to herself why she wanted to keep talking to him, but she did. There was something appealing about him, in spite of the aloofness of his demeanor. She liked the sound of his voice, and she really longed to see him smile.
“Not kind at all,” he replied. “Only fairness. When I was young, I was permitted to explore the grounds of Hart House freely and wantonly, and I did so at every opportunity. The previous owner, Lady Burton, was very gracious.”
“Yes, I gather Hart House has some interesting features. I heard there was a grotto or some such thing on the grounds, but no one seems to know where it is—or was.”
For the first time a spark brightened his eye. “I know about the grotto.” His mouth softened—not quite into a smile, but a less grim line than usual. Abigail felt inordinately heartened by it, and her heart positively leapt when he leaned closer. “I know where it is, too.”
“You do?” she gasped. “It still exists? I thought it had been filled in.”
“Only by the encroaching woods. One has to forge through the brambles to get there.” This time his mouth most definitely did curve, and something like triumph brought a wholly different cast to his face. He looked younger, almost rakish. “When I found it several years ago, I felt like the most intrepid explorer, as if I’d located the source of the Nile for the first time.”
Abigail was having a hard time keeping her mind on the topic. Mr. Vane was the most attractive man she’d ever seen. Good heavens; she’d read about women being dazzled by a man, falling in love almost on the spot. She’d never understood how that could happen until today. Were the women of Richmond blind? Why wasn’t he besieged by unmarried ladies? “You must have been very intrepid, indeed,” she said, scrambling for her wits. “Lady Samantha Lennox told us her brother searched and searched for the grotto but never found it.”
Like a candle being snuffed, the light went out of his face. His mouth flattened into the same flat line, and he seemed to withdraw without moving a muscle. “No.”
“Will this be all, miss?” The shopkeeper’s voice made Abigail jump. She turned, still reeling from his transformation—for both good and bad—and saw, with a shock of alarm, that the shopkeeper had found her books—all of them. And right on top, unwrapped and exposed for all the world to see, lay 50 Ways to Sin .
For one horrified moment Abigail stared at it blankly. Oh heavens. She hadn’t expected this sort of shop to have it. She hadn’t expected the woman to hand it over so carelessly and brazenly; the London bookstore wrapped it in paper. She certainly hadn’t expected to be engaged in any sort of tête-à-tête with Mr. Vane when the woman brought it out. And yet part of her was elated as well to have a new copy at last. What would Lady Constance get up to in this one?
“Yes,” she burst out, shaking off her paralysis with a start. “Thank you.” She plopped her reticule on top of the pamphlet to hide the title, making a show of searching inside for money and tilting her bonnet so the brim hid her blushing face.
“Can I help you, sir?” asked the shopkeeper as Abigail fumbled with her coins. There was a decided chill to the woman’s voice as she turned to Mr. Vane.
“I’m looking for The Nautical Almanac ,” he replied. “The latest edition.”
She sniffed. “I’ll have to see.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Driscoll.”
Abigail peeked at him around the edge of her bonnet. Mrs. Driscoll hardly addressed him as a respectable man of property, but he didn’t seem perturbed by it. She handed her money to the shopkeeper and unthinkingly picked up her reticule, only to remember a moment later and snatch up the books.
“Good day, Mr. Vane,” she said, turning to him. “I hope we see each other again.”
For a fraction of a second his eyes dipped to the books she held. “Perhaps we will, Miss Weston.”
Oh dear Lord. He’d seen it. Abigail
“Not kind at all,” he replied. “Only fairness. When I was young, I was permitted to explore the grounds of Hart House freely and wantonly, and I did so at every opportunity. The previous owner, Lady Burton, was very gracious.”
“Yes, I gather Hart House has some interesting features. I heard there was a grotto or some such thing on the grounds, but no one seems to know where it is—or was.”
For the first time a spark brightened his eye. “I know about the grotto.” His mouth softened—not quite into a smile, but a less grim line than usual. Abigail felt inordinately heartened by it, and her heart positively leapt when he leaned closer. “I know where it is, too.”
“You do?” she gasped. “It still exists? I thought it had been filled in.”
“Only by the encroaching woods. One has to forge through the brambles to get there.” This time his mouth most definitely did curve, and something like triumph brought a wholly different cast to his face. He looked younger, almost rakish. “When I found it several years ago, I felt like the most intrepid explorer, as if I’d located the source of the Nile for the first time.”
Abigail was having a hard time keeping her mind on the topic. Mr. Vane was the most attractive man she’d ever seen. Good heavens; she’d read about women being dazzled by a man, falling in love almost on the spot. She’d never understood how that could happen until today. Were the women of Richmond blind? Why wasn’t he besieged by unmarried ladies? “You must have been very intrepid, indeed,” she said, scrambling for her wits. “Lady Samantha Lennox told us her brother searched and searched for the grotto but never found it.”
Like a candle being snuffed, the light went out of his face. His mouth flattened into the same flat line, and he seemed to withdraw without moving a muscle. “No.”
“Will this be all, miss?” The shopkeeper’s voice made Abigail jump. She turned, still reeling from his transformation—for both good and bad—and saw, with a shock of alarm, that the shopkeeper had found her books—all of them. And right on top, unwrapped and exposed for all the world to see, lay 50 Ways to Sin .
For one horrified moment Abigail stared at it blankly. Oh heavens. She hadn’t expected this sort of shop to have it. She hadn’t expected the woman to hand it over so carelessly and brazenly; the London bookstore wrapped it in paper. She certainly hadn’t expected to be engaged in any sort of tête-à-tête with Mr. Vane when the woman brought it out. And yet part of her was elated as well to have a new copy at last. What would Lady Constance get up to in this one?
“Yes,” she burst out, shaking off her paralysis with a start. “Thank you.” She plopped her reticule on top of the pamphlet to hide the title, making a show of searching inside for money and tilting her bonnet so the brim hid her blushing face.
“Can I help you, sir?” asked the shopkeeper as Abigail fumbled with her coins. There was a decided chill to the woman’s voice as she turned to Mr. Vane.
“I’m looking for The Nautical Almanac ,” he replied. “The latest edition.”
She sniffed. “I’ll have to see.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Driscoll.”
Abigail peeked at him around the edge of her bonnet. Mrs. Driscoll hardly addressed him as a respectable man of property, but he didn’t seem perturbed by it. She handed her money to the shopkeeper and unthinkingly picked up her reticule, only to remember a moment later and snatch up the books.
“Good day, Mr. Vane,” she said, turning to him. “I hope we see each other again.”
For a fraction of a second his eyes dipped to the books she held. “Perhaps we will, Miss Weston.”
Oh dear Lord. He’d seen it. Abigail
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