Page 43 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
He seemed not to notice. Sat, merry as you please, relaxed legs splayed wide, lips a picture of easy mirth beneath the ridiculous mustache. It had been knocked askew. He looked ridiculous, and because he also looked like a sin Ada longed to try, she focused on the ridiculous.
She laughed, reached across the space between them, and straightened it, her fingers brushing, briefly, against his full upper lip. A spark.
Heavens.
She pulled her hands to herself and dropped back into the seat.
He cleared his throat. “Plan ruined.” Then he scowled at the inside of the hackney. “You did not bring a maid.”
“I did not.” She’d wanted to prove she could take care of herself, face the dangers of the city alone and survive. She did not need her family to keep her safe. She did not want a maid watching over her shoulder.
“Right,” he said. “I should take you back home.”
Not him too. She closed her eyes and found her patience, wrapping it about her like a well-worn shawl. “No. I have been meaning to visit Hopkins Bookshop.”
The rain pattered harder on the top of the coach.
“Hopkins? Why not Hatchards?”
“My father is friends with Mr. Hopkins. I’m in need of a new set of books to translate, and I’m sure my father would like me to give his greetings to his old school friend. And perhaps we can find a copy of Lady Hemsworth’s guidebook for you, too.”
Cass shrugged. “Guidebook?”
“A manual for how to behave.”
He winced. “If you insist. Perhaps this Lady Hemsworth will add a valuable female perspective to Franklin’s male one.”
Ada gave the new direction to the driver and settled back onto the seat, satisfied she’d prolonged her adventure.
Cass eyed her without hiding his clear interest. “Will your sister really speak with Bax about… me?”
“I wish I could answer that for you. Previously, I would have said no. She’s always been reliable. But she thinks…” She hesitated. To reveal Nora’s objections might drag him back into his past. She licked her lips, found the right words. “She’s worried about my association with you.”
“Smart woman. My past does not—”
“Signify in this present moment. Remain focused, Lord Albee.”
He seemed about to reply, but the coach rocked to a halt, and he leaned over to look out the window. “Saved by our arrival.” He alighted and helped Ada down, holding his jacket over their heads to protect against the spitting rain.
She stared at his mustache as if it were its own being and raised her eyebrows. “Are you going to wear that? Truly?”
He nodded. “I am. I do not know what your sister intends to do, but I don’t have to take my own risks.”
“I see your point. I suppose the mustache can stay. Though you look silly.” She snuck a glance up at him as he escorted her into the shop. His sharp jaw was clean-shaven, his curls carefully arranged despite the rain. Shestillwanted to muss them, fake facial hair or not. Why did a thick head of dark curly locks offer such impossible temptation? He should look ridiculous—hedidlook ridiculous—but she could also see beyond the disguise, and what she saw made her want to continue looking. Possibly never stop.
She ripped her gaze away and focused instead on the rows and tables of books before her. She inhaled deeply, savoring the smell. She shared her stepmother’s abiding love of books, not just the ideas inside them, but the objects themselves. She tore away from Cass and ran to a nearby table and stroked her fingers gingerly over a cover and down a spine, holding her breath.
“This is a temple for you.” Cass appeared near her, heat coming in waves off his body.
She nodded and put more space between them, looking around the shop for someone to help. “Hello?”
A man appeared, or rather, the head of a man appeared from behind a bookshelf. His halo of crazed graying hair standing out around his face. “Yes?”
“Are you Mr. Hopkins?”
The man’s entire body appeared, and he bustled toward them, knocking over a pile of books as he did. “I am, I am. Welcome!”
Ada rushed forward. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Miss Cavendish.”
