Candice Hern Read Free Page B

to figure it out from the chicken scratch that passed for penmanship.
    He dismounted and tossed the reins to his tiger, who would keep the team happy by trotting them around the square while Tony made brief work of this little matter of business. It was a modest town house in a modest square, on the fringes of more fashionable neighborhoods. It seemed an appropriate setting for a spinster involved in an occupation barely on the fringes of respectability.
    He checked Croyden’s note once again. Blast theman’s handwriting, he could not be entirely sure of the niece’s name. If he’d been told last night, he couldn’t recall it. But then he’d been so thoroughly foxed, there might be a great deal he did not recall. It looked like “Paris” or perhaps “Partrige.” Tony pulled out the copy of the magazine he’d purchased that morning: T HE L ADIES ’ F ASHIONABLE C ABINET: WHEREIN IS PRESENTED A POLITE COMPENDIUM OF INTELLIGENCE AND AMUSEMENT WITH A VIEW TO THE EDIFICATION AND ENTERTAINMENT OF THE F AIR S EX . At the bottom of the blue paper cover it said: P RINTED FOR V. C ROYDEN , P ATERNOSTER R OW .” There was no mention of an editor’s name, as far as he could tell. The authors of most of the articles used obvious pseudonyms.
    It was not ideal to call upon a lady whose name one did not know for certain, but he’d been in stranger situations and would persevere. He grabbed the knocker.
    Some minutes later, the door was opened by a young woman with flyaway reddish-blonde hair, spectacles, and a suspicious eye. Not your typical parlor maid.
    “My name is Morehouse. I am here to see Miss Paris.”
    Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a perfect “O.” She stared at him for a moment before speaking. “You must be the new owner of the Cabinet .”
    So, the household already knew what had happened. Croyden had certainly lost no time in trumpeting the news. “Yes, I am.”
    “You’d better come in, then. We’ve been expecting you.” The young woman turned and gestured that he should follow her into the hall. “And her name’s Parrish, by the way, not Paris,” she called over her shoulder.
    Tony began to think she must not be a housemaid after all, but one of the magazine’s spinsters. A handmaiden escorting him to an audience with the Queen Spinster. Lord, but he could not wait to be done with this.
    The narrow hallway led past a dining room on the left and a stairway on the right. The woman entered an open doorway near the end of the hall. Tony followed her and found himself in a library or study crowded with worktables upon which papers and books were scattered about, though not in any sort of disarray. It was a busy room where work was obviously done, but there was a certain kind of orderliness about it.
    Behind a large desk to the right of the door sat a woman bent over a page of cramped writing. She raised her head at their entrance, and Tony’s breath caught in his throat as he found himself looking at one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.
    She had black hair, very pale, clear skin, and perfectly arched dark brows over eyes almost as black as her hair. Her full lips were claret-dark against the fair complexion. Her coloring was so dramatic shehad the look of being painted, like an actress in stage makeup. But as he stepped closer, he could see the coloring was perfectly natural. And perfectly breathtaking.
    This was the Queen Spinster?
    “Edwina, this is Mr. Morehead, the new owner of the Cabinet .”
    The Queen stood and offered her hand. “I am Miss Parrish, the editor.” She stared at him curiously, and it was all he could do to step forward and take her hand. He was drowning in those dark eyes. “And you have already met my assistant editor, Miss Armitage.”
    “I am pleased to meet you, Miss Parrish, and Miss Armitage,” he managed at last. And all at once he realized what he’d said and wrenched himself from the enchantment of her eyes. “Parrish? Your name is