That proclamation only heightened his curiosity. She was endeavoring to be bold in what ways? How many ways? Endeavoring privately? Publicly? Did any of her endeavoring involve touching or flirting?
He glanced down at his desk, appalled that he’d just had that thought. But now that it was in his head, it wouldn’t leave. He imagined Miss Woodchurch in bed, unafraid to speak. To act. He drew a breath. “If you would be so kind as to pen a response to my meddlesome mother and relay to her that all is well. If it pleases you, you may add that I wish her my sincerest hope she enjoys the rest of her stay.”
Her smile was charming. “It pleases me. Thank you.”
“And then you will refrain from offering more opinions or speaking for the sake of it, won’t you? There is still quite a lot of work to be done today.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Miss Woodchurch returned to her desk. She made quick work of the correspondence as she always did. When she’d finished, she put the letters on the edge of his desk.
“Thank you. You may go now and have tea.”
Miss Woodchurch didn’t move.
He glanced up. “Allow me to guess—you have more opinions to offer and intend to carry on like a soldier.”
“Oh no, I’m quite finished with any opinions, as you requested. But I must beg your indulgence as I speak without explicit invitation. Not simply for the sake of it, however.”
He almost smiled. “Shall I rebuke you now, or wait until I’ve heard what you have to say?”
“Perhaps a stern warning not to forget myself before I begin?”
He smiled. “Consider yourself sternly warned, then.” He gestured for her to continue, acutely aware that he was enjoying this banter with her this afternoon. He was enchanted with the sparkle in her blue eyes and the way her skin flushed pink at the slightest provocation.
“I’ve brought you a gift. Of sorts.”
Agift? He was a bit flattered. But then he realized what it must be and smiled. “A pin for the lapel.”
She laughed with delight. “You’ve noticed! I would not have guessed that the Tudor rose pins would be in high demand at Grosvenor Square, but there you are. I should be delighted to bring you one, my lord, and will do so with all due haste. But that’s not the gift I have for you. I have a book.” She dipped down to the floor, and when she stood again, she was indeed holding a book. She held it out to him, her smile luminous.
He eyed the book, wondering if he ought to accept it.
“The title isJane Eyre, by the incomparable Charlotte Brontë, an English author. I thought... Well, you said you’d never read such a novel, and I thought perhaps you might want to try one. It is romantic and mysterious, and the setting is wonderfully gloomy.”
“Gloomy?”
“Dark and foreboding,” she clarified.
He looked at the book.
“I see where that might sound less than appealing, but I assure you it adds to the story’s atmosphere. I wager you won’t be able to stop reading once you’ve begun.”
Mateo opened the book and read the first line a bit slowly. “‘There was no possibility of taking a walk that day...’” He closed the book and set it aside. He didn’t know what to think of this gift. He was intrigued, he was confused, and he was strangely grateful that it was not a lapel pin. “What would you wager?”
“Pardon?”
“You said you’d wager I won’t be able to stop once I begin. What wager would you make, Miss Woodchurch?”
“Ah...” She glanced around the room.
There were any number of things he would like to wager. He’d like to touch the soft hollow of her throat. Brush that stubborn bit of hair that always came loose from her coif back into place. He’d like to sweep his thumb across her bottom lip. “We’ll think of something,” he said. “Gracias.Thank you.”
“I hope you don’t think me too forward—”
“Not at all. Please don’t make too much of it, Miss Woodchurch. It’s a book, not an invitation to dinner.”
Her cheeks colored almost instantly, and he winced inwardly at how that must have sounded. This was precisely the thing that Roberto had pointed out to him.
