Practically Wicked (17 page)

No sign of irritation was allowed to reach her face. But in her mind’s eye she was glowering mightily at him and walking around the table so that she might deliver a swift kick to his shins. The blasted man knew damn well how rarely she left Anover House.

She only wished she knew if he was indulging in a spot of harmless teasing, or he had some other aim. Again her lack of experience put her at a disadvantage, but she’d be damned before she let her discomfort show. If he was teasing, then she’d only look a fool for becoming upset. If he wasn’t teasing, she’d express her dissatisfaction with him in private.

She reached for her wineglass with a steady hand. “I confess, there is no place I feel more at ease than in the comfort of my home’s own library. I have a great love for the written word.”

Max’s lips twitched while Engsly smiled broadly.

“Then we share a common interest,” the marquess said. “Have you explored Caldwell’s library?”

“No, I’ve not yet had the pleasure.”

“After dinner, then. I think it will please you.”

Pleased, as it happened, did not begin to describe how Anna felt upon entering the library after dinner. She was astounded, enthralled. Even the fact that Max had declined to join them could not dampen her delight.

The Caldwell Manor library was the stuff of dreams…provided one’s dreams were very grand indeed. It was simply enormous, its selection of reading material seemingly infinite.

All Anna could do was stand in the center of the enormous two-storied room and do her best not to gape. She was surrounded by books, shelf after shelf of them, more than a person could take in with a single glance, more than any one person could hope to read in a lifetime.

Next to her, Mrs. Culpepper murmured, “My heavens, what might we have accomplished with a library such as this at our disposal.”

Anna nodded wordlessly. There looked to be books on every conceivable topic. At Anover House, Mrs. Culpepper had been forced to tailor Anna’s education around the materials already made available in the large, but not particularly well-stocked library. As a result, Anna was poorly versed in subjects such as mathematics and British history between the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries. Alternatively, she had a very thorough understanding of geography and a phenomenal grasp of sixteenth-century Italian architecture.

She’d known at the time that much of the information she was acquiring would likely never be of use to her or anyone else. But she did so love the process of learning, of taking in the contents of a book and making them her own.

What a joy it would be to study here—she could spend weeks, months, even years and still learn something new every day.

Oh, how she
adored
this library. She felt her face breaking into a wide grin but hastily assumed a more appropriate expression. She might feel like an urchin in a sweet shop, but she would not embarrass Mrs. Culpepper or herself by acting the part.

As Mrs. Culpepper meandered off to inspect the cases at the far end of the room, Engsly gripped his hands behind his back and asked Anna, “Is there something in particular you might like? A favorite author or subject?”

All of them. Everything.
“I’ve too many to name. This is…this is wondrous, my lord. I don’t know where to begin.”

“You might begin by addressing me by my given name and allowing me the same courtesy. We are family, after all.”

The invitation drew Anna’s attention away from the books. “Are you certain—?”

“‘My lord’ is too formal for family, and Engsly was our father,” he said by way of explanation. “I prefer Lucien.”

Most people went the whole of their lives without being invited to address a peer of the realm by his given name. This was her second invitation in a single day. Anna decided to take it as a sign she was comporting herself reasonably well at Caldwell.

“Lucien, then,” she agreed. “I’d be honored if you would call me Anna.”

“Excellent.” He bobbed his head, appearing most pleased with the development. “Excellent. Well…allow me to show you around a bit.”

As fascinating as the tour of her family portraits had been, it could not compare to the thrill of being escorted about such a tremendous library. Lucien guided her in a loop around the room, showing her where to find particular subjects and authors, pointing out some of his favorite tomes.

“You’re welcome to any book at any time, of course. Mrs. Webster has the keys to all the locked cases, if you’d like a closer look at anything inside.”

“Truly?” Some of the cases were locked for good reason. The books behind the glass were extremely old manuscripts, beautifully handwritten works that were as fragile as they were valuable. She desperately wanted a closer look at them. “Some of them are irreplaceable.” Likely all of them. “If you’d really rather—”

“I’ll have Mrs. Webster give you any necessary keys.”

Anna wasn’t sure what to say to such an offer. She wasn’t certain how she felt. It was such an incredible show of trust. The only other person to have shown that sort of confidence in her was Mrs. Culpepper.

“If I’ve made you uncomfortable,” Lucien said in her ensuing silence. “I apologize.”

“No, no,” she was quick to assure him. “You’ve not made me uncomfortable at all.” If he could trust her with his priceless manuscripts just to please her, she could damn well lie to please him. “I’m simply overwhelmed by the offer. It’s exceedingly generous of you. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Now, if that’s all settled, I’ll leave you to continue your exploration of the library in peace.” He bowed, turned to leave, then turned about again, looking slightly less sure of himself. “I hope…That is, I
very
much hope you will be comfortable here.”

“I am certain I shall be.” She wasn’t at all certain. But in that very moment, standing amongst the books while Lucien smiled at her, she believed in the possibility of happiness at Caldwell Manor, and that was enough.

As Lucien bowed again and took his leave, Mrs. Culpepper came to stand beside Anna. “The marquess is leaving already? He’s quite skilled at that.”

“At leaving?” Anna looked to her friend, confused. “Does that require a particular skill set?”

“I should think our long overdue escape from Anover House should answer that for you, but what I meant was that he has a particular knack for knowing when it is best to be about, and when to give a body a bit of space. I think I may approve of him as well.”

“He all but insisted we stay here.” If that wasn’t indicative of pressing company on someone, Anna didn’t know what was.

“No one’s perfect, dear, and he’s not been hovering about you, has he?”

“No,” Anna admitted.

Mrs. Culpepper nodded and continued to stare at the door through which Engsly had exited. “He shows good sense,” she murmured.

Anna could all but hear the wheels turning in her friend’s head. “What are you about?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing of consequence, I was merely contemplating the happy prospect of an early bed. This evening has quite exhausted me.”

Anna didn’t believe it for a moment but arguing the matter would get her nowhere. When Mrs. Culpepper wished to remain silent on a subject, there was no convincing her otherwise.

“Would you like me to accompany you?”

“No, no. Stay here and enjoy yourself.” Mrs. Culpepper gave her a peck on the cheek. “But don’t wait too long to find your own bed, dear. This will still be here tomorrow. No reason to see it again through shadowed eyes. It’s most unattractive.”

Anna looked about her and sighed. “I can promise nothing.”

 
 
Chapter 10

Max watched Anna wander from shelf to shelf in the library, her fingers occasionally reaching out to brush the spine of a book, her expression one of complete engrossment—which explained why she’d still not noticed his presence, a solid five minutes after his arrival.

He’d walked in expecting to find Lucien, Anna, and Mrs. Culpepper. What he’d found was Anna, completely alone.

A gentleman would have quietly slipped back out again.

He’d made himself comfortable instead, leaning a shoulder against a bookshelf and folding his arms over his chest. And as he waited for her to notice him, he watched her.

It was a rare thing to see another person in a completely unguarded moment. He’d wager it was rarer yet to see Anna Rees in such a moment. The woman was as closed as a fortress. And yet here she was, exploring the Caldwell library in unabashed wonder and delight. She drew closer, not quite near enough to reach, but he caught a faint hint of her scent, or thought he did. And when she tilted her head to read the spine of a particular tome, he could see the candlelight bring out strands of dark copper in her hair.

She laughed softly to herself. The sound, low and smooth, sent shivers along his skin, just as it had four years ago at Anover House, and just as it had that morning in the open fields.

God, there was just
something
about the way the woman laughed. Made a man want to do all manner of things, most of them ill-advised, just to hear the sound again.

“Oh, to have a library such as this,” she murmured, and he grinned. He liked knowing she was the sort of woman who laughed and murmured to herself.

“Is that really what you want?” he asked softly.

Anna started and spun around. And then, just like that, the Ice Maiden returned. Her expression became closed, her eyes shuttered. The transformation was so swift and so complete, it left Max wondering if she was fully aware of the change, or if it had become automatic to her. The latter possibility sat poorly with him for a multitude of reasons.

“Lord Dane.” She smiled politely. “I’d not realized you were in here.”

“Only just arrived,” he lied.

“Oh.” Her gaze danced around him, not quite meeting his own. “I thought you’d retired for the evening.”

He shook his head. “Needed to look in on a horse, is all. Didn’t you tell me once that your dream is to have a small cottage of your own?”

“It is,” she said, a small furrow of confusion forming across her brow.

“You couldn’t house even a fraction of a collection like this in a small cottage,” he pointed out.

“I don’t plan on taking any part of this collection.”

“I meant you can’t have a library.” And clearly at least part of her dream also included books. The joy he’d witnessed just now had not been an act.

“Certainly, I can. Nothing like this, of course,” she conceded with a graceful wave of her hand at their surroundings, “but you’d be surprised how many books can be fit into a small room. Shelves can be built in to the most awkward of spaces. There’s not a blank space of wall in my chambers at Anover House.”

He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d pictured Anna Rees in her chambers a time or two—or several dozen—directly after they’d met. The fantasies had been perfectly natural, highly diverting, and utterly devoid of book-covered walls. Mostly they’d involved Anna in her prim little night rail and wrap, and a bed of unlikely proportions. They’d been great fun, those fantasies.

“Anover House has a respectable library,” he commented as she stepped closer to a bookshelf to inspect its contents. “Why create a separate one?”

She glanced over her shoulder, appearing mildly amused by the question. “Have you been in the library at Anover House?”

“Yes, many times.”

“Allow me to rephrase,” she said dryly. “Have you been in the library at Anover House for the purpose of perusing the contents of its shelves?”

He thought back. There had been a clandestine meeting with Mrs. Pratt on his second or third visit to Anover House. Then there’d been the evening when the card room had grown overcrowded and the overflow had taken up residence in the library. There had been a pleasant, if disappointingly innocent, interlude with Mrs. Stoddington, several instances of poking his head inside the room in search of someone or other, and finally that fateful side trip for the amber mystery drink the night he’d met Anna.

“No,” he was able to say at last. “I don’t believe I have.”

“Anover has a library of respectable size, but its selection is less than ideal.” She chose a book from the shelf before her. “Besides, what’s there belongs to my mother.”

He watched the subtle movement of her eyes as she opened the cover and looked over the first page. “And the books in your chambers are yours?”

“Yes, they were.”

“Were?”

“Hmm?” She looked up and blinked. “Oh,
are
. They are.” She gave him a sheepish smile. “I beg your pardon. I was distracted.”

He stepped closer, took a quick peek at the book she was holding, and smirked. She wasn’t distracted, she was playing coy by pretending a divided attention. “It’s in Russian, Miss Rees.”

To his surprise, she returned his smirk and patronizing tone in equal measure. “Ancient Greek, Lord Dane.”

“I—” A second look told him the letters were, indeed, Greek and not Cyrillic. Clearly, he needed to spend more time in his own library. “So it is,” he conceded, amused by his misplaced smugness and her cheek. “I beg your pardon. You can read ancient Greek?”