Master of Love by Catherine LaRoche Page A

could count on her never letting her guard down to prevent any of his flirtation from proceeding beyond the harmless. Nor, he told himself, would he actually fall so low as to seduce her. So surely a little friendly flirting was harmless? It was, after all, what he did best, what society expected of him, and what he’d long ago perfected.
    He had a sudden sense she might be just what he needed—and far more than he deserved.
    She recovered her composure by picking up one of her ledger books to hide her blush as she bent studiously over its pages. “There is another problem. I have made a rough preliminary count”—she tapped a quill against the open ledger without looking up—“and worked some calculations. Even if we cull all the doubles from the collection and tightly fill the shelves, there is not nearly enough room in the library for all the new volumes.”
    â€œYes, I gathered that myself.” He pivoted to look around the room. “I hadn’t quite realized when Uncle George proposed this arrangement how many books his collection had grown to include, nor that he intended to ship me every last blessed one of them.”
    â€œPerhaps you’d care to sell part of the collection, or put it in storage? Or have me arrange a secondary collection from the books here for one of your other residences?” she proposed. “You have a country home, do you not?”
    He paced in a winding circle through the trunks. “I don’t care to sell any of the books, not after Uncle George has made me such a grand gesture. You can cull any doubles to send to my country seat, but I want the rest kept here. We’ve agreed we need the collection together to create that grand impressive display on my shelves, haven’t we?” He came to a stop close in front of her, favoring her with wide eyes and his most innocent smile.
    She gave him a hard look and moved away. “Do you have significant book shelving elsewhere in Rexton House? Perhaps in your private study?”
    â€œIn my study, certainly,” he answered, “although not enough, I think, to contain all the overflow from here. Although now you mention it”—he snapped his fingers as a grin spread across his face—“that could be an ideal solution.”
    â€œWhat solution would that be?” she asked with a gratifying degree of alarm.
    â€œI don’t want the books spread all through the public rooms and bedchambers of Rexton House, so we need to set up a unified secondary collection somewhere else in the house. The most logical place is my study. It would make sense to put there those volumes of least interest to guests and those few books I consult most regularly in my occasional feeble attempts at reading and writing.”
    She shook her head at his self-mockery. “Yes, that would seem to make sense.”
    â€œYou concur, then, with my plan, Miss Higginbotham?” He came up behind her and dropped his voice into its deeper register, purring out her name, just to spark that mix of panic and annoyance in her eyes. While it was childish of him to toy with her so, he couldn’t resist.
    She turned to frown up at him, back against her worktable. “With what, exactly, am I concurring?”
    â€œWhy, that I should have my study renovated, of course, starting immediately, to accommodate this secondary collection. We can remove the paneling across the back and side walls of the study and build shelving cabinetry for the books.” He rubbed his hands in delight at the prospect. “I shall quite bask in the splendor of being surrounded by such a handsome collection.”
    She pursed her lips hard, as if biting back a retort. “I certainly wouldn’t want to put you to any unnecessary expense or inconvenience. This book-collection project is already turning your household upside down.”
    â€œIt will all be worth it, I am sure, my dear Miss Higginbotham.” He