Chapter 5

Lottie sat like a queen before a window, sunlight shining on her golden curls, and an army of men circled her, vying for her attention like pups fighting for a tossed bone. Lord Halford even had a puppy-like appearance with a black spot around his eye. He scowled now and then at Lord Hunford who, Andromeda could only surmise, owned the fist that had done the damage. Or was Hunford the one with the black eye and Halford the one scowling? They looked a bit alike. Made things difficult.

Pacing the back of the room with a wary eye, Andromeda worried, as she'd done almost constantly in the fortnight since Samuel had made his demands. Today's worries concerned Halford and Hunford, who appeared likely to break into fisticuffs before the hour passed. She also worried Lottie might beat them to it, slamming her fist into the face of the next man who breathed too close to her. If not that, she'd likely fall asleep. She'd seemed perilously close to doing so and falling face first into the tea set not five minutes earlier just before Lord Thurston had finished reciting his poem. Thankfully an ill rhyme for eyes—dies—had woken Lottie with a start.

Why dies when there existed so many other options? Flies, prize, rise, skies to name a few.

Andromeda sighed. Mostly she worried because out of the five men surrounding Lottie, three of them possessed mamas most enamored with the sort of book their little secret lending library specialized in.

One of them sat beside her. Chaperoning, she claimed. A poor lie when Great Aunt Millicent sat primly in the corner, her lace cap falling off her white hair and dangling over one closed eye. She snored a bit too much for consciousness, but they did not need a second chaperone.

Andromeda peered at Lottie, who sliced her a gaze so sharp, she feared the fellows between them might lose their heads. Or a few of their hairs at the least. She would be fine for the moment, so Andromeda sat next to Lord Thurston's mother, the Marchioness of Templeton.

"You do not have to be here, Lady Templeton," Andromeda said, turning to the woman with a big, bright smile. "Aunt Millicent has things well in hand. And I am as good as married, a suitable replacement chaperone should anything prove too difficult for her to manage."

"I'm not here for that, my girl. I'm here for a"—she leaned closer and finished with a whisper—"book." She snapped back straight, the brown and silver curls framing her face wobbled. Her blue eyes cast first in one direction, then the other, looking for eavesdroppers no doubt.

She wanted a book. Hell and chaos. Andromeda had feared as much. "Well, my lady—"

"You do understand I cannot let Thurston actually form a tendre for your sister."

"I-wh-I. Hm." She folded her hands in her lap and searched for the correct thing to say instead of smashing the small and at-hand pillow embroidered with the words Leave me alone—Imogen's handiwork—into the lady's face. "I'm afraid I do not understand." There. Perfectly reasonable response.

"I mean no offense. It is merely with my knowledge of how you and your sisters spend your free hours, I cannot allow you to marry my son." She offered a placating smile, weak and pitiful. "In every other way, you and your sisters are perfectly acceptable. Duke's daughters, after all. Yet… there is the small matter of—"

"Yes, I understand perfectly." The women were willing to benefit from what she and her sisters offered, but they were not willing to create alliances with them.

"I will not stop others from marrying their sons to you. In fact, I will celebrate your nuptials. It is only…"

"Not to Lord Thurston."

"Precisely. I am glad we are of one mind on this matter. Now… about that book."

"Lady Templet—"

The door to her right opened. Good thing since she wasn't quite sure what she was going to say. The butler Mr. Jacobs appeared and cleared his throat, tall and straight as a poker in his gray and gold livery.

"Mr. Kingston," he announced.

Andromeda jumped to her feet, smoothed her skirts.

And then he appeared, that lock of hair, thick and sun-kissed, falling across his forehead and giving her the mad impulse to push it back, set it to straights. No. It did not belong with the other locks. It belonged right where it was, above his brow, and it likely knew it, cocky thing.

His gaze locked on her, and he did not bow. "Excellent. I had hoped you would be here."

She ambled closer to him, out of Lady Templeton's earshot. "It is so lovely to see you again, too, Mr. Kingston. I am quite well. Thank you for asking."

His green eyes danced, and his lips softened.

She frowned and leaned closer, then lowered her voice. "You cannot be here to court my sister. She dismissed you."

"I'm here to court. Why are there so many men here?"

"Samuel suggested putting all the suitors in one room together will make them work harder to earn Lottie's approval."

"Is it working?"

"It's certainly sending her more quickly into a frustration from which none of us may escape. You should join them. Send them scattering."

"Do you think I can, Lady Andromeda? Send them scattering."

"Absolutely."

"And why is that?"

"Because you're so very much superior to—" She snapped her lips together.

He chuckled. "Superior, am I? To whom? All of them? Your own suitor?"

"No." No graceful way to back away from her slip of tongue. Might as well just bash through a wall with a lie like a sledgehammer and run.

"If it helps," he said, his voice dropping low so only she could hear, "I think you're rather superior yourself."

More compliments. Why did he always compliment her? When she'd last seen him, he'd made her feel seen, desired. And now, with a few words, he did the same again.

She swallowed down the feelings of delight and stepped away from him. "You should try your hand at winning hers." And because she'd said hand, she looked at his. "Where are your gloves?" His hands were bare once more. And ink stained. And strong and sinewy. And now that little blurry image of the ideal man had inky, sinewy hands and no gloves in sight.

Hell and chaos.

He held up those illogically beautiful appendages, turned them over, frowned. "I've no idea. I take them off at work. The presses at the new paper I've bought are too old. I've been trying to fix them. My business partner wants to buy new ones, but I'd like to see if I can get these working before we make the investment. And it's been so devilishly hot recently, I don't seem to notice when I fail to put them back on." He leaned forward. "Do you like my hands? You must, otherwise you would not notice them. And you did. Twice now. At least."

He was a devil, wasn't he? A tease, a flirt, a mischief-maker. Made her feel bubbly, and that was wrong.

"Do you know how many sisters I have?" she asked.

"Seven. Your brother will let no one forget it."

"Three of those sisters are not yet out of the school room and quite mischievous. I can tell when someone is about to get into trouble."

"And why do you say that?"

"Because you are contemplating trouble." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm certain of it."

"Depends on one's definitions. What is trouble to you might be a necessity for me."

"You live on trouble as if it is air, then?"

"You tempt me to breathe."

"Wh-what does that mean?" She felt his meaning, though, without explanation.

He grinned, a cocky half thing, and then he winked. "Should I shove off and tend to your sister then?"

"Certainly."

He walked backward, inching toward Lottie behind him but still wearing his grin and holding Andromeda's gaze. "Do you think she'll like my hands?"

Who wouldn't like his hands?

She fisted her own in her skirts. "You'll have to ask her."

"I will." He pushed through the circle of suitors to stand at Lottie's side. He leaned low over her, and they exchanged words Andromeda could not quite make out. Then he surveyed the suitors and might as well have given a direct command with the rapidity with which they scurried to the edges of the room.

A thrill raced through her. He was a man who always got what he wanted, and she admired it. More than admired. She—

She cut off that thought, like slamming shut a window letting in too-warm air. But she could not tear her attention from him. He lifted an arm to push that lock of hair from his eyes, and the movement strained the seams of his jacket. She bit her bottom lip to still, somehow, the burst of appreciation coursing through her.

And he lifted his attention from her sister and saw her watching him. He lifted a brow, curved his lips, and she held his gaze for a breath, glad to have it back, though she should not be. It was not hers, but when he returned his attention to Lottie it felt like theft, like something precious had been stolen from her.

Something jagged ripped through her. Jealousy? No. Ridiculous.

Andromeda fell almost numb to her seat beside Lady Templeton.

"Who is that?" The lady elbowed Andromeda's ribs. "He's horribly unkempt."

"He's Mr. Tristan Kingston, owner of several London newspapers."

Lady Templeton nodded. "He's likely the only type of husband you ladies will get. Fellows like him don't care so much about a woman who's wild in the bedroom."

Andromeda pulled herself up tall. "Does your husband mind?"

Lady Templeton pressed her lips tight, but a smile fell through, nonetheless. "Some fellows are less stupid than others. My Archie is one of them. He appreciates what I learn from my books."

"Excellent luck for you, my lady. And might I suggest a level of appreciation for those who supply you with the sort of books that keep Archie happy?"

Lady Templeton's shoulders jerked. "I assure you. I do appreciate you. And I would not speak thusly with your sisters. They are not as close to the marriage bed as you are."

"What is it you want, my lady?" Andromeda said without a sigh, which was quite the victory.

Lady Templeton flipped to the back of her book. From the pages she pulled a small slip of folded paper and handed it to Andromeda. "Just there. I know it's available. Lady Snipes told me so."

Andromeda opened the slip of paper and read the title. "Yes, she recently returned it."

"May I have it before I leave?"

Andromeda should tell the woman that she could not have her book unless she allowed her son the privilege of marrying Lottie or any of her sisters. None of them wished to marry at the moment, but that did not mean they would remain of that persuasion. When their minds turned to marriage, they should have the options they deserved. She could hint that Lady Templeton's too-strict standards could result in a loss of her preferred reading material. But such a standoff might not end in their favor.

"Yes," she said instead, standing to keep the threats from spilling out. "I shall retrieve it immediately." As she left the room, she felt her ears burning. She turned in the doorway.

Kingston looked at her, his gaze hard, a question there. Feeling the fire in his eyes leaping into her body, she strode from the room, pulling her gloves off as she almost ran to her mother's parlor. Too hot. All of her, everything—much, much too hot.

The drawing room was empty, and she ran to the window and threw it open, hoping to gulp in the fresh air. But May offered nothing of the sort, and her breaths at the window did nothing to cool her off. She leaned her forehead against the window frame and pulled in deep breaths, nonetheless.

She felt too hot, too shaky. Simply due to Lady Templeton's threats? It must be. It could not be because of Kingston. Yet, wasn't he as large a threat? A newspaperman in their midst, trying to get close to them, to Lottie.

Charming Andromeda too, whether he knew it or not.

Too many dangers after four years fraught with peril—of discovery, of scandal, or ruined reputations. Good thing they'd kept Prudence, Imogen, and Isabella's participation in the scheme a secret. No one knew they were involved, and it must stay that way. Or women like Lady Templeton would hurt their chances of making good matches.

Shaking her head, Andromeda fled to the large, locked wardrobe where they kept the books, where their mother had kept the books. Nothing had changed since the duchess last left the room. They kept the furniture where she'd had it, the items inside the furniture just as she'd left it, and the key to the wardrobe where she'd last hidden it—on the floor, in the slightest sliver of space between the heavy furniture and the wall, inside a small velvet bag.

Andromeda dropped to her hands and knees beside the wardrobe to retrieve it.