Page 12 of Tempting the Reclusive Duke
"Society won't see it that way."
"Society can do as it pleases." He looked up sharply. "That's your phrase, isn't it? I remember you saying something similar about men who purchase books for display."
She flushed. "I may have been somewhat harsh..."
"You were absolutely right. Half my acquaintances have libraries they've never read. They order books by the yard based on binding color." He signed the paper with a flourish. "Your employment contract, Miss Whitcombe. Pending your acceptance, of course."
She stared at the paper, then at him. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because my library is, as you so eloquently put it, a cemetery where good literature has come to die. Because you're qualified. And because..." he paused, seeming to consider his words, "because anyone who dares to argue with me in a public bookshop is exactly the sort of person who won't be intimidated by eighteen thousand volumes of chaos."
"Eighteen thousand?"
"Graves undercounted. There are also the volumes in storage, the ones inthe country houses, and whatever my father hid in various forgotten corners because he ran out of shelf space." He held out the contract. "Still interested?"
She took the paper with hands that weren't quite steady. "Your Grace, I should mention that my brother will probably call you out for this."
"For employing his sister? How medieval of him."
"For potentially ruining my reputation."
"Your reputation as what? A woman who reads Latin? How scandalous." His tone was light, but his eyes were serious. "Miss Whitcombe, I won't pretend this arrangement isn't unusual. You'll face criticism, possibly worse. If you'd prefer to reconsider..."
"No." The word came out more forcefully than intended. "No, I want this position."
"Even knowing society will gossip?"
"Especially knowing that. At least they'll gossip about something I've actually done rather than about my failure to marry."
"A practical philosophy." He moved toward the door. "Graves will show you out. I suggest you don't mention our previous encounter to anyone as it will only complicate matters."
"Of course." She clutched the contract like a lifeline. "Thank you, Your Grace."
"Don't thank me yet. You haven't seen the storage rooms." He opened the door, revealing Graves hovering in the hallway with the expression of someone who'd definitely been eavesdropping. "Graves, Miss Whitcombe will be joining us as librarian. Please see that she has everything she requires."
Graves's face went through several interesting contortions before settling on professional neutrality. "Of course, Your Grace."
Eveline followed the butler back through the intimidating corridors, her mind reeling. She'd done it. She had actually done it. She'd gotten the position despite everything—her sex, her deception, her mortifying discovery that she'd insulted her future employer in a bookshop.
"Miss Whitcombe," Graves said as they reached the entrance hall, his tone suggesting he was suffering from severe indigestion, "I suppose I should offer my... congratulations."
"Thank you, Mr. Graves."
"Though I feel obliged to mention that this arrangement is highly irregular."
"So everyone keeps telling me."
"The staff will talk."
"I expect they will."
"Society will be scandalized."
"I'm counting on it."
Something that might have been approval flickered in his eyes before being quickly suppressed. "You'll need a key to the servants' entrance. Coming through the front door daily would be..."
"Highly irregular?"
