Rhyme and Reason by Jo Ann Ferguson

see him. She wished to leave, but that was impossible when he stood between her and the door. Pushing past him was unthinkable, yet continuing this conversation when Papa had forbidden her to receive Lord Wentworth was as impossible.
    “Miss Talcott,” he continued, smiling, “if I may be so bold as to speak the truth, Homsby would be wise to keep such lovely company as you here in his shop to persuade the gentlemen to pause and browse among his books.”
    “You are bold, and there is no need to lather me with compliments. I appreciate being told the truth.”
    He laughed. “And I may trust you to speak the truth.”
    Shame seared her, for she was being anything but truthful when she stood next to her books in the window. But she was not the only one guilty of falsehoods. Lord Wentworth had lied to her about her father’s losses and showed no regret.
    “Do you come to look,” he went on, “or do you have a specific volume in mind?” He ran his gloved finger along the spines and selected one. “If I may offer a suggestion, Miss Talcott, I believe you would find this book on roses interesting.”
    Emily took it. The book was by Dr. Osborne, who was gaining a fine reputation as an expert on gardening. With a sigh, she replaced it. She did not have money to indulge in the luxury of a book.
    “It wasn’t to your liking?” Lord Wentworth asked, warning she must guard every reaction, for his eyes were keen.
    “Quite to the contrary.” She hoped her smile would not falter. “Thank you for pointing it out, my lord.”
    He nodded and went to the counter. Releasing another sigh, but this one of gratitude that he had not pursued his curiosity further, she glanced at the book on roses. Mayhap she should ask Mr. Homsby to hold it. When her royalties were sufficient to pay for it, he could send it to her.
    Emily’s happiness vanished into amazement when she saw what Mr. Homsby was handing to Lord Wentworth. It was her book.
    As if he sensed her thoughts, which she found a discomfiting idea, Lord Wentworth said, “You need not stare at me like a disgruntled schoolmaster, Miss Talcott.”
    “I find it peculiar you should deride the marquis’s poetry upon our last meeting and now purchase a copy.” She should remain silent, but she was frustrated with what might be another of his out-and-outers. How many more tales would he tell her before she had the good sense to—To what? Put him from her life? Ridiculous! He was not a part of her life. She was acting as moony as Miriam each time she thought of Graham Simpkins.
    “This book is not for me, but a gift, Miss Talcott.” His smile was dazzling and urged her to believe him.
    “Forgive me. I did not mean to stare.”
    “But you were, and just like a schoolmaster.” He winked at Mr. Homsby who was listening with ill-concealed interest. “A lad would pay much more attention to his lessons if he had a teacher like Miss Talcott. Don’t you agree, Homsby?”
    “Yes, yes, my lord,” the bookseller said so quickly Emily frowned. Mr. Homsby was often obsequious, but this was absurd.
    Lord Wentworth set the book on the counter so it could be wrapped. “As I suspect you well know, Miss Talcott, a gift should be selected for the pleasure of the recipient, not for the taste of the giver. I have not changed my opinion of the book or its contents.”
    “Honesty at last, I believe.”
    Mr. Homsby interjected, “Miss Talcott, I assure you that Lord Wentworth has a reputation for being honest.”
    “Thank you for the testimonial,” Lord Wentworth said, “but I am curious why Miss Talcott jests with me on this matter.” His eyes narrowed as he rested his hand on the counter.
    She was not bamblusterated by his nonchalance. It was no more than a pose. As she was not certain how long she could maintain her own pretense of serenity when those incredible eyes were focused on her, sending a swift, sweet pulse resonating through her, she said, “I leave you to your gift buying, my