds wonderful.”

“He might be.” He was. Perfectly flawed and perfectly wonderful. “The other night, Gram, you said you thought I was happy. And I think it’s true. I am happy. But the most extraordinary thing is, I feel . . .”

“What do you feel?”

“Innocent.” Despite the kisses, and touches, and everything that she should not have done with him. “Jo Junior made me feel so dirty. So wrong.” As though simply caring for him were somehow her error. “But this, with him, it feels innocent.” It felt beautiful. “He makes me laugh, and he cares about people. He is such a good man.” Fear climbed up her throat. She laid her cheek down on the coverlet, facing away from her grandmother who always seemed to see through her. “Gram. I . . . I am . . .”

“Afraid of losing this happiness.”

Then Elle’s breathing stalled as her grandmother’s frail hand stroked her hair.

It had been so long. So long without caresses. No wonder she had fallen apart at his touch.

“I know you wonder why I have not yet brought him here to meet you.”

“Yes.”

“I cannot, Gram.” Her voice trembled. “When he goes away as he inevitably will, I cannot have the memories of him in this house.” Memories of his smiles and his laughter in these rooms. “I could not bear it.”

“You are strong, Gabrielle,” came the whisper in the darkness. “Stronger than you realize.”

Elle lifted her head. But her grandmother was already asleep.

~o0o~

Elle did not want to greet the new day—a day in which her grandmother was fading away and forty pieces of type were still missing—with a smile. But she could not help it. Smiles bubbled up her throat and onto her lips, refusing to be harnessed.

Bathing her grandmother, and then coaxing her to take a cup of tea and a spoonful of porridge, she kissed her and walked the three blocks to the shop. When she passed the spot where she had dropped the chase, she did a little pirouette.

Unlocking the shop door, she removed her bonnet, tossed her umbrella into the stand, and went to her worktable with a springy step. He had promised to call at lunchtime. He said he had an idea he would pursue in the morning, and then together they would contrive a solution to the missing type. She could not imagine what solution, but she trusted him—she trusted his outrageous daring and his determination—and she was willing to make the effort if it meant seeing him again. A solution must occur before the Brittles returned from Bristol in four days. It would.

When at half-past ten the door opened in the front office, she set down her pen and slid off her stool. Minnie’s employer never allowed her to leave the shop in the morning, but Esme or Adela sometimes managed to steal away for a quick cup of tea. Or it could be the captain—early—as eager to see her as she was to see him.

It was not Esme or Adela or the captain or even a customer. By the front door, Mr. Charles Brittle was folding his umbrella and removing his overcoat, and Elle knew that her briefly shining lucky star had abruptly set.

Chapter Eleven

“Good day, Gabrielle.” With sandy hair and hazel eyes, Charlie was an uninspired version of his elder brother’s blond gorgeousness. He did the shop’s books and wrote contracts and in general was not particularly interesting. She had no idea how a man like this could make Esme’s pulse flutter, and it bothered her that while her friend was so obviously infatuated with him he had never once looked at Esme.

Now he seemed to assess the flush rising to Elle’s cheeks and her tightly clasped hands.

“How have you been?” he said.

“Very well.” A big fat lie. Except today. Today she had been extraordinary. Until this moment. “How did you enjoy Bristol?”

“It’s crowded at this time of year, of course, and you know how I despise the sea.” He moved toward her. “But Mother seemed pleased, and Hattie, of course.” He always said Mrs. Josiah Brittle Junior’s name flatly. Like Elle, Charlie had never taken to his brother’s wife.

His gaze traveled about the office.

“Won’t you ask why I have cut my holiday short, Gabrielle?”

“Yes. Naturally, I am curious.” And dying. Unlike Jo Junior, whose interest in the family’s business was all about money and social