“Agreed.”
They shook hands quickly, at the precise moment the door to the shop was thrown open.
Stephen dreaded turning around. What if it were the crying Miranda? Or her moaning mother?
Thank God it was only Lady Duchamp. “Captain Arrow, the top-heavy matron on your front doorstep is spitting nonsense,” she drawled, “something about your being here to pursue Miss Jones. I shall feel compelled to box her husband’s gigantic ears if she’s told me a lie.”
Stephen drew himself up. “It’s no one’s business but mine and Miss Jones’s, my lady.”
Lady Duchamp looked at Miss Jones. “Has he proposed marriage?”
“No.” Miss Jones’s mouth was a bit white.
“Well?” Lady Duchamp stared accusingly at Stephen. “Whyever not, if you’re pursuing her? Do you have reservations, young man, about commitment?”
“As I said, my lady, it’s—”
“Hellooo? Is she in here?” Lady Hartley thankfully interrupted, her voice calling like a foghorn from outside.
Miss Hartley, her hands clamped to her ears, peered over her mother’s shoulder into the shop. “Oh, ith lovely!” she exclaimed.
Lady Duchamp curled her lip at the new arrivals. “I don’t consort with mushrooms,” she said. “I’m leaving.”
Miss Hartley blanched as Lady Duchamp made her way past her by nudging her in the stomach with the tiny porcelain woman at the top of her frightening walking stick.
But Lady Hartley batted the cane away. “Get that thing away from me!”
“Watch yourself!” Lady Duchamp warned her.
For a few seconds, a small struggle at the top of the stairs between both titled ladies took Stephen’s attention away from Miss Jones’s delicate profile, which he’d been admiring while she wasn’t looking.
But the old harridan and her swinging cane were soon out of the way, and Lady Hartley and Miss Hartley finally entered the shop. Miss Hartley smiled sweetly at Miss Jones, but her mother eyed Miss Jones’s modest pink gown and appeared to find it wanting.
“It’s come to my attention you’re the object of Captain Arrow’s pursuit,” Lady Hartley said. “Are you?”
Miss Jones deigned to smile at her. “I don’t know. Am I?”
“Impertinent girl!” The matron reddened, but then her gaze turned hopeful. “You mean you’re not the captain’s intended?”
Miss Hartley bit her lip and appeared most interested in the answer, as well.
Bedazzled virgins often were.
Miss Jones looked at him with a twinkle in her eye—a most unexpected twinkle—and shrugged. “Captain Arrow has never declared himself,” she said in a breezy manner.
Lady Hartley turned to Stephen. “Well?”
“A man likes to choose his own opportunities,” he said grimly. “
“All I know,” said Miss Jones to the ladies with a confidential air, “is that he follows me about like a lovesick puppy.” She giggled. “He’s quite adorable, if you like that sort of thing.”
Lovesick puppy?
Stephen narrowed his eyes. Miss Jones had adjusted rather well to their so-called impossible and unwelcome circumstances, hadn’t she?
Miss Hartley giggled. Lady Hartley looked at him suspiciously.
Which wouldn’t do at all. The two women mustn’t guess this was all a ruse. He was livid, but he did his best to look like an adorable, lovesick puppy—without losing an ounce of his captain’s authority or his bachelor aloofness.
“You appear quite ill, Captain Arrow,” said Miss Jones, her voice concerned but her eyes alight with amusement. “Are you all right?”
“Never better,” he choked out, and sped off.
He would wring Miss Jones’s neck later.
He found Sir Ned with his nose still in the atlas. “Purchase the thing,” Stephen told him. “And leave.”
Instead, Sir Ned trotted to the counter, the book hugged close to his chest. “I think I shall simply borrow this book for a while. I’m living right next door, after all.”
“I’m sorry, but I need to
Sir Ned glared at her, dropped the book on a table, and stalked out of the shop, his wife and daughter right behind him.
Miss Jones looked at Stephen with dismay. “Sir Ned and Lady Hartley are awful.”
“Yes, they are.”
She didn’t even seem to hear him agree with her, which was a rarity she should enjoy. But now that everyone had left, she was like a balloon with no air. In their short, fiery acquaintance, Stephen had never seen her so despondent.
He didn’t like seeing her this way. She was far too appealing to sink so low.
“I think it’s best you go now, Captain,” she said quietly.
He felt guilt slap into him like whitecaps on the side of a dinghy. “You may not want to masquerade as the object of my affections,” he said, “but you certainly got some enjoyment out of the charade a moment ago. So why are you upset now?”
She took out that damned dusting cloth and began to wipe it over a tabletop. “Because this deception of yours was thrust upon me. It’s a waste of my valuable time, and I regret allowing you to interfere with the running of Hodgepodge.”
“Miss Jones, forgive me for noticing,” he said gently, “but it’s not as if you’re bombarded with customers.”
She wheeled on him. “I know that. But I’d rather spend time on my priorities than on yours. I couldn’t care less if Sir Ned and Lady Hartley attempt to snag you as their daughter’s husband. But I do care about making my bookstore a thriving business. And—”
“And what?”
She bit her lip. “It’s highly improper, our arrangement. What if—”
“What if what?”
She shook her head. “Never mind.”
Gently, he took her arm. “Are you worried I might take advantage of you? Perhaps even kiss you?”
He could see her swallow. “Would you?” she whispered, and looked up at him.
A taut silence stretched between them.
“No.” He did want to kiss her, of course. “I would do nothing without your permission.”
She nodded, apparently relieved, which was a new circumstance for him. Most women craved his kisses.
“Let’s look on the bright side,” he said. “Perhaps we could both work to increase your business. Helping Hodgepodge thrive would help me, as well.”
Her face brightened. “How?”
“I could do some chores for you. My houseguests will see I’m here … which will confirm their belief that I’m pursuing you.”
He thought about his beam that needed fixing. It would have to wait another day or two, maybe even a week, before he could get back to it.
Miss Jones appeared to consider the idea. “I can’t think of anything I need, except—”
She closed her mouth again.
“What?” he asked her.
“It doesn’t matter. I need some carpentry work. But I’ve no supplies and won’t be able to afford any for a while.”
“I’ve got a shed full of tools and whatnot. What did you require exactly?”
