Page 67 of The Trouble with True Love

“Rex?” She brushed the loose lock of her hair back from her forehead, blinking sleepily at him. “What are you doing here?”

“A courtship, even a sham one, takes two people, I’m afraid.”

She sighed and pulled her chair close to her desk again. “Sorry, but I’ve been terribly busy with the paper.”

“Ah.” He glanced at his surroundings, noting the untidiness of her office, a characteristic he did not remember from his previous visits here. Stacks of newspapers, files, and other documents seemed to be everywhere—on chairs, on filing cabinets, on the floor, and on her desk. Also on her desk were sheets of drawing paper, charcoal pencils, and various other stationery supplies. “Yes, so I see.”

He looked at her again, noticing that her hair wasn’t fashioned in its usual austere crown. Instead, the locks were piled in a careless, haphazard sort of chignon at the back of her head that was soft and pretty and looked ready to tumble down at the slightest provocation.

That was dangerous thinking, but even as he gave himself the reminder, he said, “You’ve changed your hair.”

She flushed. “I don’t have a maid here, and I’ve been too occupied to bother much with it,” she mumbled, lifting her hands to the messy chignon as if to tidy it.

“Leave it,” he ordered. “It’s deuced attractive that way.”

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to kick himself in the head.

“It is?” She touched the chignon self-consciously, giving him a dubious look. “But it’s so untidy.”

He had no intention of explaining why that might have a certain appeal, and fortunately, she spoke again, preventing him from having to invent some absurd explanation.

“You brought champagne?”

“I did.” Pushing aside the images of her with her hair tumbling down around bare white shoulders, he came in and set the bottle in front of her. “You’ve been missing from every social gathering this week. Lady David assured me you weren’t ill, but she was so evasive on the subject that I thought your absence might be my fault. So, I decided to find out what was going on. I hope I haven’t blotted my copybook in some way?”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing to do with you. As for Carlotta, she hates having to explain to anyone that I have an occupation, especially one as middle-class as running a newspaper. That’s probably why she refused to enlighten you. It embarrasses her that I’m engaging in a profession, however temporary it might be.”

“I see. But what is all this?” he asked, gesturing to the disarray all around her with his hat. “What’s happened?”

“I fired Mr. Beale.”

“You did?” He grinned, setting his top hat aside as he sank into the swivel chair opposite her. “What delightful news.”

She made a face at him as she shoved her pencil behind her ear. “Yes, well, I’ve been paying for that delight ever since. First, the typesetter quit. Being the only remaining male employee in a company of women made him uncomfortable, he said. So, Hazel and I had to typeset last week’s issue ourselves. Then, the printing press gave out—after, I’m thankful to say, we’d printed all the copies. I had to scramble like mad to find a qualified firm to contract the typesetting and printing for this week’s issue, and I’d barely done that before Hazel’s aunt came down with flu and she had to go home to Surrey. I meant to let you know what was happening, but, honestly, Rex, I just... forgot.”

She gave a little laugh, shaking her head and sending the looser lock of hair tumbling down again. “Terribly rude of me, wasn’t it?”

“Not at all. Perfectly understandable.” He leaned forward, frowning as he noted the tired lines and shadows of her face. “You look quite done in, my lamb.”

“I am a bit tired,” she admitted and attempted to shove the loose tendril of her hair back again, but when it immediately fell back over her brow, she left it there, as if too weary to bother trying to tuck it into place.

He did it for her, reaching out to curl it behind her ear. Fighting the temptation to linger and touch the soft skin of her cheek, he let his hand fall. “More than a bit,” he said gently, leaning back in his chair.

“It’s not only work here that’s worn me out. The season had become this mad dash from party to party.”

“It tends to get that way.”

“It’s been rather nice to have a change, even if the pace of my days hasn’t slowed.” She gave a laugh. “The odd thing is that I’m actually enjoying myself here. That’s something I never thought would happen.”

“Still, I daresay you’re due for a rest. Perhaps you should go upstairs and go to bed.”

“I can’t.” She gestured to the pages spread across her desk and the credenza behind her. “I have to finish this first.”

“And what is so important that it can’t wait until morning?”

“With Hazel gone, I’m not only the publisher and the editor, but also the advertising artist. I have a meeting with Ebenezer Shaw first thing in the morning in which I’m supposed to show him ideas for advertisements to launch his company’s newest product. Hazel left me with some conceptual ideas, but she did not have time to do any sketches before she left, so I must do them. I’ve been trying, but...” Clara’s shoulders slumped as she stared down at her efforts. “Sketching is something for which I have little talent, I’m afraid.”

He glanced at her pathetic attempts and was forced to agree.

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