Page 45 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
“Count the curse words while you’re at it, too.”
He laughed, and the sound dissipated the bookshop’s dust, making room for rays of sunshine. “There’s plenty of those.” He dragged shaking hands through his hair and turned from her, ambling down an aisle. “Write a book, eh? My brother always said I lacked purpose. Maybe this is it, to guide the aimless gents of the world back into the light.”
She dropped Lady Hemsworth’s book on a table and followed him. Yes, yes. It was not so absurd an idea as his tone made it out to be. “It could be, Cass. Youcouldwrite a book.”
He stopped, turned, and lifted a hand, tracing the outline of her face, his touch a mere hint of some revelation out of reach. “You make it sound so easy.” She’d kept her voice from shaking. Excellent. She willed herself not to lean into the touch, to seek out that revelation, but she begged whatever powers that were to delay the tiny touch indefinitely. They did not, and it ended much too soon.
She stepped away and strode back to the table, to the book. She snapped it up and clutched it to her chest. “I’ll buy it for you. A gift.”
He plucked the book from her grasp and tucked it under his arm. “I think not. I’ll purchase it and then give it toyou.”
She should take the book back. But doing so would put her fingers up against his chest. “I already have a copy.”
“You can annotate this one and give it back to me so I know what is nonsense and what is an admirable idea.”
“Oh, that’s an excellent idea.”
“I do have them occasionally. Now, you wanted some books of your own?”
Ada straightened, and her feet almost tapped beneath her skirts. “Yes! I can’t believe I forgot. The last book my father brought home for me was a work of Iranian poetry. I found it quite challenging to translate but, in the end, all the more rewarding because of that. I’m hoping Hopkins has more of the stuff.”
Cass whistled. “A bluestocking. I should have known.”
She shifted away from Cass and began searching the shop. “Mr. Hopkins!”
“What?” the man grumbled from… somewhere.
“I’m looking for books written in Iranian. Do you have any?”
The man appeared as if by magic. “Now that’s an eccentric request. But I should not be surprised. You are Henry’s daughter, after all.” He chuckled. “Come along. I’ve got something that might interest you in the back.”
Ada turned to Cass. “You can stay here and peruse as you will.”
He scowled. “I think not. I’m not letting you disappear into a back room with some strange man. I’m coming along.”
“Turning knight, are you? With your expertise in the area of reforming, you’ll have no problem at all selling your future tome to a publisher.” She trotted away from him and after Hopkins.
The tiny back room, made claustrophobic by the dusty towers of books on every wall, smelled like heaven. A rich papery scent clung to every corner, and Ada inhaled it to her very soul. Then coughed. She could do without the dust.
Hopkins nodded appreciatively at her. “A true devotee. Come, over here.” He led them to a table housing a small pile of books in a rainbow of colors. “It’s not Iranian. Persian. Do you read Persian?”
Ada shook her head. “But I’ll figure it out. How much?”
Mr. Hopkins grinned. “How much is your father willing to pay so you can have it? This book is quite,quitevaluable. Worth a fortune.”
Cass flattened a hand on the table and leaned over Mr. Hopkins, bringing the differences in their stature into clear relief. He’d followed her, clearly displeased. His brow furrowed and his muscled bunched. And when he spoke, Ada felt like scurrying.
“As a well-behaved gentleman,” Cass said, “I would never accuse another of trying to cheat an innocent young lady.” He smiled, the curve of his mouth more of a feral, toothy, snarl that promised to snap if provoked. “You are not trying to cheat my betrothed are you? Just thought I’d check before I do any accusing.”
Mr. Hopkins rolled his shoulders and huffed. He turned to Ada. “I see why you’re marrying this one. Just like your father, he is. Pushy and violent. Bah!” He shoved the book at Cass. “Thirty pounds. If you don’t want to pay that much, she can’t have it, plain and simple.”
“Done.” Cass handed the book to Ada.
“Thirty pounds!” Ada cried. “But—”
“Done!” Mr. Hopkins cried gleefully. “Done and done, Miss Cavendish, you heard the man.”
Ada and Cass followed Mr. Hopkins from the room, and Cass paid for the poetry and the moral guide and bustled her outside before the waiting coach.
