As were most things she desired.
“I just finished the one on top. Austen. Two novels are included. Her last, sadly. You’re welcome to it.”
She streaked her finger along a groove in the cover, delighted but trying hard not to show it. “I couldn’t possibly.”
“Really? You couldn’t possibly? Why not?”
Raine turned, a spike of impatience racing through her. A sentiment that had gotten her into trouble her entire bred-to-be-subservient-but-at-times-unable-to life. What she found was Christian Bainbridge’s gaze centered on her, or more specifically, on her finger, which still lovingly caressed the spine of Jane Austen’s final tome. His eyes were heated when they met hers; there was no way to hide it. She removed her hand from the book and tangled it in her apron to hold back the tremor.
The man affected her like no other.
She wondered suddenly, alarmingly, why she quite liked the way he made her feel. The way his attention put her on a pedestal she’d never inhabited. Made her want in a way she never had, skin tingling, mind whirring, heart thumping. She felt alive. Swallowing hard, her throat clicked. “I cannot because a gentleman does not loan books to a servant in a household he is visiting. It’s simply not done.”
Christian tugged on a length of twine surrounding a stack of envelopes he’d taken in hand, his gaze sweeping the length of her. “Who says I’m a gentleman,” he whispered, his expression caught between professor and pirate.
She frowned and walked toward him, settling in the leather armchair situated before the desk. The same chair she’d huddled in as the duke offered her a reprieve from a dreadful situation, offered her a new life. A new life she must carefully guard. “This is a ridiculous conversation. You’re an esteemed guest of the Duke and Duchess of Devon, and I’m here to help you translate.” She pushed a breath past her lips. We’re not on the same level, and we shouldn’t converse as if we were. “I have one hour before I’m expected upstairs. Can we begin?”
“Of course, my apologies for any transgression. But know this.” He dropped his eyes, slid a letter free from the envelope, and ironed his palm across the sheet. “I’m the youngest son of a vicar who used God’s word most brutally. I was lucky enough to find my talent at an early age, a profitable talent, admittedly, and thank God for it because there was nothing else for me. I, too, have worked for everything I have; I’ve been given nothing. If you and I are going to spend time together, I simply wanted you to understand we’re not so far apart.” He sighed, his gaze touching hers before roaming to the window and that enticing stack of books. “As recompense for assisting with the translations, I thought it proper if you took the book. Any of them,” he added, dragging his hand through his hair, leaving it in charming spikes atop his head.
His distress, and his generosity, sent a jolt through her. Not many kind men populated her world. She drew a breath that smelled faintly of the duke but more of the man across from her. She knew, instantly, the difference—and which scent she preferred. “I suppose I could borrow it. The Austen. With its return, what’s the harm?” Shrugging, she curled her toes inside her worn slippers, letting the way her body sang in his presence capture every sense while vowing to deny it. “I love nothing more than reading.”
His head lifted, his smile blinding.
She was lost.
And vexed that he’d so easily won their first battle.
* * *
He was lost. Charmed, intrigued.
Relieved. To know the girl he’d been drawn to so intensely years ago was a woman worth knowing, worth loving. Worth fighting for, should the situation come to that, which it would. He wasn’t afraid to act on impulse—and he always trusted his gut. Like the swift decision to take the apprenticeship in Cambridge that had changed his life, Christian knew what he wanted.
And he wanted Raine Mowbray.
Her finger trailed across the page, a tiny, concentrating fold centered between her brows. Her nose was pert, her cheeks lightly freckled, her jaw sharp, used to being stubbornly set, he’d bet. Her hair, as golden as the butter he’d spread on his breakfast scone, fleeing the silly domestic's headpiece he’d love to yank from her head. She was slender. Delicate. As poised as any lady roaming any ballroom he’d ever been invited into. Whip-smart, when intelligent females who admitted being intelligent, were a rare commodity.
And, ah, was she beautiful.
She nibbled on her thumbnail and hummed beneath her breath, scribbling translations on a sheet of foolscap. Christian held back a groan—and the urge to tip her chin high and pour his frustration into a fiery kiss. His body was pulsing with the fantasy, every inch of it.
“Am I interrupting your work?” she asked without looking up, a subtle smile tilting the corners of her mouth.
He wasn’t sure what he’d done to bring about amusement, but he’d go with it. They only had ten minutes left together, and Christian wanted Raine’s conversation more than he wanted details on how to build a detached escapement caliber. And that was a first. “I’m sorry, I got distracted. Devon’s watch repair may require a part I neglected to bring.”
Her long lashes lifted, revealing eyes he’d thought were brown but had turned out to be an enchanting shade of hazel. She hesitated before asking, “Did you truly turn down a knighthood?”
He opened his mouth, closed it. Ran his tongue over his teeth while searching for what he wanted to tell her. The truth was probably best. In any case, his cheeks flushed, saying it before he could.
“Heavens above, you did. You turned down a knighthood!”
The Prince Regent is cracked, Christian wanted to say. The watch in question was a piece of Austrian junk, not worth the expense or the bother.
