response was lost in the rows of shelving.
“Why yes, yes I do in fact have the very novel.” The shopkeeper’s voice had dropped to a clear attempt at conspiratorial whisper , a feat Drake was sure the other man hadn’t exhibited in at least two decades.
Drake’s ears perked up. His betrothed enjoyed literature. What were Emmaline’s reading preferences? Poetry. She struck him as a romantic. The thought summoned a memory from long ago. He was kneeling down beside a five-year-old Emmaline. She’d fallen and he’d helped her to her feet. “Are you a prince?”
He started. He’d all but forgotten that moment in time. It wasn’t particularly something a boy of thirteen would remark upon, let alone remember. But in his mind he could clearly see the five-year old girl’s brown eyes pooled with tears of pain. He remembered the way they’d widened in wonder at the sight of him.
The muffled sound of Emmaline’s whisper brought Drake’s attention back to her circumspect efforts. With a sure-step, he moved deeper into the shop, closer to the voices in discussion, and peered around the edge of the shelf.
Emmaline’s smile stretched wide, as she displayed a row of pearl-white teeth and one slightly angled, yet highly endearing front left tooth. She accepted the work proffered by the rotund little man as gingerly as if the Archbishop of Canterbury had offered her the Holy Grail. Turning it in her hands, she studied the cover, and said something to Miss Winters, who laughed, and accepted a second copy from the shopkeeper.
The man bowed and continued down the aisle, leaving the ladies alone.
The furtive glances his betrothed continued to steal only heightened Drake’s intrigue. What could she be up to?
Battlefield experience had shown him the importance of having the upper hand.
“Lady Emmaline, Miss Winters, what a pleasure seeing you both!” he called out.
A squeal of surprise rent the quiet hum of the empty bookshop followed by a thump as the book Emmaline had been holding fell to the floor. The novel tumbled open, and landed indignantly upon its spine, the title still concealed.
***
Blast and double blast!
She’d rather have ripped her hair out one strand at a time than have him find her here. After all her chance-meetings with Drake, this would be when he happened upon her.
“Lord Drake, what a pleasure to see you,” she lied.
Emmaline saw his lips moving but didn’t pay attention to his response. All her focus remained on the book at her feet. She peeked out the corner of her eye at Sophie. She dared hope Sophie had formulated a plan to recover the volume without attracting Drake’s notice, for Emmaline was stymied.
In attempt to distract him, Emmaline favored Drake with her most winning smile and stuck the tip of her satin slipper out as she tried to drag the leather volume toward her.
Drake’s jade eyes fell to her extended foot.
So much for her winningest smile.
“Please, allow me,” he insisted.
Like hell, she silently fumed. She made one last valiant attempt to collect the novel but he bent down to rescue the source of her quandary.
“ No need. I have it, my lord.” She bent over just as Drake did. Their heads met with a loud crack.
“ Oomph,” Emmaline gasped. The world rocked from under her and she would have splayed in an inelegant heap at his feet, but Drake’s arms were already out. He expertly righted her, rescuing her before she crashed to the floor and cradled her slender frame against his sculpted chest.
Emmaline’s breath caught. The press of his body against hers left her incapable of formulating one coherent thought. All she could comprehend was the absolute and total heat of his touch, the scent of sandalwood clinging to his person, tantalizing her senses.
Sophie sighed.
It would appear Drake heard it, too. As though Emmaline had spiked thorns along her forearms, he set her from him with alacrity.
She hated that her whole body should go on alert the moment
“Why yes, yes I do in fact have the very novel.” The shopkeeper’s voice had dropped to a clear attempt at conspiratorial whisper , a feat Drake was sure the other man hadn’t exhibited in at least two decades.
Drake’s ears perked up. His betrothed enjoyed literature. What were Emmaline’s reading preferences? Poetry. She struck him as a romantic. The thought summoned a memory from long ago. He was kneeling down beside a five-year-old Emmaline. She’d fallen and he’d helped her to her feet. “Are you a prince?”
He started. He’d all but forgotten that moment in time. It wasn’t particularly something a boy of thirteen would remark upon, let alone remember. But in his mind he could clearly see the five-year old girl’s brown eyes pooled with tears of pain. He remembered the way they’d widened in wonder at the sight of him.
The muffled sound of Emmaline’s whisper brought Drake’s attention back to her circumspect efforts. With a sure-step, he moved deeper into the shop, closer to the voices in discussion, and peered around the edge of the shelf.
Emmaline’s smile stretched wide, as she displayed a row of pearl-white teeth and one slightly angled, yet highly endearing front left tooth. She accepted the work proffered by the rotund little man as gingerly as if the Archbishop of Canterbury had offered her the Holy Grail. Turning it in her hands, she studied the cover, and said something to Miss Winters, who laughed, and accepted a second copy from the shopkeeper.
The man bowed and continued down the aisle, leaving the ladies alone.
The furtive glances his betrothed continued to steal only heightened Drake’s intrigue. What could she be up to?
Battlefield experience had shown him the importance of having the upper hand.
“Lady Emmaline, Miss Winters, what a pleasure seeing you both!” he called out.
A squeal of surprise rent the quiet hum of the empty bookshop followed by a thump as the book Emmaline had been holding fell to the floor. The novel tumbled open, and landed indignantly upon its spine, the title still concealed.
***
Blast and double blast!
She’d rather have ripped her hair out one strand at a time than have him find her here. After all her chance-meetings with Drake, this would be when he happened upon her.
“Lord Drake, what a pleasure to see you,” she lied.
Emmaline saw his lips moving but didn’t pay attention to his response. All her focus remained on the book at her feet. She peeked out the corner of her eye at Sophie. She dared hope Sophie had formulated a plan to recover the volume without attracting Drake’s notice, for Emmaline was stymied.
In attempt to distract him, Emmaline favored Drake with her most winning smile and stuck the tip of her satin slipper out as she tried to drag the leather volume toward her.
Drake’s jade eyes fell to her extended foot.
So much for her winningest smile.
“Please, allow me,” he insisted.
Like hell, she silently fumed. She made one last valiant attempt to collect the novel but he bent down to rescue the source of her quandary.
“ No need. I have it, my lord.” She bent over just as Drake did. Their heads met with a loud crack.
“ Oomph,” Emmaline gasped. The world rocked from under her and she would have splayed in an inelegant heap at his feet, but Drake’s arms were already out. He expertly righted her, rescuing her before she crashed to the floor and cradled her slender frame against his sculpted chest.
Emmaline’s breath caught. The press of his body against hers left her incapable of formulating one coherent thought. All she could comprehend was the absolute and total heat of his touch, the scent of sandalwood clinging to his person, tantalizing her senses.
Sophie sighed.
It would appear Drake heard it, too. As though Emmaline had spiked thorns along her forearms, he set her from him with alacrity.
She hated that her whole body should go on alert the moment
Similar Books
