Candice Hern (5 page)

He glared at her for a moment, then stepped back into the study. “I hate to disagree with a lady,” he said, “but I am quite certain our agreement was that I would be allowed to see the Minerva in your…well, in the place where you keep it.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Perhaps you should read the terms again to refresh your memory.”

Anthony glowered at her, but then dug into his coat and pulled out the betting book. “‘If he wins, he is allowed to see the Roman head of Minerva in its usual place of display.’ There you are.”

“And here you are, sir. Here is the Minerva.” She pointed to the desk.

He stepped closer and looked about, a wary frown furrowing his brow, then shook his head. “Where? I do not see her.”

“She is right here, where she always is, in her ‘usual place of display’ for all the world to see.” She picked up a copy of the
Cabinet
and pointed to the masthead, where an elegant engraving incorporated the head of Minerva. An exact copy of the one sitting upstairs in her bedchamber.

He clapped a hand to his brow and muttered something beneath his breath.

“I beg your pardon?” she said in the sweetest, most innocent tone she could manage.

“Piqued and repiqued. You tricked me, madam!” He scowled at her, though his eyes danced with laughter. Edwina thought she saw a flicker of admiration there as well.

“No, I simply outwitted you. Again.”

The scowl quirked up at one end and transformed into the lopsided boyish grin that had stolen her heart so many years ago. “Maybe this time,” he said. “But take care, for I shan’t let it happen again. Next time, the Minerva will be mine for the keeping. Along with the
Cabinet
.”

“We shall see about that.”

“Indeed we shall. How
are
those subscription numbers coming?”

Edwina groaned.

Tony could not stay away. Not that he tried very hard to do so. He simply allowed his feet to point him in the direction of Golden Square before his brain had any say in the matter. Hardly a day went by that he did not find himself upon her doorstep. Today was no different. He slowed the team as he turned his curricle into the square.

It was pure foolishness, this eagerness to see her. Ridiculous in a man of his age and experience. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her again. Instead, each day he took his place in the slightly worn armchair opposite the desk and just watched.

He loved to watch Edwina at work. She never interrupted what she was doing to accommodate his obviously annoying presence, but Tony didn’t care. It wasn’t the
work
he was watching, though he had to admit to a sincere respect for the efficiency with which she transacted the business of publication. He sat and observed, with no little admiration, as she dealt with printers and engravers and colorists and binders and distributors. Though he claimed his ubiquitous presence was for the purpose of learning the business, Tony could never have run such an operation himself, which made him wonder what he would do if she bolted when he won their wager.

He would just have to remove that possibility as an option. In the meantime, he simply watched. Watched
her
. Edwina’s particular beauty was so unique and so striking he never tired of gazing upon it. There was the sultry voice, too. And the way she moved with such elegant grace.

Good God, he was becoming as smitten as a schoolboy. And what a joke that was—the same schoolboy and the same girl, all over again.

Well, this time would be different. History was not destined to repeat itself. He was no longer a gauche, half-grown boy. A gamester required self-assurance, and Tony had it in abundance. And he was not merely a gamester, but a winner. He was rich because of risks he’d taken at the tables as well as on the Exchange. He’d developed a glossy veneer
of confidence that served him well whether playing at whist or playing at seduction. He had no doubt he could best Edwina Parrish this time, at any game they dared to play.

He left the curricle with his tiger, who was getting so accustomed to these visits that he boasted a regular routine of exercising the temperamental grays around the square and along Warwick Street and Brewer Street while he waited for Tony to return. Tony watched Jamie take the ribbons before turning toward the plain brick façade with its four neat rows of sash boxes. The only thing that distinguished it from the otherwise identical house to its left and the one to its right was the doorway with its typically Palladian white pilasters and pediment, and intricate fanlight above the door. It had a simple, understated elegance, rather like the lady who lived there.

He was shown in by Lucy, who blushed and batted her lashes and assured him Miss Parrish would be pleased to see him. He entered the study to find Edwina in her usual place behind the desk, her head bent as she made corrections to loose, printed pages. She looked up briefly at his entrance, then returned to her work.

“You again,” she said. “I’m quite busy, as you see. Go away.”

Tony ignored her petulant tone and strode into the room. He tossed his hat on a table, set aside
some papers stacked on the armchair, and took a seat. “My dear Edwina,” he said, “the warmth of your welcome never ceases to brighten my day.”

“Those are page proofs,” she snapped, and pointed to the papers he’d moved from the chair. “If you have put them out of order, I swear I will have your guts for garters.”

Tony leaned over and picked up the pages. “No, no. Nothing amiss, I assure you.” He placed the papers on the desk. “No violence is necessary.”

“Hmph. Is there something specific you wanted? I’m very busy.”

“Nothing specific. I just like to observe, as you know, to learn more about
my
business. What are doing, if I may ask?”

“If you must know, I am correcting page proofs for the next issue. And it is not going well.”

“Oh? That explains why you aren’t your usual cheerful self today. What is the problem?”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “Imber has mixed up the columns so nothing flows properly, and he’s placed one of the engravings upside down. He is usually so competent. But we added one extra engraving this time, and more advertising at the end, and it seems to have thrown him off. Oh, this is maddening.”

With so many pages printed on the uncut sheets, some facing one way, some facing the other, Tony didn’t know how anyone could tell if the columns
were mixed up. But Edwina seemed to know what she was doing.

“I hesitate to offer,” he said, “but if I can be of any help—”

“You could leave. That would help. Imber’s assistant will be here in a few minutes and I must finish with these proofs.”

“Suppose I sit here quietly instead, while you finish the corrections.”

“Why?”

“There is still much I’d like to know about your operation here. I thought we could have a nice chat, perhaps over tea?”

“There is other work to be done.”

“Ah, but I’ll wager you could spare a half hour.”

She groaned. “Heavens, not another wager.”

Tony laughed. “No, my dear. It was only a figure of speech. What do you say? I’ll be silent as an oyster while you work, then we’ll have tea. Agreed?”

She glowered at him, but finally said, “All right.” She then went back to her work and ignored him.

Or pretended to. Tony slowly removed his yellow kid gloves, one long finger at a time, and could not help but notice when Edwina’s eyes flickered up briefly. He smiled to realize she was not indifferent to him. He was not the world’s most handsome man, but he did have a certain charm and knew how to use it. He placed the gloves in the upturned
hat on the table beside him, and sat back to see how much he could discompose her without moving a muscle or saying a word.

She wore a simple muslin dress, as she usually did, with tight-fitting sleeves reaching almost to the elbow. The glories of her white bosom were left to the imagination by a striped muslin fichu crossed high in front and tied in the back. The dress, which had bits of white-on-white embroidery along the sleeve edges, had seen too many washings and was looking a bit thin. Even so, she wore it well, with a natural grace that would have made a feed sack look elegant. Lord, how he would love to see her in a fine ball gown, with a minuscule bodice cut low at the neck and with no lace or fichu to disguise her bosom.

Her fingers fiddled with her hair as she worked. Tony was pleased that she had not succumbed to the rage for cropped hair. Her face was framed in short black curls, a nod to current fashion, but the rest was gathered up in the back in some sort of complicated arrangement of plaits and combs, with two long, loose locks curling down her back and one hanging over her shoulder. That one was being twisted around her finger while she reviewed the proofs.

Would the whole glorious mass fall down her back if he released the combs? And how long would it be before he was allowed to find out?

He was jerked from such pleasant reverie by the entrance of Lucy, whose coquettish gaze drifted toward Tony before she spoke to Edwina.

“Robbie Vickers is here, miss.”

A gangly, yellow-haired youth entered with a cloth cap crushed in his hands. Unlike Lucy, he seemed not even to notice Tony. His eyes, wide with adolescent adoration, were fixed on the woman behind the desk. Poor chap. Youthful infatuation was often a painful thing to bear, and this lad looked well and truly lost.

“I’ve come for the proofs, Miss Parrish,” he said. His gaze dropped to the floor and he twisted the cap nervously.

Edwina gathered up the large pages and stacked them neatly in a pile. She glared at the stripling and jabbed a finger at the stack. “These will
not
do, Robbie. Tell Imber these proofs are a mess and will have to be completely redone.”

“B—but, Miss Parrish,” the boy said, clearly agitated to have somehow displeased the object of his worship, “there’s no time. We can’t possibly do a whole new set of proofs before going to press.”

“Then you must find a way to make it possible,” she said. “I cannot allow the
Cabinet
to go out like this.”

She gestured for Robbie to step closer and began to point out several layout errors in such exasperated and outraged tones, the poor lad was rendered speechless. Finally, he took the pages, rolled them
up, and placed them in a large bag he’d brought with him.

“I’ll show these to Mr. Imber,” he said, “and see if there’s something he can do.”

“There had better be,” Edwina said. “Under no circumstances is he to go to print until he’s delivered another set of proofs for my approval. Is that clear?”

Her tone brooked no argument, and she would get none from this poor lad.

“Yes, Miss Parrish. Thank you, ma’am.” The boy turned on his heel and left as quickly as his long legs could carry him.

Edwina leaned back in her chair and muttered something beneath her breath.

“I can see you haven’t changed much,” Tony said. “As obstinate and bossy as ever.”

She slid a glance in his direction and gave a disparaging little sniff.

He decided to use the occasion to prod a bit, to see what he could discover about Edwina Parrish. “Yes, just like the little girl I once knew. It is no wonder you never found a husband prepared to put up with such managing ways.”

She bristled at his words. A brief shadow of uneasiness flickered in her eyes, and was as quickly gone. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to your insults. Go away.”

Aha. He had touched a nerve. Yet, some imp of mischief made him press on.

“Oh, but you promised me tea, as I recall,” he said. “A perfect opportunity for you to fill me in on the last—what?—eighteen or nineteen years. You can tell me how your officious ways drove every man out of your life.”

“You hateful man. I did no such thing!”

“Oh? And why, then, are you still unmarried?”

“It is none of your business, Mr. Morehouse.”

Interesting. The subject had set her hackles up. Had there been a disappointing romance? A failed betrothal? A broken heart? She was squirming in her seat and would not look him in the eye. It was the first hint of vulnerability he’d yet seen in her.

“No, you are probably right. And my name is Anthony, you know. Or Tony. Whichever you like. We are old friends, after all. But you cannot blame me for being intrigued that such a beautiful woman has not been snatched up by some enterprising fellow with a discriminating eye.”

“Do not try to distract me with flattery, sir. I’ve heard it all.”

“I am sure you must have. Beauty such as yours does not go unnoticed. Was that what happened? You heard so many tributes to your beauty that you learned to distrust easy flattery? To distrust men?”

“What nonsense. I am not quite so delicate in my sensibilities, sir.” She rose from her seat. “Excuse me while I run Lucy to earth and see about that tea.”

Tony had stood when she did and watched as she
came from behind the desk, beribboned slippers peeking out from beneath the long muslin skirts, and the ends of the striped fichu scarf falling down her back from the high waist almost to the floor. She stood in the doorway and called out to the maid. The girl appeared almost before the words were spoken.

“Ah, Lucy. Would you be so good as to bring up some tea and biscuits?”

“Upstairs, miss? In the drawing room?”

“No, in here will be fine. I’ll clear off a table.”

Lucy’s pursed lips expressed her disapproval of such an inelegant arrangement, but she bobbed a curtsey and turned to go.

“Oh, and Lucy,” Edwina called out. “Not the good Bohea. The ordinary green tea will do.”

“I am overwhelmed by such amiable hospitality,” Tony said.

She turned to face him and there was a spark of amusement in her eyes. “I’m afraid my best manners, and my best tea, are reserved for those guests who have been
invited
. And for those who don’t make a point of insulting their hostess.”

“Then I am doubly grateful that you allow me to stay at all. Green tea in the study suits me perfectly. Will this table do?”

He removed his hat and gloves from the small table beside the armchair. He gestured toward the books and papers still neatly arranged upon it and arched an eyebrow in question.