about your offer. Oyster, would you summon a cab for us?”
“ You need to think about the job? Why?” Sir Gideon spread his hands, palms up at his sides in mock confusion. “It appears to me the editors in this city aren’t going to give you the resources or scope to do the sort of stories you should do. They think of you as a—oh, what did that idiot in the police station call you?” He obviously knew the hateful word and was just dragging it out. His forehead wrinkled in pretend concentration. At last he snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Nothing more than a stunt. Nothing real or to do with honest reporting. Certainly not a journalist. And I’ll wager that your Tulip agrees.”
“ Which Tulip?” She had trouble keeping from smiling. He was good.
“ Tulip or Loopy. Your editor.”
“ Mr. Tooley. He’s good, and he doesn’t think I’m—”
“ I expect he doesn’t put your stories on the first page.”
“ They’ve been there.”
“ With the largest headline?”
She didn ’t bother to answer, because of course he already knew.
“ You put the effort into a story and something as good as your series about the orphans for me, and I’ll make certain every single piece is placed on the front page of my best paper. My flagship publication.”
He ’d actually read her stories. She’d assumed he only kept track of circulation and which stories sold well.
“ And you’d pay for my time? You’ll let me take the time for research?” Her heart raced.
“ I’ll pay for your background work. Not just the stories. You’d be more than a stringer. You’d be salaried.”
No , she couldn’t just leap without thinking first. She only allowed herself that kind of recklessness when she was on the hunt for a story. “Mr. Kendall. Or, rather, Lord Langham.”
“ No, just Sir Gideon.” He broke into a real smile. “Mind you, we’re a very superior sort of Sir. I’m Langham, the twelfth baronet. We call baronets Bart for short.”
This self-deprecation was more dangerous to her equilibrium than the bullying publisher he’d been in the restaurant.
“ Sir Gideon . You can certainly give me twenty-four hours to decide if I want to throw myself into a whole new life.”
He sighed. “Yes, of course. I just want you very much.”
They seemed to hear the do uble meaning at the same instant. She felt herself flush, and he gave a slow and wicked smile. Another real smile. She could see it in his eyes.
Sir Gideon waited for two heartbeats before he leaned forward and spoke in a low, husky voice with that lovely accent so only she could hear. “Your work is exquisite. Your prose style is delicate, with fine details and nothing overblown, yet each word packs quite a wallop, as you might say in America.”
Heavens. Was he talking about her words or her body? After all, he’d found out what kind of physical wallop she packed when she’d careened into him.
He straightened. His smile faded , and he tucked his hands behind his back and took a step away from her. “I am serious, you know. You don’t force your reader to plow through paragraphs of your own ranting; you let us see the situation for ourselves. You smoothly blend the specific with the general. And there’s always solid grounding in fact, so I know you are more than observant. You are also a fine researcher.”
She felt her knees go weak. The man might have called her as magnetic as Helen of Troy and she wouldn’t feel this close to swooning. “Thank you,” she managed. “I suppose. Um. Thank you.”
“ It’s settled, then.”
She found herself nodding. So much for taking her time to decide —she apparently had a new job. In England .
“ Shall we inform your family? Immediately,” he added.
She woke up from the strange trance his energy had thrown her into. “I can do that. Why on earth do you think that’s part of your duties as my employer?”
“ It’s no trouble at all,” he said jovially. “I’d be glad to
“ You need to think about the job? Why?” Sir Gideon spread his hands, palms up at his sides in mock confusion. “It appears to me the editors in this city aren’t going to give you the resources or scope to do the sort of stories you should do. They think of you as a—oh, what did that idiot in the police station call you?” He obviously knew the hateful word and was just dragging it out. His forehead wrinkled in pretend concentration. At last he snapped his fingers. “That’s right. Nothing more than a stunt. Nothing real or to do with honest reporting. Certainly not a journalist. And I’ll wager that your Tulip agrees.”
“ Which Tulip?” She had trouble keeping from smiling. He was good.
“ Tulip or Loopy. Your editor.”
“ Mr. Tooley. He’s good, and he doesn’t think I’m—”
“ I expect he doesn’t put your stories on the first page.”
“ They’ve been there.”
“ With the largest headline?”
She didn ’t bother to answer, because of course he already knew.
“ You put the effort into a story and something as good as your series about the orphans for me, and I’ll make certain every single piece is placed on the front page of my best paper. My flagship publication.”
He ’d actually read her stories. She’d assumed he only kept track of circulation and which stories sold well.
“ And you’d pay for my time? You’ll let me take the time for research?” Her heart raced.
“ I’ll pay for your background work. Not just the stories. You’d be more than a stringer. You’d be salaried.”
No , she couldn’t just leap without thinking first. She only allowed herself that kind of recklessness when she was on the hunt for a story. “Mr. Kendall. Or, rather, Lord Langham.”
“ No, just Sir Gideon.” He broke into a real smile. “Mind you, we’re a very superior sort of Sir. I’m Langham, the twelfth baronet. We call baronets Bart for short.”
This self-deprecation was more dangerous to her equilibrium than the bullying publisher he’d been in the restaurant.
“ Sir Gideon . You can certainly give me twenty-four hours to decide if I want to throw myself into a whole new life.”
He sighed. “Yes, of course. I just want you very much.”
They seemed to hear the do uble meaning at the same instant. She felt herself flush, and he gave a slow and wicked smile. Another real smile. She could see it in his eyes.
Sir Gideon waited for two heartbeats before he leaned forward and spoke in a low, husky voice with that lovely accent so only she could hear. “Your work is exquisite. Your prose style is delicate, with fine details and nothing overblown, yet each word packs quite a wallop, as you might say in America.”
Heavens. Was he talking about her words or her body? After all, he’d found out what kind of physical wallop she packed when she’d careened into him.
He straightened. His smile faded , and he tucked his hands behind his back and took a step away from her. “I am serious, you know. You don’t force your reader to plow through paragraphs of your own ranting; you let us see the situation for ourselves. You smoothly blend the specific with the general. And there’s always solid grounding in fact, so I know you are more than observant. You are also a fine researcher.”
She felt her knees go weak. The man might have called her as magnetic as Helen of Troy and she wouldn’t feel this close to swooning. “Thank you,” she managed. “I suppose. Um. Thank you.”
“ It’s settled, then.”
She found herself nodding. So much for taking her time to decide —she apparently had a new job. In England .
“ Shall we inform your family? Immediately,” he added.
She woke up from the strange trance his energy had thrown her into. “I can do that. Why on earth do you think that’s part of your duties as my employer?”
“ It’s no trouble at all,” he said jovially. “I’d be glad to
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