Love In The Library (29 page)

Now he pointed a musket at them.

"It's loaded and ready to use, Guv'nah. Just give me the word."

Chapter 23

Melvin knew the man Longford referred to as Stockton could not kill both twins with one musket ball. While he did not fancy stopping a musket ball himself, he wasn't about to let his brother be the one to take it. He peered at Elvin, hoping like the devil he would start talking. If Stockton's gaze would shift to Elvin, Melvin might be able to disarm him.

What had he to lose?

"Which of ye twins is the one I met in the alley?" Stockton's bushy, reddish brows lowered, a cocky smirk deforming his mouth. Melvin had failed to notice the first time that the ruddy man was missing two of his front teeth.

"Don't answer!" Elvin said.

As Stockton's gaze darted to Elvin, Melvin pounced upon him. Stockton whirled toward him but not soon enough to prevent Melvin from knocking him off his feet. As he fell backward—with Melvin sprawling on top of him—the musket discharged.

What the bloody hell? Accompanying the near-deafening sound of the musket firing, Melvin could swear he heard the sound of multiple females screaming out.

Just before he landed on Stockton's barrel chest, Melvin's gaze connected with the doorway. Through the smoke that now filled the air, Mrs. Bexley stood in the doorway like an angel rising from clouds. Good lord, this was the second time Melvin had thought her an angel.

"Oh, my poor Airy!" she cried, hurling herself toward him. "You're far more precious than a thousand priceless manuscripts."

 Good lord, no one had ever said anything that flattering to him before. While he might fancy the idea of holding her in his arms once more, he wasn't about to let Stockton have the opportunity to hurt her.

It was then that he noticed two other things. Well, three actually. She gripped an umbrella in her hands even though there wasn't a cloud in the sky. And Lizzy was on one side of her, Annie on the other. All three of them clutched umbrellas. Had it started to rain?

As Mrs. Bexley flew toward him, she batted her umbrella against Stockton's scruffy face! "How dare you try to harm Mr. Steffington!"

Stockton snatched at her skirts, and she came tumbling down on top the pair of them. As she landed, Stockton's meaty hands encircled her neck. "Ya want me to take care of this woman, Guv-nah?"

"God, no!" Longford yelled. "That's the woman I intend to marry!"

Stockton's hands uncoiled. The poor angel was gasping for breath! "I. . .am . . .not ever going to marry you." Her gaze drilled at Longford.

"But you must," Longford said. "I've loved you for more than nine years. I've compared every woman against you, but no other one will ever do."

"Even had you not stolen my Chaucer, I could never marry you."

Longford stood there solemnly gazing at her. "Is there . . .someone else?"

Still eyeing Longford, she nodded.

Longford's gaze arrowed to Melvin. "You've fallen in love with a penniless man?"

"I refuse to discuss the personal details of my life with you, Mr. Longford."  She still clutched at her umbrella.

It then occurred to Melvin that she and his sisters had converged upon Longford's house intending to protect him and his twin with their umbrellas!

Laughing, Melvin snatched Mrs. Bexley's umbrella and drove its sharp tip between Stockton's ribs. "That's for trying to harm this lady!"

Stockton uttered the most appalling words.

Melvin drew back on the umbrella, then jabbed it into him again. Harder this time. "How dare you use such coarse language in the presence of a very fine lady—and my two maiden sisters!"

Though Stockton tried to get up, he was unable to do so because Melvin straddled his chest. His immobility made him even angrier. The angrier he became, the more foul his language.

"I say Elvin," Melvin said, "we can't have the ladies exposed to such indelicate language."

"Then perhaps you should quit provoking him," Elvin suggested.

"I had thought instead that you could remove the ladies from this room."

Elvin's brows lowered. "And leave you here with these two pieces of excrement?"

Longford's hands fisted. "How dare you!"

Melvin chose to ignore the runt. Directing his attention at the man beneath him, Melvin said, "I know you stole a manuscript from Number 17 Royal Crescent."

"I don't know what yer talking about."

"You have two choices," Melvin said. "You can cooperate with me in order to restore the manuscript to its rightful owner, or you can rot in prison."

"Is you saying that if I 'elp you find that book, no guilt would attach to me?"

"Exactly. All we want is the book." Melvin looked at Longford. The poor fellow's humiliation was complete. "I have no desire to blacken your employer's name. We only want the book back."

Stockton's gaze locked with Longford's.

Longford nodded. "All right. I have the manuscript." He was too ashamed to meet Mrs. Bexley's gaze. He removed a key from his pocket, strode to a built-in cabinet, and unlocked its door.

Mrs. Bexley's breath hitched.

There in the lower cabinet was the oversized holograph.

"Elvin," Melvin said, "may I suggest you claim that for Mrs. Bexley?"

Elvin nodded.

Footsteps pounded on the corridor, then Thomas Moreland's large body filled the doorway, his wife, Felicity, standing behind him. "Need help?" Moreland asked.

Mrs. Bexley stood. "Thank you so much for coming. Can you help tie up that vile man beneath Mr. Steffington?"

"I say," Elvin said, "it was good of you to come, Moreland."

Melvin glared at Mrs. Bexley. "I will have you know I'm perfectly capable of fighting my own battles. I don't need assistance from three helpless females toting umbrellas! And you didn't have to send for Moreland to rescue me." How did he know she was the one who sent for Moreland? Because the connection to her was so deep he had come to understand the workings of her mind.

Then he nodded at the former nabob. "Though it was good of you to come."

Moreland nodded as he took a length of rope his wife had fetched.

Mrs. Bexley stared back at Melvin, something like malice on her pretty face. "It was not your battle! It was mine, and you've risked yourself too many times for my benefit." Her gaze flicked to Felicity's. "Thanks ever so much for allowing you husband to come, dearest." Then, tearing up, Mrs. Bexley rushed from the house.

Perplexed, Melvin met his twin's gaze and shrugged.

"Go after her, you idiot!"

Now Melvin was more perplexed than ever. Why was his brother calling him an idiot? He thought he'd executed his duties for Mrs. Bexley most admirably. It was he, after all, who had figured out who was responsible for the Chaucer theft.

Elvin frowned at him. "Even Longford could see she's in love with you!"

Dear God, could they think Mrs. Bexley was in love with him?  Why, she could capture the heart of any man in the kingdom. She was . . . well, she was beautiful. And for a female, she was intelligent.  She had a wonderful sense of humor. Being with her was always pleasant.

His heartbeat hammered. Could any other woman's kisses ever bring the pleasure hers did? He would very much like to kiss her again.

But she couldn't possibly have a romantic interest in him.

Even if she did say she'd rather have him than
a thousand priceless manuscripts
. It only this minute occurred to him that her declaration had made him feel . . . like his heart was taking on the consistency of melted butter.

But, really, she couldn't have a romantic interest in him.

As soon as she sold the Chaucer, she would be a very wealthy woman. She could move within some fairly exalted circles. Surely she would have no interest in a dull stick like him.

"At least go talk to her," Elvin said.

Moreland had begun to bind Stockton's hands, and once he knotted the rope, Melvin got off Stockton's chest. "I gave this man my word that if the manuscript was recovered—and my brother is now holding the recovered holograph—he could be free."

Moreland nodded. "I shall release him after you've gone, then. He's rather out of charity with you at present."

Melvin eyed his brother. "What would I talk to her about?"

Elvin rolled his eyes.

Annie stepped up to Felicity and whispered, but not in so low a voice that Melvin couldn't make out the gist of her words, which sounded like, "I believe Mrs. Bexley's fallen in love with Melvin."

And Felicity had said, "That's the smart one, right?"

To which Annie responded with a nod.

Why did all these people think a paragon like Mrs. Bexley could fancy herself in love with him?

In all other matters, Melvin had always let probabilities dictate to him. Surely if all these people perceived that Mrs. Bexley was in love with him . . .His pulse pounded so rapidly it reverberated into his eardrums. Could the probability be that they were right?

Illogically, he felt as if his heart melted. Her words kept coming back to him. He was more precious than a thousand priceless manuscripts. By God, that's exactly how he felt about her!

And the more he thought of her, the more he longed to kiss her.

He cleared his throat and tossed an embarrassed glance at his twin. "I might just go . . . make sure she's . . . unharmed."

Elvin, Annie, and Felicity all exchanged amused glances.

Chapter 24

Simpson showed him into Mrs. Bexley's library. For some unaccountable reason, his heartbeat escalated. As he moved into the chamber, she stood and faced him. The fire to her back, she was framed in its glow, and once more he thought her as angelic as she'd looked the day of his beating when he'd opened his eyes and beheld the perfection of her concerned gaze.

"I didn't bring the Chaucer," he announced with a shrug.

He thought perhaps she was disappointed when she said, "Then why have you come?"

"I wanted to see if you were all right. You fled in an awful hurry. Then I remembered that fiend trying to choke the life from you. . ." He could have murdered Stockton with his bare hands. Melvin gulped. "I was worried about you."

She held out her arms and twirled. "As you can see, I'm as good as new."

Physically, she might be as good as new, but he could tell something was bothering her. All the way here he'd practiced the words he would use when he saw her, but now that they were face to face, his mind had been wiped clean like a school child's slate.

"Won't you sit down, Mr. Steffington?" She indicated the green sofa.

He strode to it, and she sat next to him. "I liked it better when you called me Airy," he mumbled. Now why in the devil had he blurted out something so nonsensical?

"But I thought you disliked it."

"I thought I did, but I find that I was mistaken."

Her eyes danced. "Truly, Airy?"

"When it's just you and me, that is." He eyed her. No more than one foot separated them. He found himself desiring to close the gap because he was possessed of an almost overwhelming urge to haul her into his arms. What in the devil had come over him?

His gaze switched to the fire. "My brother and Moreland will bring the Chaucer before long. I've instructed my brother to give Coutts whatever is owed on this property. You can pay him back after you sell the manuscript."

"That's very kind of Sir Elvin."

"Coutts won't bully him as they're trying to do with you. That's your problem, Mrs. Bexley."

"What's my problem?"

"You need a man to look after you."

She sighed. "I thought I'd found an excellent candidate for the role, but it seems he's not interested in me that way."

"What way might you be talking about?"

"It's really too embarrassing to discuss. That's why I fled from that odious Mr. Longford's."

He gave her a sympathetic look. "How could someone as perfect as you ever have anything to be embarrassed over?"

"Oh, Airy, that is so sweet of you to say! But you—more than any man in the kingdom—know of my abundant shortcomings."

More than any man in the kingdom? Funny she should put it that way because he felt as if he did understand her better than any other man in the kingdom possibly could. "Thank you for acknowledging that . . . peculiar bond which unites us, but I assure you I know of no shortcomings—other than your propensity to act rashly before calculating the consequences."

Her lengthy lashes lowered. "How kind of you to say that."

He cleared his throat. "So with the recovery of the Chaucer, you will be a wealthy woman. Will you be spending more time in the Capital?" He could see her dancing with the
ton
at Almack's, being courted by aristocrats, and even remarrying. All of those prospects made him feel low. He would miss her.

"And with your fifteen percent, you won't have to go work at Stipley Hall unless that is what you truly want to do. As a man of some means, what would you enjoy most, Airy?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Nothing could bring me more pleasure than spending my days in a cozy library exactly like this one, reading and writing to my heart's content."

"I used to always think of this as Mr. Bexley's library—which made me reluctant to come here." She smiled at him. "But now I think of it as ours."

Melvin's brows lowered. "Yours and your late husband's?"

She shook her head. "No. Mine and yours. I didn't know it during those days you and I poured over those old newspapers, but since then I've longed to recapture those peaceful days of contentment."

"It's exactly the same with me!" Then he cleared his throat. "Does it not bother you that you no longer think of this chamber as your
dear Mr. Bexley's
?"

She was so silent, he feared he had upset her. "Forgive me," he said. "I didn't mean to bring up so somber a topic."

"I. . . think there's something I should tell you, but you must give me your word to tell no one."

"I give you my word."