No need for alarm in any case.

Clearly even a brief exposure to novels deranged the mind.

Observations on the Use of Machinery in the Manufactories of Great Britain. She knew all the arguments against machinery, but progress could not be halted.

A Treatise on the Abuses of the Coal Trade tempted simply because she knew little about it, but it formed no part of her father's businesses.

An Introduction to Trade and Business. She certainly didn't need that.

On the top shelf she read, The Evils of the Freetrade.

There had recently been parliamentary debates about how smuggled goods harmed legal trade by undercutting prices. The so-called Freetrade was also damaging agriculture because men who could make money through crime didn't want to work the land. She couldn't take such a book to Mayfair, but she could buy it for later. Also, her father might be interested in it.

She went on tiptoe to reach it.

"Allow me, ma'am."

She froze. The country gentleman was almost touching her as he reached easily for the book.

He looked at the t.i.tle. "You're interested in smuggling, ma'am?"

Lucy wanted to tartly ask why not, but she murmured, "For my father," as she took the book. She was going to have to act a part for weeks, so she might as well start now.

"If there are any other volumes on the higher shelves I could a.s.sist you with . . ."

He had a pleasant voice, and was only attempting to be kind. She didn't like being rude, so as she said, "No, thank you," she glanced up and gave him a slight smile.

She was caught by blue-gray eyes, all the brighter for being surrounded by skin that confirmed him to be a stranger in her world. No City man was exposed to the elements enough to tan like that.

Handsome as she'd thought.

Square jaw.

Fine lips . . .

A warm smile. An interested smile.

She quickly moved away, pretending to look for another book as her heart slowed its pace. She didn't know why she'd been so overset by a smile.

Calm again, she turned to go to Winsom's desk, make her purchases, and leave, but she realized she'd made a mistake. She'd moved away from the front of the shop, so the country gentleman now stood in her way. He wasn't doing it deliberately, for he was once more looking over the shelves, but the pa.s.sageway was narrow and he was large. She'd have to push by him to get out.

Leave, she silently urged him, aware of time pa.s.sing, but he took down another book and opened it.

Winsom's clock chimed the half hour.

Lucy walked away from him to go around the shelves, but then came to a halt. This was one of the cul-de-sac sections that ended only with a window.

Oh, what was the matter with her? Was a brief reading of a novel enough to turn her into an overwrought idiot? She'd be running away to a French convent, next, or taking ship for Canada.

She adjusted the six books in her arm and walked forward.

Alerted, he glanced round, and then pressed back against the shelves to give her more room. She nodded and pa.s.sed, squeezing away from him as much as she could, pulling in her elbows.

One volume slid free to slam to the wooden floor with a sound like a pistol shot. She stared at it, mind empty of what to say or do.

He bent and picked it up. "Love and Horror," he read from the spine. "Lighter reading than smuggling, but an odd combination of words."

She s.n.a.t.c.hed it. "Or a natural match? As in Romeo and Juliet?"

"Or Oth.e.l.lo," he agreed. "I grant you your point, though it's a pity to see love used as a vehicle for tragedy."

"Or a pity that love addles its victims. All would have been well if Juliet had made a sensible choice and Oth.e.l.lo had been less persuadable."

"You don't believe in overpowering pa.s.sions?"

"Definitely not."

"Yet there are all too many cases of jealous men murdering women."

"That's different," Lucy said, annoyed by his good point, and by having completely lost Silly Lucinda at first attempt. "Consider Romeo and Juliet. I don't know of a single occasion of young lovers dying together through a misunderstanding."

His lips twitched. "There, I grant you your point."

Twitching lips should not have such a powerful effect.

The clock chimed the three quarters. "Your pardon, sir, but I must be on my way."

She turned toward the front, but he said, "May I help with your load?"

One book was slipping again, so she saw no way to protest as he added hers to the two he'd selected. His hands were a great deal bigger than hers.

"This is an excellent shop behind its shabby appearance," he said as she led the way to the front.

"It is."

"It's a regular haunt of yours?"

She came alert. Was he a fortune hunter, armed with a list and prowling around her home area? Had he seen her leave her house and followed her here? He certainly looked in need of a fortune. His leather breeches were repaired in one place, his boots well-worn, and his hair in need of a barber.

"Very regular," she said, enjoying the prospect of him lurking in Winsom's to no purpose, for she wouldn't return here for weeks.

He showed no reaction, but then, he was looking at the spines of all her books. "An Animated Skeleton goes oddly with a book on the evils of the Freetrade, but why do I suspect that both are for you?"

"I have no idea."

"I wouldn't have thought the Freetrade of interest to anyone in the City."

"There, sir, you are wrong. Those wretches bring in foreign goods to compete with British-made ones, and they avoid taxes that honest traders must pay. In addition, I understand their practices are vile."

"The Hawkhurst Gang," he said with a sigh.

"Precisely! Vicious, evil men."

"I agree, but a century ago."

"You defend them?"

"The Hawkhursts? No, but I'm sure not every smuggler is evil and nor are all the people who benefit from the trade. Are you entirely sure that everything you eat, drink, and use has paid full tax?"

"Yes, of course."

"It can be hard to tell, except by price. Most people don't look too closely at a bargain."

Lucy remembered the cheap silks and wondered about her mother's tea and her father's brandy. She suspected he'd not be overly scrupulous about its origins.

"If you're not careful, sir, I'll suspect you of being a Freetrader."

He smiled. It really was a very nice smile. "I'm merely a simple country gentleman, ma'am, struggling to make ends meet in hard times."

They walked over to the desk where Winsom was waiting to take their selections. Lucy knew she should be glad to have done with the man and yet she felt a tiny pang of loss.

Perhaps it was because he'd talked with her as an equal, in an easy and direct way. She'd had too little of that recently. She was tempted to linger, but he glanced at the clock and she suspected he was in as much of a hurry as she was. Her urgency wasn't acute. If the carriage had to wait ten minutes, so be it.

"Please, sir, pay for your purchases first. I'm thinking what else I might wish to buy."

He thanked her and gave his books to Winsom.

As he'd read the spines of her books, she did the same with his. A New System of Drainage and An Introduction to Trade and Business. She couldn't imagine a fortune hunter making those selections. Clearly he truly was a simple country gentleman trying to survive in hard times.

He paid Winsom and took his books, now neatly wrapped in brown paper tied with string.

He inclined his head. "I wish you good day, ma'am, and eternal freedom from the horrors of love."

There was a hint of humor in that which could beguile. Lucy smiled as she dipped a curtsy and said, "Good day, sir," with a true touch of regret.

It seemed as if he might say more, but he turned and took his leave.

She wished she knew what had brought such a man deep into the City.

She wished she knew his name.

She wished they might meet again.

Winsom cleared his throat.

Lucy turned, blushing. "I'm sorry."

Winsom seemed to be concealing amus.e.m.e.nt, but he asked, "For how long will you want the novels, Miss Potter?"

"For how long?"

"Miss Hanway generally takes any one for a fortnight."

Oh, yes. The novels were part of Winsom's lending library. "I'm removing today to my aunt's house in Mayfair. I shall probably be gone for a month."

"That presents no difficulty. I shall make the lending period that long." He wrote the price for that, the cost of The Evils of the Freetrade, and the pink journal, then gave her the total. She took a pound note out of her reticule and received back change.

He probably often wondered why she didn't buy on account and have her bill settled monthly by her father, but for a long time now she'd not wanted her father to know what books she bought for fear he would disapprove. With hindsight that should have told her something. How easy it was to hide from an unwelcome truth-in her case, that her father had never really seen her as a possible heir.

As he wrapped the parcel, Winsom said, "I'll miss your visits here, Miss Potter, but I predict mayhem amidst the gentlemen of the ton." He tied the string and snipped off the ends. "You certainly had an effect on that gentleman."

"Nonsense," Lucy said, though inside her something purred.

That was truly alarming, and already she was late. She took her parcel and left the shop, wondering if he might be hovering.

He wasn't, and she was aware of a twinge of regret. That meant she'd had a lucky escape. She hurried home and found the coach already waiting outside the house. She apologized to the coachman, and then to her father, who opened the door, asking where she'd been and why she wasn't dressed. She ran upstairs to change, trying to wipe the incident from her mind.

She rang for Hannah, dumped her package on the bed, and began to undress. She could get out of these clothes by herself.

That purr of satisfaction when Winsom said she'd had an effect on him.

Her enjoyment of that man's conversation.

How she'd not wanted it to end.

How she'd wished she knew more about him.

Hannah ran in, also exclaiming over how late she was, where had she been. . . .

"Don't fuss," Lucy said, quickly washing with cooling water. "Pack that package."

At least her stays and petticoat were suitable for the fine gown, so it didn't take long to put it on. Her stockings weren't soiled, so they would do, even though they were an everyday pair. She put on her new pink leather half boots and sat so Hannah could brush out her hair.

Thank heavens it didn't require elaborate dressing. She wanted to arrive at Aunt Mary's in prime twig. That was the important matter, but the country gentleman wouldn't leave her mind.

She always tried to be honest with herself, so she accepted that she wished they might meet again.

Even if he was a fortune hunter.

If he was a fortune hunter, she had a fortune. . . .

"No, no, no!"

"Beg pardon, miss?" said Hannah, startled.

"Not you, Hannah. Only that time's flying. That'll do. Where's my bonnet?"

Lucy tied the ribbons on the tall confection, wondering whether this was how her mother had felt on the day her life had been turned upside down.