have not offered for her. There is no other woman.’ She didn’t need to know the truth.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded, clenching her fists at her sides.
‘I did not think you would be upset. You told me you had no intention of marrying again,’ he stated firmly.
‘And you believed me?’ she screamed. She stormed across the room with her head high, and then spun around. ‘And you give me pearls? We have been together all this time and you give me pearls!’
‘What is wrong with pearls? They are quite expensive.’
Her body visibly shook with rage. ‘You are the Duke of Lyonsdale! You should be giving me diamonds!’
His sympathy for her was quickly diminishing upon seeing her greedy nature. ‘I did not have to give you anything!’ he bellowed.
‘You selfish boor!’ She picked up a silver candlestick from the table closest to her and flung it at his head.
He ducked just in time.
‘I am worth diamonds—not pearls!’
Before his control slipped further he needed to leave. Striding across the room, he unlocked the door and didn’t look back.
When he stepped outside the soft breeze cooled his heated skin. His body hummed with anger at her selfishness. Sitting in his carriage would do him no good. He needed physical exertion. He would walk home—but first he needed to make one more stop.
Descending the staircase in the centre of Hatchards, Katrina scanned the room below her. This bookshop was one of her favourite places in London. The soft whispers and the occasional sound of the turning of pages were welcome after spending the entire morning on social calls with Mrs Forrester and Sarah.
As she continued to search for her maid Katrina let her gaze skim over the few patrons who were selecting books from the dark wooden bookshelves that lined the walls. An older woman in an elaborately decorated black hat was comparing books with a younger woman dressed demurely in lavender. Near them a dandy dressed in a navy jacket and puce trousers stood in a studied pose, reading the book he held through his quizzing glass.
Scanning the room further, Katrina felt her heart skip a beat. Standing near her maid, at a table piled with books, stood a broad-shouldered, dark-haired gentleman in a finely cut bottle-green coat, buckskin breeches and top boots. Was her time in London destined to be cursed with the presence of the rude Englishman from the Russian Ambassador’s ball?
Katrina hesitated on the staircase, wondering if she should turn around and go back upstairs before he spotted her. Suddenly he lifted his head, as if sensing her gaze, and their eyes met. She could not turn back now. Taking a breath, she gripped the wooden banister and proceeded to slowly walk down the stairs towards Meg.
Katrina picked up the first volume of Frankenstein and thumbed through the pages. ‘Have you found anything of interest?’ she asked Meg.
Her maid smiled and showed Katrina the book in her hand.
‘I do not believe Clarissa is an appropriate choice for you,’ Katrina said.
‘I’ve heard it’s scandalous, and I’m hoping they have it at the lending library. The heroine is told to marry an unappealing gentleman and then is tricked into running away by a rake. I bet there is a dungeon in the story. I love a story that takes place in a dungeon.’ Meg sighed and then glanced inquisitively at the book in Katrina’s hand.
Taking into account her maid’s vivid imagination, Katrina quickly placed Frankenstein back on the table. ‘I’m well aware of the plot. You do know you can borrow any of my books?’
‘Do they have dungeons, kidnappings, evil earls or ghosts?’
‘No.’
‘Then why do you think I would want to read them?’ Meg asked, wrinkling her brow.
There was a deep laugh from across the table. Keeping her head averted under the rim of her bonnet, Katrina blocked her view of the gentleman across the table. Searching for a more appropriate novel, Katrina spotted a copy of her father’s book. As she reached for it her hand brushed against a strong hand encased in a brown leather glove. Startled, she looked up.
‘We meet again,’ the annoying Englishman said.
No, we don’t, because you are too rude to seek an introduction!
Katrina took a breath to compose herself before she spoke. ‘So it would seem.’
‘Forgive me. I believe that is the book I have been searching for.’
‘This book?’ Katrina asked, holding it up to show him the title on the spine.
‘Yes, that is it.’ He reached for another copy and began to turn the pages. There was a hesitation before he looked up at her. ‘I’ve heard it’s a very good book. You would not happen to know anything about it, would you?’
‘I can highly recommend it. The book presents the observations of a traveller and contains much happy humour.’
Katrina glanced around the shop to see if anyone was watching them. Meg had moved to a nearby bookcase, engrossed in Clarissa. What was the point of having your maid accompany you around the town if she walked away when the man you wanted to avoid began speaking with you?
He walked around the table and stood next to her, smelling of leather and fresh air. ‘The account is humorous?’
‘Yes, Lord Byron has said he knows it by heart, and Scott has said it is positively beautiful. I understand the book is selling rather quickly. You might wish to purchase one before they are all sold.’ She looked closely at him, challenging him to actually buy it.
‘You appear intimately acquainted with the book,’ he commented, his eyes narrowing.
‘I suppose I am. My father is the author.’
‘You are Mr Vandenberg’s daughter?’ he asked in a rush of breath.
‘Yes, my lord, I am.’ She crossed her arms over her chest. If he said one disparaging thing about the fact that her father was a writer she was leaving immediately. He would deserve the cut.
He tipped his head to her. ‘Then I shall be certain to take your recommendation. My grandmother speaks highly of it as well.’
‘Your grandmother?’
‘Yes. My grandmother seems to have misplaced her copy. I came here today to purchase a new one for her.’
He was intending to purchase her father’s book because his grandmother had lost her copy? That seemed rather...sweet.
Katrina caught herself before she smiled. He wasn’t sweet. He was rude! Still, she couldn’t help asking him if he was a doting grandson.
‘I suppose I am.’
He
