Master of Love Read Free Page A

business world at all? It’s hardly a fitting way for a young lady to spend her time.”
    Heat flamed in Callista’s cheeks. “I work, as I suspect most do, ma’am, in order to keep my household.”
    â€œHave you no male in the family to take care of such matters?” It seemed incredible to the lady, and shameful, that a woman could be in such a situation.
    â€œI’m afraid not. And, as a matter of fact”—Callista lifted her chin, prodded by some hopeless rebel demon—“I like working with books.”
    Lady Vaughnley drew back stiffly. “Well! You must be quite the bluestocking and very . . . intrepid.” Her lip curled over what were clearly not terms indicating her approval.
    Mr. Claremont’s jovial smile showed him oblivious to the frosty tone of the exchange. “Actually, Lady Barrington is dearly fond of books herself,” he said, turning toward that lady. “I recall the late Lord Barrington often credited you for helping him with those excellent travel volumes he published.”
    â€œNot with writing or selling them, certainly,” the lady trilled, throwing a smug glance at Callista. “If anything, I was merely the muse.”
    Callista felt her prickliness overwhelm her at what a poor church mouse she was in comparison to the ladies and Lord Rexton. Their discussion of her courtesy title rang with mockery in her ears. These were people born to the aristocracy who had enjoyed wealth and never had to work in their lives. Her father’s title had been the lowest of the peerage and one of recent creation that carried with it no land or income. The title had gone extinct at his death, as of course neither she nor her sister could inherit, and not even a distant male heir existed to take it up. All it left her was the right to call herself “the Honorable.” Her great-aunt Lady Mildred, daughter of a duke herself, had insisted she print the honorific on her calling cards. To Callista, however, it made her feel all the more an imposter waiting to get caught—not a real book dealer or daughter of a peer, but only a young woman who loved to read, a commoner fallen from the ranks whose family now tottered on a dangerous edge of genteel poverty.
    Mr. Danvers seemed to sense her discomfort and came to her rescue. “How is the task proceeding, Miss Higginbotham?”
    She forced a smile in his direction. “So far I’ve done a preliminary review of his lordship’s existing collection and opened a half dozen of Sir George’s trunks.”
    The portly Mr. Claremont eyed the expanse scattered across the library and rubbed his hands like a boy in a sweets shop. “With your permission, Miss Higginbotham? I’d love to have a look.”
    The acknowledgment of her modicum of authority made her feel somewhat better. She knew she had to get over this sense of being a play-actor in her father’s shoes, but it was hard. So much these days was just so hard.
    At her murmured “Of course,” Mr. Claremont and the two women wandered off toward Lord Rexton among the stacks. Lady Barrington cast her a chilly smile, but Lady Vaughnley moved on without a backward glance and began to pick up books with desultory attention. Her puzzled query drifted back toward Callista: “What in the world, Rex, do you plan to do with so many books? Surely you’re not interested in such a collection?”
    Although Callista guessed she and Lady Vaughnley shared little else in common, she had to admit that she wondered about this point as well. It pushed credulity that Lord Rexton, this perfect specimen of masculinity, enjoying the reputation of Master of Love that he did, spent his evenings tucked away in his library curled up with a book.
    Feeling far out of her league, Callista turned toward Rexton’s secretary. “The volumes are very mixed inside each trunk, Mr. Danvers. The classics are with French poetry,