Page 36 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
She jerked away from him. Pulling her gloves out of her drawstring bag, she tugged them on. Damn him! She could endure no more of his performance. She would dash her fist into his face, if he continued to regard her with that mock-tender light in his eyes. As though he worried over a few minor scratches, when she knew well he’d just as soon she had broken her neck.
“You will excuse me if I decline your offer of an escort,” she said. “I am not returning to my carriage. I was on my way to the bookseller.”
“Then I will stroll with you. I had a purchase I wished to make myself.” He slipped his arm through hers, the movement full of graceful gallantry, yet inexorable. There was no way to be rid of him unless she wished to make a scene in the streets.
She acquiesced in silence, walking stiffly beside him. As they drew near the bookseller’s stall, Phaedra attempted to shake Armande off by feigning a deep interest in purchasing a book. The variety that this particular seller offered was small, a mixture of old and new. Goldsmith and Johnson were tumbled haphazardly amongst volumes of Fielding and Smollett. Not far off Phaedra could see a copy of the Gazetteer, but with Armande hovering so close to her side, she dared not reach for it. She snatched up a book without noticing the title.
“You and your cousin seem to have an admiration for Swift.”
Armande’s comment made no sense until Phaedra realized she was holding the first volume ofGulliver’s Travels.
“Yes,” she said slowly, stabbed by a painful remembrance. “It is one of the few books my mother ever bought for me, though I did not appreciate the satire when I was a child. I read it more for-for?—”
“For the fantasy. For the pleasure of traveling to such faraway exotic places as the kingdoms of Lilliput and Brobdingnag.”
Phaedra could only stare up at him, for a moment forgetting her anger, as she wondered how he could know such things about her childhood. He sounded as though he had shared her dreams, had been her fellow traveler when she had voyaged with Lemuel Gulliver.
He pointed to the book in her hands. “Well, you can scarce wish to purchase what you already have.”
“But I don’t have it.” Her fingers tightened almost unconsciously. “My husband burned it-all my books.”
Why was she telling Armande all this? He could not possibly care. No one but she had ever mourned the loss of the books from her childhood. She had mourned them like old friends, the one legacy from her parents lost to her forever.
She could still recall that day she had come in from riding, preparing to take tea with Jonathan. She experienced again that sick feeling, when she had found the garret bookcase empty, and had seen Ewan’s cruel smile when he had indicated the heap of ashes in the fireplace grate. It was yet another punishment for her being ‘too clever.’ He had nearly broken her that time. It was as though he had thrust every dream she’d ever cherished into those flames, reducing a part of her very soul to ashes. That day she had finally begun to hate Ewan Grantham.
“Phaedra?” As though from a great distance, she heard Armande’s voice. She blinked, coming back to the present to find him studying her with grave concern, the bookseller eyeing with suspicion the volume she hugged to her chest as though she meant to steal it.
“Will my lady be wanting that wrapped?” the man asked. Much to the bookseller’s evident disgust, she shook her head.
Armande appeared about to protest, so she said quickly, “I doubt I could afford it. My grandfather has no more liking for Irish authors than Ewan had. I could not bear to see anotherbook cast into the fire.” She laughed weakly. “Coal is so much cheaper to burn.”
She replaced the book. “I believe I have done enough browsing for one day.”
“Bien. I will make my purchase, then we’ll go. I fear it is I who must risk offending yourgrandpere. My curiosity has been aroused by the crude Sir Norris.”
Phaedra watched as Armande proceeded to buy the copy of the Gazetteer she had noticed earlier. But the urge she had felt last night to prevent his reading it was gone. With a kind of cold fascination, she watched him flick through the pages. She knew when he had read down to the section that concerned him. His fingers tightened upon the newsprint, a wintry expression replacing the warmth with which he had regarded her earlier.
“You do not seem to have found Mr. Goodfellow’s essay all that diverting,” she ventured.
“No, I didn’t. I would have thought the man could have found more important matters to write about, but it seems he shares your interest regarding my background. “
Phaedra flinched before the sudden hard look of suspicion Armande directed her way. He could not possibly have guessed the truth, but she fidgeted with her purse strings, saying as indifferently as she could manage, “I daresay Mr. Goodfellow’s curiosity could make things far more uncomfortable for you than I ever did.”
“He could if I continue to let him write this tripe.”
“However would you stop him?” Phaedra asked, not liking the glint in Armande’s eyes. “Even the members of parliament, who have been used much worse by the writer than you, have been tolerant. Especially after the John Martin affair.”
When Armande shot her a questioning look, she explained, “He was another writer who dared criticize the king. When he was imprisoned, riots broke out on his behalf.”
“There are more effective ways to stop a man’s pen than prison,” Armande said coldly.
“Alas, no one has the least notion who Robin Goodfellow might be.”
“I will find out.” The steely resolution in Armande’s voice left her in no doubt that he would. It would not be difficult for Armande to track down her publisher. Gilly had told her that Jessym was tough, a close-mouthed individual, but Armande, Phaedra feared, would know how to be most persuasive. Even if Jessym knew nothing of her, he would be bound to mention Gilly. Armande knew that her cousin had been investigating him. The marquis might assume that Gilly was Robin Goodfellow. And then- No, she couldn’t let it come to that.
Phaedra tried to behave naturally, permitting Armande to take her by the arm to lead her back to her carriage. But beneath her outwardly calm exterior, her heart pounded. All unknowingly, Armande suddenly posed a greater threat to her than he had when he had locked her in with Danby.
If she ever meant to fight back, find a way to be rid of him, she had to do it quickly. But her mind was all but numb from panic. What could she do? What on earth could she do?
