Chapter Three

Hatchard's Library and Reading Rooms, the week following the ‘Incident' at Frothingham House

Florinda settled her Mama in a comfortable chair near a table set up for the convenience of the patrons. Hatchard's was nothing if not customer-friendly and, as it happened, Mrs Harriet Blackstone, a bosom-bow of Lady Boothe's, had also chosen that morning to visit the bookstore.

Thus, the two ladies were quite content next to each other, presumably discussing fine literature. Florinda knew better, of course. Her mother was doubtless indulging in the favoured pastime of all London mamas during the Season…evaluating every single eligible bachelor, and even a few she hadn't met yet.

The excuse of picking up the latest novel from any of their favourite authors gave the mothers of the Metropolis plenty of opportunities to chat with their peers, share experiences, both positive and negative, and thus continue to create the overwhelmingly complicated "dictionary" of who should be marrying—or at least pursuing with interest—whom.

Hatchard's Reading Rooms provided the perfect setting for these matrimonial machinations.

Florinda, although aware of what was going on as bonnet feathers bobbed and fluttered over maternal heads, really was there to find herself some books.

She enjoyed reading and had done even as a little girl. Stealing into her father's library and just inhaling the scent of the volumes was a delight; being able to read more and more of them as she grew up? A joy indeed.

And with the recent publication of a delightfully witty and engaging novel titled "Sense and Sensibility", Florinda was now in eager pursuit of another book by the same author.

Focussing on the shelves and titles, she was completely shocked to find herself almost bumping into a gentleman doing the same thing.

"Miss Boothe. What a delightfully unexpected pleasure."

She swallowed. "Mr Trease. I'm surprised to find you here."

"Really? At Hatchard's? I do read, you know."

"Of course. I never assumed otherwise. But this section contains…well, novels. Surely, you're more of a racing-form man, or something…"

"Then you are under a misapprehension, which I must take it upon myself to correct." He touched a book. "I have found a great deal of pleasure in this book by an anonymous writer. Sense and Sensibility. Have you read it?"

Slightly stunned, Florinda nodded. "Of course. I enjoyed it very much, and in fact, my mission today is to find her latest work."

"I see our minds are running along the same paths, Miss Boothe," he said in amusement. "Let me also add I'm pleased to see no visible signs of injury after last week's—er—events?"

She smiled. "Thankfully, we were far enough away to avoid being hurt," she explained. "It could have been a lot worse if all the crystals had shattered, not just the glass candle holders, would you agree?"

"Most definitely. Although I'll confess that at first, I could have sworn that every chandelier in the place had exploded."

Chuckling, Florinda agreed. "It did seem that way."

At that moment, another patron started down the bookshelf aisle toward them.

"Would you do me the honour of sharing a table? There are several that are empty in the other reading room, and I would enjoy a conversation with you, Miss Boothe."

She looked at him, wondering at the gentle look in his blue eyes. And goodness, they were truly blue. Like a spring sky, or a robin's egg or…

"Miss Boothe?"

"I'm sorry. My wits were wandering. Yes, sir, I believe a few moments of conversation would be most pleasant."

"Excellent."

With a smile, he held out his arm, and she placed her hand on it, trying very hard not to squeeze it and measure the strength of the muscle beneath. He might have been an unknown in London, but she was ready to wager her best bonnet that wherever he lived, the ladies were well aware of his appeal.

Once settled in a chair next to a small table, Florinda glanced around, happy to see that in such a genteel and innocuous atmosphere, her sitting with a gentleman had occasioned no screams of shocked outrage, or violent assertions of impropriety.

"Worried?"

Damn him, could he read her thoughts?

"Of course not." She straightened her spine in the chair. "This is one of the few places where a gentleman and a lady may share discourse without having to wed the next day." She couldn't stop the bitter sigh that followed her statement.

"Do I sense a slight touch of melancholy? Possibly from being ‘cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd'?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Goodness. You are well read, Mr Trease."

"As are you for recognising the words, Miss Boothe."

She shrugged. "I am of the somewhat unpopular opinion that everyone should read Shakespeare, sir."

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Don't tell anyone, but I agree."

"Oh dear." She pretended shock, amused at the way his eyes lit up with humour.

"Well then." Straightening, he looked around the room. "Now that we've shared our darkest secrets, what shall we discuss next?"

Florinda pursed her lips. "Might I inquire what brings you to London? I sense that you are not a permanent resident of the Metropolis."

"Yes, you rather made that point at our first meeting." His mouth curved into a charming grin.

She bit her lip. "I believe I owe you an apology, Mr Trease. I can only offer the excuse that I was quite tired, my feet were hurting, and I was more than ready to go home, but had to wait upon others."

"And so you took it out on me."

"Um, yes. I suppose you could say that."

"I just did."

Florinda frowned. "I apologised."

"No, you said you owe me an apology. I haven't actually received it yet," he answered punctiliously.

Irritated, she straightened. "Very well then…Mr Trease…"

"No, wait." He stopped her with a brief touch on her hand.

"For what?"

"I have a better idea. Instead of a verbal apology, which will of course be over in four or five seconds, maybe even ten if you decide to utilise the extensive vocabulary which, as a reader, I'm sure you possess…"

"Mr Trease. Do you have a point? Because if so, please get to it shortly before I wither and die of old age right here in Hatchard's reading room…"

He held back a laugh. "Very well. Ride with me."

"What?" She blinked at him.

"Do you ride?"

"Yes, of course."

"Horses?"

"Er…what else would I ride?"

"Well, there are lots of things, you know. Camels, elephants, donkeys, even cows, apparently, can be ridden if one knows the right place to sit."

"Really?" Caught up in his silliness, she slipped and betrayed her fascinated interest.

This time he laughed, a rich genuine chuckle of delight. And something, some sparkle, some sound, some vibration…whatever it was, it shook Florinda to her core. She gulped down a gasp of surprise.

Fortunately, he hadn't noticed, since he was now shaking his head. "It's my turn to apologise. I'm frequently told I'm much too literal. I would simply like to invite you to accompany me on horseback one morning soon. I enjoy a ride in Hyde Park and would take pleasure in sharing it with you. And you cannot but agree that it would be the perfect way for you to settle your debt."

Florinda wondered why her brain should suddenly have turned into something that couldn't produce useful words, so she closed her eyes briefly and took a breath, praying that might return her to the normally calm and controlled woman she knew herself to be.

"Yes."

Well, it wasn't quite the flowing and loquacious phrase she was hoping for, but it got her point across.

*~~*~~*

She'd accepted his offer.

Ashe stared at the shelves in front of him, seeing nothing at all, his mind filled with the delighted astonishment that had clobbered him upside the head with one simple word. Yes.

He got the feeling that she was as much surprised as he at her response, but damned if he was going to ask her. She'd agreed, and that's all there was to it.

Now, he could spend the next hours kicking himself for not asking if she had her own mount, wondering if she knew where the entrance was so that they could meet there as he'd suggested, and a dozen other stupid things that were merrily dancing through his apparently damaged brain.

Should he bring a posy of flowers?

A small token of his appreciation? A fan? A pair of gloves?

Should he bring his mother as chaperone?

What if it rained?

"Excuse me."

A firm tap on the shoulder brought his attention back to his present surroundings, and he turned to find himself the target of a severely frowning gaze. "You are in my way, young man."

"Lady Sandford," he bowed deeply. "I do apologise. I must have been wool-gathering."

"You were standing there long enough to breed a herd of sheep, let alone shear and gather the wool. There are others who might like to read a book, you know." Her eyebrows were grey, bushy, and fiercely drawn together.

"Of course, Ma'am. Again, my apologies." He paused. "If you have need of a book from one of the higher shelves, please allow me to assist you?"

It was a vain effort to atone for his behaviour, he knew, and her Ladyship proved it.

"If it's that high up, I'll not be able to read the title, will I? And if I can't read the title, how will I know if I want it or not?"

Ashe sighed. "Of course. How foolish of me."

She snorted. "You are a young man. Foolishness is inevitable."

He bowed again, and—chastened—took himself off as quietly as he could, feeling uncomfortably as if he had suddenly returned to the age of eight and had just been reprimanded by his tutor. And his grandmother. At the same time.

A small part of him hoped that the book she wanted was on the other side of the building. On a very high shelf indeed.

But the diversion had distracted him from his confused thoughts about the morrow and his ride with Miss Florinda Boothe.

Since any chance he had of finding a book he might have enjoyed had now vanished into the disapproving fog surrounding Lady Sandford, he quit Hatchard's empty-handed, but with a full mind.

Of course Miss Boothe had a horse. She would have mentioned the lack of a mount otherwise.

It wouldn't dare rain, and there was no need for posies or other gifts. Not for a simple ride in the Park. And he'd be damned if he brought his Mama, who would require a carriage and spend most of the time on an inquisition into Miss Boothe's standing, family, history, and most likely her parents' financial situation.

All of which information she would extract under the guise of charm, smiles, and a genuine interest. He'd seen her do it so often, a sweet look, a bent head, and whoever she was talking to would unburden their souls before they realised what was happening.

But perhaps his Miss Boothe was different. Well, she wasn't exactly his Miss Boothe yet, although now he thought about it, he actually rather hoped she might be at some point in the not-too-distant future.

There was something very appealing about her.

Certainly she was pretty. Attractive in a way that owed nothing to powder and silks, and everything to eyes and lips and a mind that one could nearly hear turning over intelligent thoughts. It was a delight for Ashe to find a woman who wasn't afraid to think. To scold, yes, to read Shakespeare too, and to have a quick wit about her that he liked very much indeed.

He did not have to moderate his conversation—he was damned sure she would not only follow, but take over the lead if the occasion arose.

She challenged him in some ways, charmed him in others.

Was it any wonder she'd snagged his interest?