Love Is a Rogue (Wallflowers vs. Rogues #1) - Lenora Bell Page 0,44

my advice doesn’t mean that I welcome your thoughts on carpentry. I have less than a fortnight and I know exactly how to accomplish what needs to be done. I won’t require your help.”

She shrugged. “Very well. But I’ll still be here as often as possible to inventory the books and escape my mother.”

She went back to perusing the bookshelves and he began examining the shop counter, to see how it was constructed.

She stole glances at him from under her lashes. Just as it had in Cornwall, her gaze made him want to impress her with his brute strength. He lifted a heavy oak lectern and moved it into the corner of the room. He’d have to move all the furniture out of the way when he knocked down the wall to enlarge the room.

She selected a book and curled up in a chair, tucking her feet underneath her. He imagined that was how she spent a good part of her days, and evenings, when her mother wasn’t pushing her into society.

“I nearly forgot—I brought you this.” She opened her silk handbag and pulled out a book. “It’s the second in the Villeneuve series after The Mad Marquess’s Secret. It’s called The Wicked Earl’s Wishes. I thought you might like to read this one since you appeared to enjoy the first in the series.”

“It had its moments. Though I won’t have time for reading.”

“Keep it by your bedside. I have several copies so you needn’t finish it before you leave London.”

He accepted the book and it immediately fell open to a location about halfway through. He closed and opened it again. “Curious. It opens at the same place every time. Could this be your favorite scene?” He skimmed the page until he found what he was looking for. “‘Fair reader, the Earl of Wrothmore was a most wicked and profligate rogue, but when he kissed me there was nothing I could do but succumb to his embrace, for I craved the taste of his lips in much the same way as—’”

She snatched the book out of his hands. “The binding must have become damaged.”

He held out his palm. “It was just getting good. I want to know what happens next.”

“You can’t start in the middle.”

“I would never do such a thing.”

She handed the book back. “I love Miss Villeneuve’s stories, but the heroine in this one borders on too silly to live. She walks right into the devious snares set for her by the wicked earl.”

“It sounded to me like she was enjoying their entanglement. And if there weren’t any snares, there wouldn’t be much of a plot. It would all be kissing.”

“A subject we agreed to refrain from mentioning.”

“I didn’t mention it, I read it in your book, in your favorite chapter.”

“Humph.”

The clock in the hallway chimed and she startled. “I’m late. I must go. I’ll have your supplies delivered tomorrow.”

She grabbed her coat and gloves and ran for the door. She paused and turned back, her face lit by a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Wright.”

Ford hadn’t known he’d been waiting for her smile until that lopsided quirk of her lips caught his heart unawares and lifted it like a sail in a brisk headwind.

Chapter Twelve

Beatrice had been attempting to return to the bookshop for two days, but her mother had kept her trotting from one social engagement to the next, trailed by maids and modistes to refresh her appearance between engagements.

She was heartily sick of society and beyond ready for an afternoon of books and freedom.

When she finally managed to steal a few hours at the bookshop, a more than usually morose Coggins greeted her at the door.

“That carpenter you hired is smashing everything to pieces.” Coggins took her bonnet and cloak.

The noise was deafening. “What’s he doing in there?”

“Bringing the house down around our ears, that’s what. We’ll all be crushed and then that will be the end of us. All they’ll find in the wreckage is some shattered china and my old bones.”

“Where’s Mrs. Kettle?”

“At her daughter’s house. Wednesday’s her off day.”

The front room was utter chaos. The counter had already been reduced to splinters. Wright wielded a large hammer with both hands like Thor on the battlefield, smashing it against the inner wall that separated the showroom from the small side parlor. He’d already opened a huge jagged hole in the center of the wall.

Beatrice clapped her hands over her ears. “Wright!” she shouted, but he couldn’t hear her.

He continued his demolition, heaving the blunt-edged