She really did enjoy helping in the store. At first, she’d been nervous thinking every man who walked into the place would know her, but eventually she calmed down and began to enjoy the work.
In fact, after a year in Bath, she’d begun to feel safe. The trip to London hadn’t ended in the catastrophe she had feared. The entire time she fought the inclination to visit Mama. Then she remembered how her mother had deceived her, her whole life, and the feeling vanished.
She smiled as she remembered the trip back to Bath on the rail. Mr. Westbrooke was so charming that Pamela’s stutter lessened, which didn’t happen very often.
He had teased, cajoled, and flattered until Lottie gave in and allowed herself to enjoy his company. He told them interesting stories of his travels as a young man fresh out of University. She hung on his every word, seeing the exotic places through his eyes. Aside from her time in France—which had been spent behind the high brick walls of her school—she hadn’t been anywhere.
Even though he’d showered them with attention, it was obvious his main interest lay with her. Even Pamela mentioned it when they parted ways at the rail station.
“It appears y-you have a s-suitor, Lottie,” Pamela said as they settled into the hackney to return to their respective homes.
“No. I do not have a suitor. Mr. Westbrooke was just being charming and making the long trip to Bath more pleasurable.”
Pamela laughed. “I don’t t-think so. He was n-nice to both of us, b-but he looked at y-you in a special way.
Lottie waved her off but couldn’t lie to herself. Mr. Westbrooke had indeed shown her more attention than Pamela, and the special way Pamela said he watched her made her insides tingle.
She closed both the ledger book and the thoughts that were teasing her mind. She stood and stretched, looking around the store. She loved books as much as Addie did. When things were slow, she allowed herself to wander the shelves and pick out a book to read that interested her. It had been pouring outside since she’d opened the store earlier, so chances were this would be a very slow day.
She was so captivated by Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, that she actually jumped when the front door opened and the little bell hanging over the door rang. She glanced up to see Mr. Westbrooke walking toward her. “Good day, Miss Danvers.”
Lottie slammed the book shut and stood. “Good day to you as well, Mr. Westbrooke. Whatever brings you out in this terrible weather?”
He slid his wet umbrella into the umbrella stand by the door. “I had the urge to buy a new book.”
The twinkle in his eyes told her that was not the absolute truth, but she preferred to ignore that. She also valiantly tried to disregard her racing heart, the tingle low in her stomach, and her suddenly dry mouth. “Well, since you are so hungry for a new book, we have many.” She waved her arm around and banged her hand into one of the shelves. “Ouch.”
“Are you all right?” He hurried to her side.
For goodness sake, she was nothing but a bumbling idiot around this man. Besides the wine she’d dumped onto his lap at the wedding breakfast, she also tripped over who knew what during their stroll, then stumbled into his arms alighting from the rail when they returned from London. She’d been quite annoyed with herself on how much she enjoyed his strong arms wrapping around her and the scent of tangy outdoors that emanated from his person.
She nodded. “Yes. Quite.” She surreptitiously rubbed her hand. “Do take your time and browse.”
He bowed. “Thank you. I will do that.”
Lottie returned to her book, but no longer did it hold her attention. She was too riveted by the man pulling out a book, flipping through the pages, returning it to the shelf, and repeating the action several times over. His time was spent in the history area of the bookstore.
Why didn’t he say something to her? The silence was killing her. She did not believe for one minute that Mr. Westbrooke was so in need of a book to read—since most gentlemen had their own libraries—that he came out in the pouring rain to find one. And then chose this bookstore among all the others in Bath.
Had Pa
mela been correct, and he was interested in her as a suitor? The initial jolt of excitement was quickly quelled by her common sense telling her that probably was not so, and even if it were, she had no intention of getting involved with a man. That led to courtship and eventually a proposal of marriage.
Unfortunately, not something she could consider.
Back to The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. With determination, she returned to her book and read about three sentences before she looked up at Mr. Westbrooke again. His damp-from-the-rain hair was curled over his collar in the back of his head and skimmed his forehead. She had the urge to run her fingers through the silky black strands and push them back. Except they would probably just fall back again. Was she to stand there all day pushing his hair back? She giggled.
He looked up.
She looked back at her book, her face flushed.
Peeking at Mr. Westbrooke from underneath her eyelashes, the side view she had of him was impressive. Strong chin, full lips, aristocratic nose—somewhere in his ancestry there had been nobility—and a casual stance, with one knee bent as he flipped through the pages of the tome he held. Were he not wearing an Inverness cape she would also see his muscular thighs, broad shoulders, and trim waist.
Not that she’d noticed any of that during the wedding breakfast.
She returned to her book. One full paragraph. She looked up again. Why was he not speaking to her?
He turned toward her, and she quickly looked down at her book, knowing another blush was climbing up her face. She studied him from under her lashes to see him grinning in her direction. The devil take it, he’d caught her watching him.