Secret Valentine Read Free

she regarded the question as rather
chowder-brained since it was quite obvious she was on her way out
the door. Perhaps that was why she blinked her dark velvety eyes at
him above her spectacles. Good grief, when had he grown so fond of
her eyes?
    Without a book to bury her nose in, she was
well and truly caught staring back at him. Just as he felt the
exchanged gaze was growing rather heated, she pushed her spectacles
up her nose and broke the connection.
    "Perhaps I should ask, Where are you off
to?"
    "Hatchards."
    Books. He should have figured. "I'll
accompany you."
    Cecelia backed toward the door. "No need. I
have my maid and a footman."
    "Just the same, I shall tag along too." He
was eager to test this newfound attraction to his ward. When he
thought of marriage to her, he knew she was quiet, rarely in his
way. She didn't expect him to entertain her, but would engage in a
conversation if he wished. She had never been coy or cloying,
things he detested in a woman. He thought he could be quite
comfortable with a woman who didn't require his constant attention,
but her refusal to his immanently reasonable suggestion of marriage
had caught him off guard.
    "Don't you have another oppressive corn law
to pass?"
    He retrieved his great coat and hat. "It's
Friday. We save our oppression laws for Tuesday." The House of
Lords only sat on Friday in an emergency.
    "Oh." Her mouth twisted sideways as if she
were trying to think of another way to dissuade him from
accompanying her.
    "Don't twist you mouth up like that."
    She rolled her eyes. "Now you sound like Mrs.
Parmont."
    She had no business comparing him to her
departed companion. He couldn't resist antagonizing her. "Put's me
in mind of a woman needful of a kiss."
    She raised her gloved fingers in front of her
lips and glared at him.
    "I don't expect that sounded much like Mrs.
Parmont." He pulled on his coat.
    "I have a lot of shopping to do."
    She wouldn't get rid of him that easily. He
extended his arm. "Shall we go?"
    "I'm walking."
    "Then, I shall contrive to keep up to your
pace." He jogged his elbow, reminding her he still held it out.
    She placed the tips of her fingers on his
sleeve. He put his hand over hers supplying the pressure she
wouldn't apply.
    Outside the maid and footman stood waiting.
After exchanging surprised glances, they fell in step a respectable
distance behind Devin and Cecelia as they made their way to
Piccadilly.
    "I've sent for Mrs. Marsh," he said.
    "Oh, you shouldn't have."
    "Then, I should apply for a special
license?"
    "Absolutely not. I shall look at the
advertisements in the Post tomorrow. I'll find a new
companion."
    "No."
    Her fingers trembled against his arm.
    "No more paid chaperones. Mrs. Parmont was
the third in six months. It is starting to look like they leave
because of improprieties."
    Cecelia blushed furiously. "That's just stuff
and nonsense. The first grew sick, and"—she scowled— "you're
counting Mrs. Marsh, who never wanted to leave her cottage in the
first place, and was only temporary until I found Mrs.
Parmont."
    "I should hate to send for my mother."
    Cecelia blinked at him. "I've never met your
mother."
    "She might not come home anyway."
    "Even if you asked her to?"
    "She always does as she pleases, especially
since my father's passing." Now how had he started this line of
conversation? Best to change the subject immediately. "What sort of
book are you looking for?"
    Cecelia shrugged.
    "Mathematics? A treatise on animal husbandry?
An ancient text in Latin? Another novel?"
    "If you must know, poetry."
    Poetry? He absolutely had to pay more
attention to what she was about. He had known her to read about the
driest of subjects and then plunge into a popular novel, but
poetry?
    The book store and lending library was
surprisingly crowded. Cecelia disappeared into a row of shelves
while he chatted with an acquaintance. She had ducked away before
he had a chance to reintroduce her. Since the woman who had snared
his attention