be able to find another carpenter willing to help you.”
She removed her spectacles, which had gone a little blurry, and wiped them clean. Happened every time Wright stripped to his shirtsleeves. “But your friend is waiting for you at the docks.”
“Old Griffith? He can wait. He’s only hiring me as a favor. He can easily find someone else.”
“The HMS Boadicea is arriving soon.”
“I have a fortnight. It should be enough time to make decent progress on the renovations if I work night and day. You’ve already seen what I’m capable of, Lady Beatrice.” He spread his arms wide. “Make use of me. I’m yours.”
She wished he’d stop saying things like that. It made her brain fog over just like her spectacles. He wasn’t hers and he never would be.
“There’s the matter of the paperwork,” she said crisply, trying to keep this conversation impersonal and businesslike. “I’m not entirely certain yet of the details of my inheritance until I meet with my brother’s solicitor to review my aunt’s will and . . .” Every time you roll up those sleeves and expose your forearms, I become so flustered that I can’t even remember how to form complete sentences. “. . . I’m not ready to begin renovations. Foxton knows about the bawdy books, and he threatened obliquely to use it as leverage to force me to sell. He knows my mother would never tolerate me owning a shop with such an objectionable past.”
“You can’t let him win. He thinks he owns everything and everyone.”
“I agree. I want nothing more than to foil his plans for that awful factory.”
“You could sign the property over to your society for use as a clubhouse, and that way it wouldn’t be your family name associated with any past scandals. You keep the books but the society owns the property.”
“That’s actually a very good idea.”
He grinned. “I have a few good ones from time to time.”
His smile was a weapon employed to scramble the minds of sensible ladies. The teasing curve of his lips, the laughter dancing in his eyes, the way he proffered such ingenious solutions to her problems in that gruff voice of his . . . everything about him disarmed her and made her feel off-balance and not at all like herself. “Even so, I’m not at liberty to employ you at the moment, Mr. Wright.”
He strode toward her, throat exposed, the white of his shirt contrasting with the uneven blue of his eyes. “Could there perhaps be another reason for your reluctance to hire me?”
She backed away from all of that too-vivid virility. “Frankly, yes.” She might as well be honest. “After what happened upstairs . . . I don’t think it’s prudent for us to be alone together. Especially in the vicinity of bedchambers.”
“Nothing happened upstairs.”
Something had happened. She’d progressed far beyond ninnyhood and entered wanton territory. “I can’t hire you, Wright.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you hear word from your brother contact me at St. Katharine Docks where I’ll be making repairs on the ship Angela.”
After he left, Beatrice collapsed into a chair. She knew it was for the best. He was simply too dangerous to her good sense . . . and to her heart.
“Has Mr. Wright gone?” asked Mrs. Kettle, returning with the tea tray and setting it on a table. “I do hope he’s coming back?”
“He’s not.”
“Such a shame. He seems a most capable fellow, and so handsome, wouldn’t you agree, Lady Beatrice?”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Liar. It’s all she’d thought about for weeks now. He’d truly gone this time, out of her life and her thoughts. And her dreams. He wasn’t allowed to come back into those, either.
“Sit down, dearie. Have a nice cup of tea and read Mrs. Castle’s letter.”
The letter. Beatrice had almost forgotten about it. She allowed Mrs. Kettle to fuss over pouring her tea and bringing her a blanket for her knees to protect against drafts.
She opened the letter.
Dear Lady Beatrice,
I remember the day that you visited our bookshop so clearly. I watched from behind the door, unable to reveal myself. I remember that you spoke in hushed tones, as if you were in church. I recognized a fellow bibliophile. And that’s why I’ve left you Castle’s Bookshop. These books were like our children, and I have every faith that you will treat them with respect.
I’ve made many mistakes in my life, but marrying Mr. Castle was not one of them, even though that choice precluded me from being a part of your life.
I