Page 50 of A Star is Scorned
Flynn peered at her as if he was seeing something clearly for the first time. “I didn’t know you wanted to be a writer.”
She raised one shoulder to her ear. It had been years since she’d expressed this dream to anyone. Judy was the only one who knew. And Livvy had tried her darndest to convince her sister that she didn’t want it anymore. “It was a childish dream. And sometimes being a grown-up means setting aside such things. Things like…crushes on silver screen swashbucklers.”
Flynn gave her a look that she felt all the way down to her toes. “Personally, I believe in indulging your childhood dreams.”
She stared at him as he ransacked his shelves, trying to work out the puzzle that was Flynn Banks. An hour ago, he had challenged her to a sword fight that he knew he would lose. Now, he was climbing ladders and pawing through books in search ofsomething he wanted to show her. What did he mean by encouraging her to indulge in childhood dreams? That he wanted her to have a crush on him?
He was charming and roguish and all the things she knew him to be, but there was something different too. Something, dare she say, unsure? Maybe even something…sweet? “I’m surprised more of your guests don’t hide out in here.”
“Well, as you so aptly pointed out the night we met, Hollywood isn’t exactly known for its literary luminaries.”
She cringed, remembering how priggish she had been. But he wasn’t paying attention to her as he continued rooting through the shelves.
“It has to be here somewhere.” He returned to the floor and crossed to a shelf on the far side of the room. “Ah, here we go.” He climbed the ladder again and blew the dust off a leather-bound volume. It had been nestled in a stack of books that appeared to be at least fifty years old. He held it out to Livvy while he grabbed for two more volumes still on the shelf.
She approached him gingerly and reached up to take it. Her hands were shaking, and she didn’t think it was only because of what she suspected he was handing her. She clasped the honey-bound book in her hands, turning it over to study the spine with a red leather-embossedI. An involuntary gasp escaped her lips as she read the title, embossed above theI, this time on black leather.Pride and Prejudice.
“Is this what I think it is?” she whispered, her voice hushed.
Flynn jumped down with the grace of an acrobat, holding the other two volumes, which he presented to her with a mock bow. “That depends. Do you think it’s a first edition ofPride and Prejudice? Because then, the answer is yes.”
“I can’t believe you have this. In your house.”
“Not like I earned it or anything,” he muttered, suddenly looking a bit bashful. “It’s been in the family since 1813.”
She nearly dropped the book at that. Only her sense that she was holding a precious object kept her clinging tightly to it. “You mean, someone in your family bought this when it was first published?”
He shrugged. “That doesn’t mean anyone in my family read it, mind you. The Banks family has always been more interested in stocking their shelves with impressive tomes than it has been in reading them.”
“Until you, you mean.” She gestured around at the well-loved library.
He did blush then, and she was shocked at how much it pleased her to make him feel as unsettled as he did her. “My mother loved to read to me as a boy. Whenever I was looking for her, she’d be in the library. And she read to me every night before bed. Never mind that my father raised hell about it. ‘The nanny can do it,’he always said. But my mother never missed a single night. Not until they sent me off to boarding school. And then, well, she—” He paused, his voice choked with emotion, and her heart sank.
She reached out her hand and gently placed it atop his. “I’m so sorry, Flynn.” She knew the stricken look on his face well. It was one she’d seen on Judy and herself these last four years. No matter what your relationship with them, losing a parent was hard.
He swallowed. “It’s all right. It’s been over twenty years. You remind me of her sometimes. Her name’s Violet, just like your eyes.” He gave her a weak smile. “She’s happier now, anyway.”
“Yes, she’s in a better place, I’m sure of it.” Livvy tried to reassure him, squeezing his hand.
“I suppose. If you call the Left Bank of Paris a better place.”
“Is that where she’s buried?”
Flynn’s eyes widened to saucers. “Good God, no! Did you…Oh bloody hell, you thought… I can see now how it might sound that way. No, no, she’s not dead.” He ran a hand through his hair, making the blond locks that drove women around the world mad fall into his eyes. He began pacing, caught up in a memory. “Dead, ha. Father wishes. Or perhaps not, since he’ll be shuffling off his mortal coil any day now. Though God knows they won’t end up in the same place.”
Livvy gasped at how casually Flynn mentioned the fact that his father was on his deathbed. But Flynn didn’t seem to notice. “As soon as I was out of the house, she ran off with an opera singer. Moved to Paris with him. Has been there ever since. I was angry at first. But she’d had no choice. She couldn’t have lived she stayed. It made my father apoplectic with rage when I told him I was moving to Hollywood to pursue a career. ‘You’ll end up just like your mother,’ he warned. Shame he didn’t realize that was what I wanted all along. To be happy like her. My mother knew the truth—that being ‘wicked’ is the only way to be happy. Reputation be damned. She taught me that the only way to be content in this world is to free yourself from the yoke of a title and the damned aristocrats who all have sticks up their arses.”
She giggled at that, and her laugh broke Flynn out of the rant he had started. “I’m sorry, got lost a bit. You don’t need to hear me mutter on about old family scandals.”
“No, I like hearing it, really.” She liked learning about who he was before he’d become Hollywood’s favorite swashbuckler. “Getting to know you… It’s nice.”
“There’s not much to know. I was born a spoiled toff, and I grew up to be a spoiled toff with a bit more self-awareness.”
“You’re selling yourself short.” A month ago, she would’veagreed with him. But now? The way he had been with her. With Judy. He might have a lot of resources, and things might come easily to him. But she would hardly call him spoiled. Confusing? Infuriating? Roguish? Sure. But never spoiled. “You’re the most generous man I’ve ever met. You want everyone around you to enjoy themselves. You’re not happy unless we’re all having a good time.”
“I think the term for that is ‘incurable reprobate.’” He smiled a devilish grin that enhanced his words. While he’d been pacing, he’d ended up on the other side of the room, next to his velvet armchair. She took a step toward him, not even realizing what she was doing. “But if you want to call it generosity, so be it. Would you like to borrow that?”
“What?” She realized then that she was still holding the first volume ofPride and Prejudice.“This? Oh no, I couldn’t. What if something happened to it? The Garden of Allah doesn’t exactly have exemplary anti-theft measures.”
