This Wicked Gift Read Free Page A

leaning against the shelves. Of
all the people to intrude at this moment. She’d thought the conversation
had been quiet. She’d thought him safely ensconced back in the finance section,
behind five shelves of books. Obviously she’d been wrong on both counts.
    How much had he overheard? How embarrassed
ought she to be at playing out that ridiculous drama in front of this serious
man? Had she said anything stupid? And how absurd was it that, despite all that
had transpired in the last half hour, her heart raced in pitter-patters because
Mr. William Q. White had actually   started   a
conversation with her?
    As she always did when she was nervous,
she began to babble. “Yes, he calls me Vinny. It’s a pet name for—”
    “I know your Christian name, Miss
Spencer.” His gaze did not move from hers. Instead, he walked across the room
to her and stepped behind the counter. He stood too close. If she’d been
sitting in a regular chair, she’d have had to crane her neck. Seated on a
stool, her feet swinging well above the ground, she still had to lean her head
back to look him in the eyes.
    He smiled at her, a long, slow grin. In
giddy excitement her stomach turned over. That dangerous curve of his lips was
a new expression for him.   Assuredly   new. She would have remembered
another one like it. Lavinia swallowed.
    He set his hand deliberately atop hers.
    Oh, she knew she should pull away. Pull
away, and slap him for taking liberties with her person. But her brother had left
her so cold—and his hand was so warm—and by all that was holy, after a year of
encouraging Mr. William Q. White to do more than just look at her, she was not
about to raise objections to a little liberty.
    “I know what   Vinny   is short for. As it happens, I prefer   Lavinia.”   He leaned over her.
    He said it as if he preferred   her ,
not just her name. Lavinia’s lungs seized. She could smell the starch of his
cravat.   He’s
going to kiss me , she thought. Her nipples pressed, painfully
peaked, against her stays. His thumb ran along her wrist, down the curve of her
fingers. Lavinia felt her lips part. She might even have arched   up toward him, just a little. She
focused on the pink of his mouth, so close to hers.
    He’s going to kiss
me, and I am going to let him.
    Instead, he released her hand. She could
still feel the imprint of his fingers against hers as he stepped away.
    “Miss Spencer, I do believe we’ll talk
tomorrow.” He smiled. Before she could point out that tomorrow was Sunday, and
the lending library would therefore be closed, he tipped his hat at her and set
it on his head. “Come find me at one.”
    And then Mr. William Q. White strode away,
the tails of his coat flapping at her. The bell jingled. The door shut. Lavinia
raised her burning hand to her unkissed lips and looked down.
    It was only then she realized he hadn’t
been angling for a kiss at all.
    He’d taken the slip of foolscap containing
the address of the man who’d cheated James.

CHAPTER TWO
    L AVINIA WOKE TO A CLOUD   of thick, choking
smoke. Her first panicked thought was that the books downstairs had somehow
caught fire, that their livelihood, half owned by creditors, was going up in
flames. But then her conscious mind caught up to her racing fears and she
correctly cataloged the smell.
    It was the more mundane—and rather more
unpleasant—scent of burning porridge.
    Frowning, Lavinia pulled a wrapper over
her nightdress and padded out into the front room.
    James, his hands blackened with soot, was
juggling a pot. The vessel let off billows of gray smoke, its sides streaked
black.
    “Ah,” he said essaying a weak smile. “Lavinia! I made breakfast for you.”
    She didn’t dare respond, not even with so
little as a raised eyebrow.
    He peered into the pot, frowning. “ There’s still some white bits in here. Isn’t it odd that
porridge turns   yellow   when
it burns? I’d have thought it would go directly to   black.” He