Two rows of finely bound volumes were neatly arranged inside, their spines gleaming in rich hues of burgundy, green, and gold. The scent of aged paper beckoned her closer.
“There are three more drawers.”
“A library?” she exclaimed, delight filling her. “In your carriage?”
He nodded. “Traveling can be tedious, and I’ve learned that a good book is the best remedy for boredom.”
She reached out, a finger tracing the delicate lettering on the spines. “Whoever designed this was a genius,” she murmured. “Such a treasure trove to have at your fingertips while traveling.”
“I’m glad you like it. I have this volume, too.” A touch of pride surfaced in his tone as he pulled a book from its place and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed lightly, sending an unsettling flutter through her.
She skimmed the title. It was the same book on her lap.
Her chest tightened with an unfathomable emotion. Her father had always said that a man who cared for books possessed a wealth that could not be spent or stolen, a wealth that endured through time. Then again, he had also said a man who read possessed uncompromising sense. So he hadn’t always been exactly right, but she agreed with the first sentiment.
I made the right choice.
“I must confess,” she said softly, “I’ve never encountered a man who travels with a library.”
Such a man . . .
She couldn’t fathom they existed. Her gaze returned to the books, their titles. She recognized them all, had read them all. It was almost as if this library had been stocked just for her. But that couldn’t be.
She slid the book back into its spot and looked up at him, and she realized that this man, like his carriage with its hidden library, had hidden depths she couldn’t even begin to imagine. But strangely enough, like the pages of the book she held, she wanted to discover each new layer.
“This all seems rather surreal, if I’m honest.”
He nodded, shutting the drawer. “Why are you going to London? You seem to be in quite the hurry.”
She arched a brow. “Your sources didn’t tell you?” When he stared at her blankly, she almost laughed but still said solemnly, “I must find a husband.”
“Are you in a hurry to find one, too?”
“Unfortunately, I am.”
He nodded again. “And who shall you find to marry you at such short notice?”
“I shall not do the finding, but a Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Have you heard of her?”
The corner of his eye twitched. “Nothing good.”
Rosilee blinked at him, startled. “You know Mrs. Dove-Lyon?”
“Not personally, no, but I know the men who frequent her gambling hell aren’t good husband material.”
Rosilee cocked her head. “How do you know that?”
“They’re in a gambling hell. They gamble. Need I say more?”
“I suppose not, but I need such a man to take a gamble on me and my circumstances,” Rosilee said and paused. “Youmentioned you are here to help me, and that you know about Baston. Did you have some particular help in mind?”
“Whatever you need, I will deliver.”
Anythingshe needed?
What sort of man would go so far for a person he had just met?
Perhaps it was his directness, the way he met her eyes without hesitation. Or maybe it was the simple fact that he had shown up at the precise moment her options had run thin. But sitting across from him in a carriage that felt like it belonged to royalty, staring into his gaze that felt familiar yetsounfamiliar, it struck her—
