Page 14 of Tempting the Scoundrel
“Yes.” She would take very good care of this book. It would grace the shelf with all her other offensive literature.
“An act of benevolence, taking naughty books from drunk sons,” he continued.
What manner of man was this? He . . . unnerved her, with his attentiveness. He was supposed to have left by now, but instead he seemed to find her . . . fascinating? No, no. Surely not.
But she was aware of his gaze, of those black eyes watching her. His attentions were as tangible as fingers at her nape.
Alexandra stared at him in astonishment, which made him smile, and oh, it was a lovely smile. Not bland, not polite—it held a hint of mischief that both unnerved and delighted her.
“What?” he asked, noticing that she stared at him.
Alexandra tried not to blush. They were far enough down the road from the shop now that she could slow her pace. “I thought I knew everyone in Stratfield Saye,” she said, as if she had been trying to place him.
“I only just moved last month. Nicholas Spencer, at your service.” He sketched a bow.
Ah, now that name she had heard. “So you are the new Baron Locke. I am Lady Alexandra Grey, your neighbor at Roseburn. My staff were gossiping about you.”
Something flickered across his features, but it was gone so fast that she might have imagined it. “Anything noteworthy?”
“The maids were in raptures about how handsome you are.”And they were right.
“Is that so?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. Her father’s staff had claimed he was a former schoolmaster, but he did not seem like the kind of man who spent time in a classroom. His figure was, frankly, as strapping as a laborer. “Were youreallya schoolmaster?”
He tilted his head, his expression strangely somber. “What were you expecting?”
She gave an apologetic smile. “A dusty old gentleman with a stern countenance?”
He laughed, and Alexandra’s heart felt a little lighter.
* * *
Thorne’s mannershad become polished over the month spent practicing with tutors. He’d learned deportment. His toff’s accent no longer slipped; he’d learned to maintain it from sunrise to the moment his head hit the pillow at night. He’d learned how to mimic the behavior of a gentleman with only the occasional mistake.
Day in and day out, he played the role of Nicholas Spencer, a schoolmaster who inherited a barony from a distant cousin who died heirless. Thorne became so confident in his role that he’d followed Lady Alexandra into the bookshop with a jolly spring in his step.
So easy, he’d thought. His mark was a sheltered debutante, after all. Those had all the awareness and life experience of a caged songbird.
A future spinster, her father had called her.An arrogant little shrew who irritates every man who speaks to her. You’ll have your work cut out for you. Don’t waste my time, Mr. Thorne.
Thorne half-expected some dour, disapproving hellion with a permanent scowl. Butthiswoman was nothing like he’d expected. Christ almighty, the earl had failed to mention his daughter was a looker. And not just beautiful—bold, clever.
And a damned decent thief.
Sure, she was no seductress, no accomplished flirt. She didn’t hide the fact that she liked the look of him. But rather than blush, she’d been brazen when she’d handed over that book.
Pandora’s Box. He almost laughed. No, she wasn’t a woman who wanted a husband who’d force her to quiet herself, to make herself smaller. Little wonder she’d never found anyone who suited among the arrogant toffs in London.
She needed a husband who challenged her back.
“So are you misrepresenting yourself?”
They were almost to the edge of the village now. She tipped back her head and the sun lit her hair in a halo of gold. A creature of light, she was. And he was the bastard about to dim it.
Then he realized what she’d just asked. “Sorry?”
She smiled, as if she knew he was admiring her. “Misrepresenting yourself. Are you a dusty, curmudgeonly schoolmaster with the look of a rogue, or a rogue who plays the part of a dusty, curmudgeonly schoolmaster?”
