answer to this was a faintly sardonic smile. “Of course. Tell me, are you here alone today?”
“Yes. I enjoy browsing among the bookshelves. Besides, James is not a reader.”
“And you are?”
“Yes, very much so. Are you here to purchase a book yourself, Lord Dunstan?”
“No. I am here to see an acquaintance of mine on the Morning Chronicle. We are to meet in the Mitre tavern further along. I happened to be passing when I saw you enter the shop. I was curious. I thought I recognised you. I do recall seeing you once before, albeit some time ago,” he said with a crooked grin, full of charm. “Or perhaps I should say twice?”
Louisa looked at him sharply, having recognised his features at first glance the previous evening. But she was still unable to remember where.
“Let me enlighten you. The first time was at Vauxhall Gardens—some two months ago, as I recall—when you were in the company of Mr Fraser and Mr Hacket. You seemed to be enjoying yourself, as I remember.”
Instantly Louisa recalled the occasion in Vauxhall Gardens, when James had insisted upon taking her there to celebrate her birthday, and she flushed, feeling defenceless suddenly when her memory of that night came flooding back. At last she recalled where she had seen Lord Dunstan before, remembering how he had stood and watched her for some considerable time while she had danced with Timothy and James. The fact that he had observed her so clearly—and recalling how she had unashamedly returned his bold stare, and the pleasure she had derived from it—swamped her with mortification and embarrassment.
Quickly she composed her features, giving Lord Dunstan no indication of how much her recollection of that occasion affected her, but he was not deceived, being well schooled in the way women’s minds worked, and he was secretly amused by it.
“Isn’t that what one’s supposed to do when visiting the pleasure gardens, Lord Dunstan?” Louisa replied a little breathlessly. “It was my birthday, and James took me there as a special treat. But I must say that I am flattered to think you even remember seeing me there amongst all the other ladies present.”
“I never forget a beautiful face, Miss Divine, especially not when it happens to be as lovely as yours,” he complimented, enjoying the slight unease this seemed to cause her. “The second time I saw you was the morning after at St Paul’s Church in Covent Garden,” he went on. “I remember how intent you were on your devotions, how concentrated.”
Louisa also recalled seeing him in St Paul’s Church, which was close to Henrietta Street. Feeling the need of prayer that day, after a bitter and heated exchange with James the previous evening on their return from Vauxhall Gardens, when he had stormed out of the house to visit his club, she had attended the service, finding the small church an oasis of peace.
“Isn’t everyone when they go to church, Lord Dunstan?” she answered, thinking how quickly she had forgotten him because of what had followed with James. “Otherwise what is the point in going at all? Although it is clear to me you were not as intent on your own devotions if you allowed your attention to stray to me.
“However, I am flattered to learn that I made such a distinct impression on you, causing you to remember me after two whole months—which is more than can be said of myself. I confess that when I saw you yesterday your face did seem a trifle familiar, but I could not recall where I might have seen you.”
“Which tells me you were not as impressed by me as I was by you.” He chuckled, unoffended.
“Most of the ladies I meet are more than eager to be amiable to me because of who I am, but you have the unique distinction of being the only woman I have ever met who is honest enough to tell me to my face that, having met me, she does not remember me.”
“Really? And you are not put out?” Louisa asked drily, thinking that what he said must be true; that if he was as wealthy as Timothy had said he was—and with his kind of looks—he must have women falling at his feet like dominoes in a row, all rendered quite helpless when confronted by his charm and allure.
“Not in the slightest. In fact I find it a refreshing change. Tell me, do you often worship at St Paul’s Church?”
“No. Only on the odd occasion when I happen to be in London—when I find the need to atone for my sins,” she said softly, her eyes teasing, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Which was, perhaps, your own reason for being there, Lord Dunstan?”
He smiled mischievously. “What else? And are you a frequent visitor to Brewster’s bookshop?”
“No,” she answered, suddenly beginning to feel slightly uneasy. She did not like the way he had followed her inside Mr Brewster’s bookshop, nor did she like his easy manner and the steady, unsettling gaze of his penetrating blue eyes. He was the most lethally attractive man she had ever met, and she would have to take care not to be drawn in by him. Swiftly she raised her defences. “I do not pretend to be knowledgeable about books, but I do enjoy reading. You seem surprised, Lord Dunstan?”
His handsome mouth curved into a slight smile. “I can imagine you in many places, but a bookshop is not one of them—unless, of course, you are on the stage and looking for some material to do with a play,” he said, sounding casual, his eyes filled with idle speculation as he studied her closely.
“No,” Louisa answered calmly, knowing he was fishing for information about her, but preferring to keep him guessing. The less he knew about her, the better she would feel.
He frowned. “You are a complete contradiction in terms of appearance.”
“A contradiction?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Let me see the book that has caught your attention.” Reaching out, he took the book she had been flicking through from her hands. Reading the title on the spine, he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Clarissa! It would not be my choice of good reading, but I can quite see why it appeals to the ladies.”
“No matter what your opinion, Lord Dunstan, the book has met with considerable success and is a fine work,” said Louisa quickly, in defence of her favourite book. “I cannot understand why you should pour scorn on it.”
He smiled. “Clarissa is a nervous young woman of excessive sentiment and sensibility. I confess to having read the book but she did not endear herself to me in the slightest.”
“And how do you define sentiment and sensibility, Lord Dunstan?”
“As expressions of intense human feelings—of which the heroine in question is in possession to excess. The two words are often confused. Sentiment is ruled by the human heart—which is the centre of all emotion—whereas sensibility is the key to bodily sensations—touch and such things,” he said softly, his eyes filling with amusement when she flushed and lowered her gaze at his definition and the hidden connotation of the words. He smiled, knowing exactly the effect he was having on her. “Clearly you enjoyed the book?”
“Yes,” she replied, wishing she had not asked him to define the two words because she knew she was blushing at the intimacy of his tone. There was altogether something too explicit and intense in his eyes. However, she refused to be deflected. “So much so that I have read it several times. I confess I was much moved and felt a great deal of sympathy for Clarissa—being pursued and persecuted so cruelly by the abominable Lovelace.”
“Ah,
