The Story of a Baron (The Sisters of the Aristocracy) (3 page)

Chapter 4

Making Amends for Making a Cake

Jeffrey Althorpe realized his mistake almost immediately.

It was good cake?

How could he have made such an awful comment? He wasn’t supposed to have
agreed
with the lady’s assessment of what had happened at Lord Weatherstone’s ball. He should have informed her that she was
wrong
about what had happened. Well, not exactly
wrong
, but ... dropping her spectacles was merely an accident. No harm had come to the eye wear, and although he feared his breeches would split open in the rear as he dropped down to retrieve them, the unforgiving satin had held.

It was the moment when he stood up – that brief moment when she was still below him, looking up at him as he held onto her hand – it was that moment he remembered with such clarity. That moment when her face displayed a look of surprise, as if she hadn’t expected him to make the move to pick up her glasses. He was sure her nose had touched his hair, the sensation not unlike a sensuous caress. He was quite sure his entire body had shivered in response. And when he gently tugged on the hand he still held to help her up, he had a passing thought that if Lady Pettigrew wasn’t standing
right there
, he would have kissed the surprise right off of Lady Evangeline’s lips before she’d had a chance to get her feet firmly under her.

Talk about making a cake of it!

But now Lady Evangeline had suddenly taken her leave of him – and the book with her!

Jeffrey hurried down the rows of books toward the stairs that would lead to the lower stories. A glimpse of the retreating hem of Lady Evangeline’s gown caught his eye, though, and he slowed his steps. She had apparently gone into the lounging room, no doubt to begin reading the book.

My book!

He had made the trip to the Temple of the Muses for the sole purpose of acquiring one of the first printings of
The Story of a Baron
. He had even managed to arrive within a few moments of the store’s opening thinking he would be the only one in London with the sole errand of buying that particular book on its first day for sale in the store.

But someone else had his book.

Of course, he could simply ask Mr. Pritchard to order another copy on his behalf. I can wait, he told himself, rolling his eyes as he considered that he most certainly could
not
wait. He had to learn what the publisher had done with his tome.

My first book!

And who should end up with the first copy but the very chit over which he found himself feeling just a bit ...
unsettled?

Only because I am intrigued by her
, he realized as he pulled up short of the doorway to the lounging room.

Damnation!
Why would he think such a thing about Evangeline Tennison?

Was it just because she had chosen his book to buy the very day it went on sale?

No, of course not
, he admitted to himself.

He had been attracted to her that very first time he’d seen her at Lord Weatherstone’s ball. Otherwise, why would he have embarrassed himself by begging
Lady Pettigrew
to arrange an introduction? Lady Pettigrew of all people – the only older woman whose bare breasts he had seen in their entirety and totally by accident – but that was a story for another day. And now he had further embarrassed himself during their short interchange only a moment ago!

Talk about making a cake of it!

Learning there was only one copy of the book on the third floor had him wondering, though. Did the Temple’s book buyer think the work of fiction unworthy of space on their shelves? Did they think that a story about a baron wouldn’t sell to London book readers?

Or was it too expensive?

Jeffrey hadn’t had a chance to learn the price of the book. His publisher had never discussed its binding nor how many would be printed for its release. And the Temple of the Muses had a reputation for carrying books that were affordable. Perhaps after
The Story of a Baron
had been available for several months, the Temple would receive the remainders and sell those instead of first-run editions.

The excitement ... no, the
pride
he’d felt on entering the bookshop that morning completely disappeared. All because Lady Evangeline had beat him to his own book!

Or had she?

Perhaps he could talk her into allowing him to buy the first copy. Surely the woman could be reasonable. He would simply explain that he had written the book and wanted to buy the shop’s first copy.

And then he would promise her the next one!

Jeffrey’s new-found excitement was doused almost as quickly as it had been ignited. He couldn’t tell Lady Evangeline he was the author! He didn’t want the entire
ton
to know he had written a book that sometimes poked fun at the aristocracy. Nor did he wish to be known as its author should someone take exception to its content. He’d been most careful in the names and descriptions he used for his cast of characters, changing them so that no one would be offended. But what if someone he hadn’t used as inspiration accused him of slander? Or, worse, leaving said person out of the story when they wanted to be featured?

“Pardon me, my lady, but I wondered if I might have a word with you?” he ventured as he stood on the threshold of the lounging room. At first, he thought Lady Evangeline was the only person in the room, but a young woman dressed in maid’s livery was standing in front of one of the chairs. He remembered her from when he had glanced into the room on his way to the
New Arrivals
section.

Lady Evangeline, still holding his closed book on her arm, was clearly startled as she turned to regard him. Her eyes were bright, as if she were about to cry. “So that I might make an even larger cake?” she responded lightly.

Jeffrey stood staring at the young woman for a few moments before he realized he
had
offended her with his comment about cake. “Truly, my lady, I meant no offense with my comment,” he claimed as he shook his head. “And, in fact, I intended to inform you of your mistaken impression on the evening we met, but then I thought it would be wrong of me to do so. And so it is I who has made a cake of it.” He paused a moment, hoping she was following his logic. “By not making myself clear,” he added with a nod.

Lady Evangeline regarded the baron for a moment, still surprised by his sudden appearance and even more surprised by his words. His tone was apologetic, his eyes suitably downcast and his manner most sober. “So ... no cakes?” she managed to get out before she had to suppress a sob by swallowing. Hard.

Jeffrey reached for her hand and leaned down to brush his lips over the back of it. “Only at tea, milady,” he said with a shake of his head. He was unaware that he still held onto her bare fingers until he felt her gentle tug. “Oh, pardon,” he said, a flush coloring his face as he released her hand.

The earl’s sister nodded, noticing his embarrassment. Suddenly not wanting to add to it, she asked, “And what, pray tell, brought you to the Temple today?” she asked carefully, realizing it would be best to change the topic of conversation. All the talk of cake had her feeling a bit hungry and wishing The Temple of the Muses offered a tea service.

Her question could not have been more perfect. “That book,” Jeffrey replied as he pointed to the tome she held on her arm.

Her eyes widening, Evangeline glanced down at
The Story of a Baron
. “Oh?” she replied.

“I wish to buy it,” he stated.

Straightening to her full five-foot, eight-inch height, Evangeline said, “As do I.”

The room was suddenly rather warm.

Jeffrey frowned. “May I ask ... why?” he wondered.

Evangeline’s eyes widened a fraction before she shrugged. “I thought to learn more about a baron, I suppose,” she replied, deciding not to add that she was still intrigued by the very man who stood before her. She had been ever since that night at Lord Weatherstone’s ball. “And since it’s written by Anonymous, I’m thinking the author is probably a baron himself, so the story may be autobiographical.”

Forcibly closing his mouth, Jeffrey swallowed.
How had she managed to come to the correct conclusion?
Well, half correct anyway. Most of what was in the book was what Jeffrey
hoped
would happen.

“As a baron, I thought to learn more about one of my brethren,” Jeffrey responded after a moment. “Do you suppose you might allow me to buy it today? I would be sure to give it to you when I am finished,” he offered, thinking the gift of a book wouldn’t break one of Society’s rules.

Evangeline stifled a gasp, but her maid did not. “Really, Annabelle, it’s not as if the gentleman has offered to buy me a gown or jewels,” she scolded. Although, the thought of Lord Sommers buying her anything caused a fluttery sensation in her stomach. And one of annoyance. If he kept her much longer, she would miss her opportunity to call on Lady Samantha at eleven o’clock. For tea. With cake.

“I would be happy to buy you your own copy,” Jeffrey offered, pouncing on the alternative she offered.
Or almost anything you wanted
, he thought, realizing the chit had him on the verge of frustration. And lust. And impatience.

One of her eyebrows arched up. “Is there a reason you cannot wait until Mr. Pritchard can get you another?” Evangeline wondered, realizing she really didn’t want to wait to read the tale.

And why should she?

She’d been sure to arrive at the store just before it opened for the very purpose of acquiring the book.
If this ... this brigand was so determined to get his hands on the same book, he should have arrived before I did!

“My lady,” the baron stated with a sudden hint of annoyance. “I could wait, I suppose, but is there any reason why
you
cannot wait?” he countered, his hands clasping behind his back in an effort to still them. He feared if he left them loose he might be tempted to strangle the chit.
Or pull her very hard against the front of his body
. He had never in his nine-and-twenty years been tempted to take the life of a woman and kiss her all at the same time, but at the moment, he thought he might actually be capable. Of both. At the same time.

Oh, why couldn’t he have arrived just a few minutes earlier? Had he managed to wake up when he planned, he would have been at the front door when the shop opened! As it was, his valet reminded him of the date when he opened the bedchamber drapes and added, “You said you wished to be on your way early this day.”

Despite the valet’s very best efforts, it still took the same amount of time it always did to shave and dress him. Jeffrey even left the house without having so much as a cup of coffee or a bit of breakfast. And with all this talk of cake, his stomach was reminding him of his oversight.

It was all going so wrong!

If only the bookshop offered a tea service!

Evangeline stared at the impertinent man, stunned he would suggest that she give up her claim to the new book simply because he couldn’t wait to read it. Did other patrons of The Temple of Muses have this problem when they wanted a new book? When they planned their morning for the express purpose of arriving upon the opening of the store to acquire said book?

She rather doubted it. But, given the baron’s apparent zeal for the same book, she realized that he had probably planned his morning much the same as she had. He had probably arisen a bit earlier than usual, rushing through his morning toilette in an effort to be out of the house and at the storefront precisely at nine o’clock. Perhaps he had been delayed due to his valet or his breakfast or traffic. Perhaps it had been his intention to arrive before the store actually opened, much like she had. Did circumstances really dictate that she be the one to claim the book simply because she had arranged everything in advance and it had all worked out for her when it had not for this gentleman?

This gentleman.

The thought struck her suddenly.
This is Lord Sommers,
she reminded herself. The only gentleman to go out of his way to gain an introduction to her at Lord Weatherstone’s ball.

“You intended to be here earlier, didn’t you?” she finally answered, realizing the baron was staring at her with a look of expectation ... and perhaps, something else.

“I did. I ... My morning did not work out as I intended,” he agreed, his sigh audible in the quiet surrounds. Jeffrey’s gaze softened suddenly. If he imagined her without the ridiculous bonnet, he could almost see the honey blonde, blue-eyed vision he’d spied consorting with the potted palm. The willowy blonde he absolutely had to be introduced to before he took his leave of Lord Weatherstone’s ball.

And I was ready to strangle her,
he thought with a suddenly guilty heart.

“Forgive me, Lady Evangeline,” he whispered, his head dropping into a bow. “I ... I have been an absolute ass and ...” He paused, realizing almost immediately what word had just come out of his mouth. Closing his eyes for a moment, he hoped beyond hope that he hadn’t just spoken the inappropriate word loud enough so the lady could hear. “And worse,” he added, his head shaking from side to side.

The chit stared at him a moment, her look of surprise slowly replaced with one of contrition. “Lord Sommers?” she said with a hint of a question, the sound of her voice suddenly one of awe. “I ... I apologize. I did not consider we might both find this book equally important,” she said as a becoming blush colored her face.

Jeffrey stilled himself. Despite the serviceable pelisse and ridiculous bonnet she wore, he still found her delectable. Did her damned brother not give her an allowance for a decent modiste?
Probably not
. The earl was off on one of his expeditions to discover who knew what – something about fish, Jeffrey remembered just then, – leaving his comely sister all alone and fending for herself in the largest city in the world. “It is I who should apologize,” he countered, shaking his head in dismay. “About the cake. You must think me the worst kind of rake,” he stated, his eyes rolling up and around to emphasize his plight.

“Of course, not,” Evangeline replied with a shake of her head. “You’re simply as desperate as I am,” she reasoned. “We both wish to read the same book on the day of its release.”

Jeffrey nodded. “And there is only the one copy.”

Evangeline nodded in return. “There is.” After a moment, she angled her head to one side. “Had you planned to spend the day reading it?” she wondered, thinking that if he had not, she would offer to read it and then turn it over to him later. After all, how long would it take to read the book? It was the story of a baron, for goodness’ sake.