The Reluctant Reformer (11 page)

Or so she'd supposed. She now appeared to matter to Lord Ramsey as well, if only due to the duty he felt he owed her brother.

Maggie observed his troubled expression, for the first time considering that she was an added burden on his shoulders. She felt sympathy overtake her, but knew from experience that telling him that he needn't worry about her would help little. His conscience would insist otherwise.

Closing the book in her lap, she gently asked, “Am I such a problem?”

The man nearly jumped out of his skin. When her voice pierced the silence he gave a violent start and whirled, the book dropping from his hand. His eyes fell on her with astonishment as she got to her feet and moved toward him.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you so. Was it damaged?” she asked with concern as he knelt to pick up the fallen tome.

“No. It is fine, I'm sure.” He brushed off the volume, then lifted a rather wary gaze as she stopped before him. “I hadn't realized that there was anyone here. I shall leave you to your—”

“Oh, no, please.” She caught his arm when he would have slipped past. “This is your library, my lord. I should be the one to leave.”

“No. It's fine.” He set the book on the corner of a nearby table and gestured vaguely toward the glass doors he had been standing before. I just—”

“You came here to think,” Maggie finished for him.
His eyes examined her curiously. She felt moved to explain, “I recognized your pose there at the window.”

She turned to peer out over the gardens. They were a far more lavish affair than Gerald's in London.

Mine now, she reminded herself sadly, then tried to distract herself from such melancholy thoughts by admitting, “I do the same thing at home. I tend to stand at the window, book in hand, looking out over the gardens as I ponder.” She turned to him, vague amusement curving her lips. “Would I be vain in thinking that I am the problem you were considering?”

“It would be unchivalrous of me to call you a problem. A concern, perhaps.”

“I see, well…” Maggie's voice died as her eyes landed on the book he held. “Pride and Prejudice.”

“Yes.” He lifted it for her to see.

“It is my favorite book in the whole world.”

“Mine, too.”

They shared a smile, then Maggie, finding herself oddly affected by his nearness, moved away to gesture around the library. “You have all of my favorites here, and many books I haven't yet read. This is a wonderful library, my lord. Gerald would be jealous. He prided himself on an extensive library, himself, but I think yours may surpass it.”

“Do you think so?”

Something in his tone of voice brought her gaze back to James, and Maggie was astounded to find him grinning. She was helpless to prevent an answering smile as she nodded. “Yes. I do believe so.”

He savored that for a passing moment, then his expression softened. “Books and our love of them are what first drew Gerald and I together. It was what we both
missed most while at war. The two of us bragged endlessly about the libraries we had at home, arguing over whose was better.” His gaze moved around the book-lined room. “Being neighbors, Robert and I had been friends for years, and he used to silence us both by pointing out that my uncle's library could easily beat both of ours. He was right, of course. Uncle Charles collected books all his life. He was forever enlarging his library to accommodate new acquisitions. It was three times the size of this one, and he was planning on enlarging it again…much to my Aunt Vivian's horror.”

“Was?” Maggie asked.

“He died before getting to it,” James explained, a new heartache entering his eyes.

Maggie was silent for a moment, respecting his grief, but he next blurted, “Uncle Charles instilled me with his love of reading. I…” He paused, looking suddenly embarrassed, as if uncomfortable at having revealed so much of himself.

Maggie regretted the end of these revelations; she had begun to feel that she was getting a glimpse of the real Lord Ramsey. Pretending not to notice his discomfort, she glanced around the room of books and said, “It was Gerald who taught
me
to love reading. It was the best gift he ever bestowed on me, I think. He used to say that books were treasures.”

“And do you agree?” Lord Ramsey asked.

Maggie gave a laugh. “Of course. Books can take you to far-off lands, occasion you to laugh or cry, and teach you much about the world that you would never otherwise learn. Books are quite simply wonderful. They even
smell
wonderful.” She threw out her arms and
turned in a slow circle, inhaling deeply of the scent with obvious relish.

 

James didn't smile. His thoughts were far too serious. He was thinking that here was a woman perfect for him. It wasn't her beauty, for there were countless beautiful women in the world, many of whom he had met. None of them had captured his attention for more than a moment, and certainly never to this degree. But here was a woman intelligent and with a passion for the written word equal to his own. He allowed himself to imagine a life with her; one where the winter evenings were spent with the two of them cozy before a burning fire, reading out loud to each other and laughing over an amusing phrase. But then their laughter faded, their eyes meeting and reflecting the fire from the hearth. He took the book from her hand, reaching for her even as he set it aside. Their lips met, their mutual passion for language taking a carnal turn. Then the door opened and they broke apart, their startled glances finding Lord Hastings in the doorway.

“Sorry, darling,” his dream-Maggie said cheerfully. “Time to get back to work.” And James was left seated on the sofa, watching his wife walk away on the arm of another man.

Groaning, James closed his eyes against this vision. Could a woman who had known the life Maggie had lived really settle for one man?

“Did you say something, my lord?”

James blinked his eyes open just as Maggie turned to him. Her hands fell back to her side, the tips of her fingers unintentionally catching the corner of the book
he had set on the table mere moments ago, sending it spiraling once more to the floor.

“Oh no! I am sorry, I didn't mean…” Her voice faded away. They had both instinctively bent to rescue the volume, and now they knelt facing one another, each holding an edge of the book. As in his daydream their gazes met, and James fancied that he did see a hint of fire flickering in her eyes. He knew there was flame in his own. They rose as one, each still holding the book as if it were a conduit for the electricity sparking between them.

James felt himself leaning toward her, his body following its own edict. He was aware when her breathing became shallow, and she too inclined toward him. He felt her breath, whisper-soft, against his mouth. Her eyes slipped closed, her lips parting the tiniest bit, and James was about to claim them when the soft click of a door closing drew his head around to the entrance to the library.

There was no one there, no Lord Hastings waiting to whisk Maggie away. The sound must have come from somewhere out in the hallway. But it was enough to snap James back to his senses.

Straightening away from her, he cleared his throat and turned to replace the book on the table. He risked a glance Maggie's way to see the confusion reining on her face, then searched for something to ease the discomfort of the moment. Reaching into his pocket for the slip of paper with his two suggestions for her future on it, he turned his back to her. He took a step away, then said, “It occurs to me that if you do not wish to move out of London and your brother's townhouse, another possibility is to close up the better part of the
house and release most of the servants. You should be able to manage quite well with this reduced expense.”

A long silence followed his words, but he waited patiently for her to collect herself.

She sounded weary when she responded. “Impossible. I will not turn out servants who have served my family faithfully and well for years when all I need do to keep them is a little bit of work. I fear you shall have to come up with something else, my lord.”

He considered her words during the following return to silence and still hadn't come up with a response when the click of the door made him turn to see that she had left the library. He was alone. Letting his breath out on a sigh, he moved to the nearest chair and dropped into it with relief.

There was no way he could ignore the fact that Maggie was going to be a terrible problem. He had felt sure when he had stolen her from Dubarry's that he could find an alternative to her lifestyle. Now, as he considered the matter, he seemed to be drawing a blank. Unfortunately, there simply were not many opportunities for women to make money in this man's world. Most women just married for it.

That was an option, he supposed. Her previous employment was still a secret—no one would know unless he told—so Maggie was still marriageable, but he found himself resisting the option. He simply could not imagine her wedding any of the eligible men of the
ton
. Or, to be more honest with himself, he didn't want to imagine her bedding any of them. Again.

He did seem to like to imagine her bedding
him
, however. He'd found himself rather distracted with such images ever since bringing her home. Every time he had
paused to think of an alternate career for her, he found himself imagining her in that red gown of hers, doing one of those things that the girl at Dubarry's had whispered in his ear. Which was damned distracting. And damned discomfiting, too. He had been walking awkwardly a lot of late.

He was finding it more and more difficult to control his physical response to her. Worse yet, his very mind was starting to follow his body's lead. For a man who prided himself on his self-control and who had spent some thirty years residing mostly in his head—with small safe forays into the occasional physical “bit of exercise” with his latest mistress—this was all rather disconcerting.

James had learned at an early age that loving people correlated with great pain when they were lost. He had done his best to avoid such grievous entanglements. It was safer to stick to more temperate emotions. Affection rather than love. A mild desire rather than an all consuming lust. Unfortunately, Maggie was bringing out intense carnal yearnings in him, and he feared he wouldn't be able to fight them much longer. Which was the problem. Had he kissed her just now, he very much suspected that it would not have ended with a simple kiss…or even just a passionate one. Even as he had bent toward her, his mind had been racing ahead to dragging her to the library floor and…

Feeling his manhood rise to make its presence known again, James killed his thoughts and closed his eyes. This was exactly the problem. The woman was driving him mad. His normally sane and controlled thinking was failing in the face of an almost continuous erection.

He considered his options desperately. Avoiding her
cropped up in his mind, but he dismissed that at once. Avoiding her, while possible, was not likely to help. Her presence did not seem to be necessary to affect his libido, he merely needed to think of her—and he seemed to do
that
endlessly. Perhaps, instead, he should try working her out of his system: Take her upstairs and bed her over and over and over until his fascination with her eased.

That idea had merit, he decided. His body certainly seemed pleased with it.

Grimacing, James stood and moved toward the door of the library. He needed to get away for a bit to think. It was obvious his brain dropped into his drawers whenever he was anywhere near the woman. Even in separate rooms in the same house she affected his thinking. His only respite was to get away for a while and hope to come up with a solution more acceptable. Not that he minded the proposition of taking Maggie as his mistress. In fact, the more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it. Unfortunately, it was the last thing his honor would allow.

“Robert,” he decided as he stepped out into the hall. He would go visit his friend and neighbor, and see if the other fellow could help him. Lord Mullin had proven a brilliant strategist during the war; he should prove able to assist in this battle. Or so James hoped.

 

“I suppose you suggested she sell—”

“The town house and purchase a country house.” James finished for his friend, and nodded. “Yes. That was my first suggestion, of course.”

“And she did not like that?”

“She refused it, as I expected.” He paced the length
of the other man's study. Lord Mullin had greeted him warmly on his arrival and agreed to lend his brainpower to the task. They were tossing ideas around now.

“What about closing up part of the house and releasing a portion of the staff?” Robert suggested.

“My second idea,” James admitted wryly, “was shot down as quickly as the first.”

“Hmm.” The other man frowned. “I do not understand her refusing that. She hardly needs so many rooms for just herself. Or all those servants, for that matter.”

“Don't you remember, Robert? She will not turn servants out who have ‘served her family so faithfully,'” he quoted peevishly, and Lord Mullin gaped briefly before giving his head a befuddled shake.

“Well,” the younger man said after a moment. “It would appear she suffers the same failing as most women. She is too softhearted for her own good.”

“Too softhearted?” James spun on him in amazement. “The woman is bedding half of London rather than release some unneeded staff! That is a bit more than softhearted. Softheaded, more like.”

“Well, surely not half of London?” Mullin argued with a smile. “Half of London is women, which means the other half would be men—and since she has not slept with either you or I, she cannot have slept with that entire half, either. Perhaps half of half of London. Aye, she may have bedded a quarter of the town.”