One Scandalous Kiss

by Christy Carlyle

  “Books, Miss Wright? How many would you say are here in the shop?”

  “We’ve maintained a smaller stock of late.”

  He turned an irritated glance her way, narrowing his eyes before lifting a black brow over his right eye.

  She wasn’t prevaricating. She just couldn’t fathom what the number of books in her shop had to do with the viscount she’d kissed standing in the middle of it. Surely he had no desire to purchase a bookshop. He must know involvement with her or her shop would only stoke the rumor mill. It made her wonder why he’d risked coming to see her at all.

  “There are a little over eight hundred books.”

  He pursed his mouth and continued glancing up at the shelves.

  “Everything is quite tidy and meticulously organized. It must have been a great deal of work to run a shop on your own.”

  She was grateful he didn’t look at her when he said it. Heat crept up the back of her neck and Jess suspected her cheeks were flushed too. She could count on one hand the sum of compliments she’d received from gentlemen in her life, and certainly none had anything to do with her skills as a businesswoman. It was shockingly gratifying and yet, considering that she’d just lost her business, did she truly deserve it?

  “I do have an assistant. Mr. Echolls.”

  “Ah, yes. The gentleman in the back room.”

  She nodded her head, but he’d turned his back on her and missed the gesture.

  Standing near their oldest bit of shelving, his shoulders aligned with a barely discernible series of notches on the side of the bookcase. It was where Father had marked off her height as she grew year after year. Lord Grimsby’s shoulders crested the highest notch by several inches. No wonder she’d had to crane her neck and stand on the tips of her toes to kiss him.

  The memory of their kiss set loose the warmth in her cheeks and it flowed to her limbs in a pleasurable rush.

  Foolish woman. That kiss had been her downfall. She’d lost her father’s shop over that kiss. It was madness to recall it with anything but regret.

  “Why are you here, my lord?”

  He looked at her again, capturing her gaze in a glance that made her shiver. He stalked toward her in two long strides, and it took every bit of strength she had left to stand her ground. Like the night before, he was so close she had to tilt her head to look up and meet his eyes.

  She thought he might touch her. A kind of blue fire burned in his gaze.

  “Don’t you know, Miss Wright? Don’t you know why I’m here?”

  “I . . .” She meant to offer up one of her theories, but his tantalizing scent sent her thoughts scattering. It was a familiar scent to her now. Just that morning she’d imagined she could smell it lingering on her clothes.

  “I could give you money.”

  Tension coiled in her belly at his words. Money was what she needed most, though she doubted Mr. Briggs would accept any amount from her now. But why would Lord Grimsby offer her money? Charity? She’d never take that again. And there could be no fair exchange. She had nothing with which to bargain.

  Was he asking her to be his mistress? Did he respect her so little?

  She thought of her behavior the previous evening and a wry grin twisted her mouth. She’d already kissed him, brazenly, without permission or even an introduction. Why wouldn’t he expect her to do much more for money now that she’d lost her business?

  “Why, my lord?” She wanted to hear him say it, to admit his desire or that he thought her as dishonorable as those who’d witnessed her foolish act.

  But her words seemed to douse the fire in him. He blinked and took several steps back. She thought he’d turn and walk out. The blaze had gone and there was only finality in his gaze.

  He’d go and leave her to face the results of her actions alone. Just as her father had left her alone to deal with his debts and bad choices. Though now, this trouble, this had been her choice. She found a strange sort of comfort in that. That made it easier to face somehow.

  She lifted her chin and looked Lord Grimsby square in the eyes. “I do not wish to be a charity case, my lord. There are many other worthy causes if you wish to give your money away. Thank you for calling. Good day, my lord.”

  But he wasn’t finished with her. He didn’t respond, but he took two steps toward her, nearly as close as they’d been the night before.

  “I can’t forget.” He touched her the moment the three words were out of his mouth. No bargain. No gawking socialites. Just the warm press of his fingertips against her skin. He was gentle, his touch reverent as he explored the curve of her cheek. He touched her as if she were precious, as if she mattered, even now when she’d lost everything.

  Jess swayed toward him, and he reached for her, wrapping one arm around her waist as he dipped his head. If he wished to kiss her, she’d let him. Right or wrong, she’d let him. But he didn’t take her mouth. Instead, he moved his head lower, pressing his cheek to hers.

  “I can’t forget.” He repeated the words low, a hot, breathy whisper that tickled her ear and sparked a wave of sensation across her skin. She was already quivering when he kissed her, pressing his lips to her cheek, just at the edge of her ear.

  Then it was over. He lifted his head and steadied her on her feet. There was no fire in his gaze now. Just sadness. Or was it regret?

  He stepped away from her once more, stroking his hand down her arm before releasing her.

  After placing his top hat on his head, he bowed—to her, a ruined businesswoman and public strumpet—before striding out of her shambles of a bookshop. Out of her shambles of a life. This time, she was certain, forever.

  EVER FAITHFUL, JACK stayed on past their usual closing time to help Jess with the borrower letters and tidying the shop’s back room. Ever discreet, he’d kept mum about the viscount’s visit. Jess was thankful for both.

  “We’re down to our last few penny stamps, Jack. Should we spend what’s left on some more?”

  Determined to let all of their lending library borrowers know the shop was closing, Jess also wanted to urge them to keep the books currently in their care. Better that devoted readers have a book of their own than Briggs and his men have the lot or use it as kindling.

  She handed the last of the Wright and Sons Booksellers’ petty cash to Jack and he donned his coat. The London weather was predictable only in its unpredictability. What began as a day of blue skies and warm breezes had now turned cool and foggy.

  She followed Jack to the front door carrying a packet of letters to be mailed to the borrowers. He was on the threshold and she’d nearly closed the door on him to keep out the cold when he turned back to her.

  “What will you do, miss?”

  The question chilled her more than the biting autumn air. It was the problem she’d been ignoring as she busied herself with what must be done. Her morning listlessness had dissolved with the viscount’s visit and she’d been cleaning and sorting and writing letters for hours. The question of her future had been at the back of her mind, but she’d pushed it aside.

  “I honestly don’t know.” Her options were few and her means even less. Service loomed as the most reasonable option.

  “Perhaps I shall go into service.” It was a relief to simply say the words aloud.

  “Well, you should go as a governess, miss. You’ve more sense and cleverness than most men I know.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at the irony of his words, considering the situation. “Lot of good it did me, eh?”

  Jack looked down and studied the letters in his hands. They both knew that the loss of the bookshop led directly back to her father—his drinking, his gambling, all the secrets he’d hidden from her for years.

  “I’m freezing, Jack. Hurry back and I’ll treat you and Sally at the Frog and Whistle.” He offered her a toothy smile, appearing much younger than his fifty years, before dashing off like a man half his age. There was no underestimating the motivating power of good food and frothy ale.

 
; Jess latched the door behind him and made certain their hastily made “Closed” sign was in place. Then she turned and surveyed the shop from that spot, just inside the front door. Tears welled in her eyes. She bit her lip and choked back a sob as her gaze lit on each bookcase, the neat columns of spines, the brass plates indicating topic, and the glint of gilt on the newest, most expensive volumes. Some would simply see it as a collection of paper and leather and binding glue. To Jess it was the world. For as long as she could remember, the bookshop had formed the boundary lines of her life, but through the pages of so many of its books she’d encountered the world. Far-off places she’d never visit, though she could see them in her mind’s eye. Some of her favorite books’ characters were as dear as friends, their stories and landscapes available for a visit whenever she wished.

  And she couldn’t look at the bookshop, each element that made it a whole, without seeing Father in her mind’s eye. He’d been the one ingredient that bound it all together. It had been his dream, his life’s work. With his own hands he’d polished the bookcases, filled them with precious volumes, and carefully formed the elegant script on each brass category plate. She held a vague, fragile memory of Mother and Father dancing a lively jig on a day of bountiful sales, and more vivid memories of how her father would whistle or break into song as he worked, his lively tenor echoing off the towering bookshelves. He was a man who loathed silence, often talking to himself aloud, and she realized what had been missing from the shop hadn’t just been his presence but his noise.

  The latter days she tried not to remember—the nights he would disappear and she’d find him too hungover or despondent to run the shop the next day. The promises and lies about money, the assurances that all would soon be well, that their luck would change. She didn’t wish to recall her father for his weakness of character, but she couldn’t deny it. Especially now. Taking Kitty’s money and kissing a stranger had been her folly, but he’d sown the seeds of the shop’s failure years before.

  A rap at the door doused her reverie, and Jess quickly wiped away her tears.

  Though it was not yet six, the sky had begun to turn dark and she couldn’t make out the figure through the glass.

  “I’m sorry, but we’re closed.”

  The rapping sounded again, this time louder and more insistent. Her visitor wasn’t going to be deterred, it seemed.

  She undid the latch, turned the knob, and was pushed back nearly into the wall. Just on the verge of protesting, she spied two beige creatures sprinting into the shop and disappearing among the stacks. Then a woman emerged through the open door. At least it appeared to be a woman. A hat, the largest, grandest, most ornate creation she’d ever seen, was the dominant feature that moved across the threshold. Then the hat moved and two blue eyes, cool and clear, met hers.

  The woman’s dress, a deep blue creation with panels of lace and velvet, fit her shapely figure perfectly. She finally tilted her head and the enormous hat receded, feathers and a coil of ribbon still settling into place against her dark hair moments after she’d stopped moving.

  “How do you do, Miss Jessamin Wright? You are Miss Wright, are you not?”

  Jess could only manage a nod.

  “Excellent. I am the Countess of Stamford. I believe you are acquainted with my nephew, Viscount Grimsby.”

  For a moment Jessamin stared at Lady Stamford much as she’d stared at Lord Grimsby. Both of them looked so completely out of place in the midst of her sagging shelves of books. The oddity and extraordinary coincidence of having two members of the aristocracy visit her shop in the same day made a giggle bubble up. Jess bit her lip and cleared her throat to stifle the impulse.

  The lady’s pets, two identical pugs, had finished their perusal of the bookshop and waddled over to sit at their mistress’s feet. One quickly tired of sitting and folded his short legs to lie down. Both looked up, assessing Jess with bulging eyes. Lady Stamford watched her too, and Jess wondered how she fared in the fine lady’s estimation. Not well, she imagined. Nothing she owned was fashionable, and her hair was likely a fright after a day at the shop, not to mention the embarrassment she’d caused the woman’s nephew. That, of course, must be why she’d come. Might as well get the apologies out of the way.

  “My lady, I truly regret the incident of last evening. And any trouble I might have caused your nephew—”

  The countess cut her off. “Miss Wright, I am not here to discuss last evening’s . . . misunderstanding.” Misunderstanding was a terribly gracious and inaccurate way of viewing the entire debacle. “Rather, I am here to discuss you and your future.”

  “My future?”

  “I understand your shop here . . .” Lady Stamford took a moment to look around at the shelves of books, as if just realizing their presence. Jess was surprised to see that she didn’t look dispassionately but actually took the time to read the titles on a few nearby spines, just as her nephew had done. “Yes. You have quite a selection, I see.” She picked up a small red morocco leather folio of poetry. “Would you sell me this one?”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be selling any more books, my lady. My shop is closed as of this morning.”

  “Yes, of course. That’s why I’m here.”

  For a moment, Jess had the mad notion Lady Stamford meant to buy her shop. Before she could form a question, the lady’s clear, strong voice provided an explanation.

  “I mean to offer you employment, Miss Wright. I heard about the closure of your shop and thought you might be in need of a situation. I have need of a companion. When would you be able to start? I’ll be returning to Wiltshire soon so I will need your answer straightaway.”

  Jess told Jack she would go into service, but she’d imagined a place as a governess. She had no idea what being a lady’s companion might entail. She only knew that she wasn’t suited to it, either by birth or by preparation. Weren’t lady’s companions usually wellborn young women?

  “I am not suited to be your companion, my lady.” Did the woman truly not care about the business with her nephew? “And the events of last evening—”

  “—will soon be forgotten, Miss Wright.”

  “My behavior wasn’t that of a lady’s companion.” Jess couldn’t quite meet the woman’s eyes as she recalled her own behavior—the kiss she’d shared with Lady Stamford’s nephew, the fact that she’d let him touch her again hours before.

  Though she didn’t know the man’s aunt—or him, for that matter—Jess felt an instant liking for Lady Stamford. The notion of bringing her any shame or making her the object of more gossip was wholly unacceptable.

  Lady Stamford smiled, and her entire face lit up. Jessamin thought she even detected a glint of mischief in her eyes.

  “Well, you weren’t a lady’s companion at the time.”

  Jess sensed the firm set of her mouth melting into a grin and felt a bit of the day’s disappointments ease. Lady Stamford’s mirth was infectious, as if she was inviting you to see the world in the unique manner she did.

  “Miss Wright, though I do not begin to know your reasons, I can recognize an act of desperation when I see it.”

  Jessamin snapped her head up and looked at Lady Stamford directly. She felt raw and exposed. How much did this woman know of her situation?

  “Oh yes, I too have been desperate in my life. I’ve made dreadful choices as a result. I see you doubt me, but I promise you it’s true. However, that is past, as is last evening. Now, will you come to Wiltshire with me or not? I need an answer as soon as you can give it.”

  Jess was tempted to be swayed by Lady Stamford, moving in her mind and heart toward acceptance. The shop was closed and she had no other options for work or lodging. The prospect of leaving London, where the ruins of her failure lay, was extremely appealing. Then a thought struck her with doubt.

  “What will Lord Grimsby say to all of this?”

  Lady Stamford quirked a grin before answering.

  “Hartwell, my brother’s estate, is miles away. A whole cou
nty, if it puts your mind at ease. My nephew is preoccupied with running it and rarely has time to visit. I assure you, Miss Wright, the two of you are unlikely to cross paths very often.”

  The assurance should have brought Jess relief, but it only brought an ache, an echo of the sense of loss she felt over her father’s shop.

  The burdens of the day, of her situation, hit her all at once, and Jess wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, fall asleep, and hope it had all been a bad dream. But she sensed the grand lady’s impatience.

  “I will . . . have to think about it, my lady. Thank you for your—”

  “I have yet to make an offer, my dear. One hundred pounds per annum.”

  If there’d been a chair nearby, Jess would have sunk into it. As it was, she held herself quite still to stop from doing something very silly, like fainting.

  “One hundred pounds?” To Jessamin’s mind it was such an extraordinary sum that it bore repeating—the amount she’d taken to kiss the woman’s nephew, the amount of the check she intended to return to Kitty Adderly now that the whole scheme had gone dreadfully wrong. She tried to hide the note of incredulity in her voice but found it impossible.

  “Very well. Two hundred pounds. But you drive a very hard bargain, Miss Wright.”

  This time she couldn’t stifle her response. She laughed and immediately raised a hand to her mouth to quell it. If the lady hadn’t been standing before her looking as serious as her grim nephew, Jess would have asked if she was joking.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I very much hope you will say yes. It is a reasonable salary.”

  It was an unheard-of salary.

  “Room and board will be provided at Marleston Hall, of course.”

  Lady Stamford watched her closely, and Jessamin suspected she read her troubled thoughts easily.

  “It need not be an appointment forever, of course. I suspect you wish to rebuild your shop again. Such a sum after a year would set you up quite nicely, would it not?”

  The regal woman in the preposterous hat truly was a mind reader. And a very effective saleswoman.