Love Between the Pages: 8 Romances for Booklovers

by Bird, Peggy

  His hand traced a path from her cheek down her column of neck and wrapped around a breast. He could feel the peak of desire under his hand as her nipple hardened to a point with his touch. He ran his thumb over it, and Rosemary shuddered in response. “I said I enjoyed peeling your layers, Miss Fitzpatrick. Now, I’d love to peel off your layers of clothing.”

  “Henry,” was all she said as she brought his lips back to hers. The acknowledgment of her desire was almost his undoing. For the two months they had known each other, he never had been certain of her feelings. Yes, when he had kissed her before, she hadn’t backed away, but he’d thought she had been playing with him. Now since she’d agreed to marry him, he wanted to lay her over the desk and take her right here, in his office. He had to exercise some control, since his sister was in the next room, but he also needed more of Rosemary. He unbuttoned her dress a bit at a time, eager to expose her breast. Rosemary’s moans intensified as he kissed each exposed inch of skin. He could feel her opening herself to him, not just with her body, but with her heart. He had almost reached his goal of freeing her breast from its confines. Just a few more layers to push away …

  The scrape of a chair against the wood floor destroyed the torrid moment. Henry and Rosemary broke apart with a gasp as Marguerite came bustling through the door, waving a telegram. If she noticed their dishevelment, she had the good grace not to say anything. For the moment.

  “This just came from Father, Henry. We need to open it together.” Marguerite halted as she came further into the room and glanced from Henry to Rosemary. Perhaps he had been too hasty. A smile lit up her face as their untidy hair and Rosemary’s attempts to pull her blouse back together gave away what she had interrupted. “Do you two have something to tell me?”

  Henry ran a hand through his hair, frantically searching the floor for the strap of leather he used to hold his queue in place. He finally gave up, and wrapped an arm around Rosemary’s waist. “Yes, I guess we do. Rosemary has agreed to marry me.”

  “So we’ll be sisters? How delightful.” Marguerite came forward and gave Rosemary a hug. “It’s about time Henry settled down, and I’m so thrilled he chose you.”

  She handed the envelope to Henry. “I think, then, this telegram will be of concern to all of us.”

  Henry ripped open the envelope and scanned its brief contents. His gaze flickered to Rosemary. “Father’s received the letter from Marguerite outlining her plans about staying here.” He then glanced at Marguerite. “He’ll be arriving later today, probably hoping to talk some sense into you.”

  “It could be good news, right, Henry? It means Father is taking an interest in the company.”

  Henry grimaced. “I do love the way you prefer to see the best of things, Marguerite, but in this case, I don’t think Father’s coming to town to share in the joy that his two children will be working with him.”

  Rosemary placed her arm around Henry’s waist. He appreciated having her near, to prop him up when he was going under.

  “What do you think will happen?”

  “I think he’ll get mad and bellow. Then he’ll put the business up for sale.”

  “So it will impact all of us then, just as Marguerite said.”

  Henry glanced at Rosemary. “I think you need to tell Marguerite your secret.”

  Rosemary stepped out of Henry’s comforting arms, and faced his sister. “Beyond just accepting Henry’s proposal of marriage, there’s another giant reason why your news will affect me. I just told Henry the real F.P. Elliott isn’t my uncle, who locks himself away in a corner of our home and uses me to transact his business. There is no uncle at all. I am F.P. Elliott. Mr. Page never had knowledge of the author’s true identity, nor did Henry, until today.”

  Henry took her hand and raised her fingers to his lips. “But you neglected to say I’ve known for nearly a month you wrote those books. If nothing else, your use of the term ‘bosh’ in your everyday speech made me question who the true author was. That, and the constant excuses I received over the whereabouts of the elusive Mr. Elliott. It really wasn’t so hard to figure out.”

  “So if your father comes in here and decides to sell the company, in an effort to keep his children in line, you can purchase the company, can’t you? I’m certain my father’s bank would be willing to help you.”

  “There’s no guarantee Father would take our offer, especially if he knows who’s behind it. Hence the need for my many conversations with your father. It will have to be done anonymously and could get very tricky. Knowing my father, he’ll probably offer the business to James Lowell up in Boston just to spite me. Your father and I came up with a plan, and our offer has to be not only discreet, but so attractive that my father will not be able to say no.”

  Henry ran his hand through his unfettered hair and growled. “Rosemary, I hate to do this to you, but until I can sort out our business problem, I have no right to ask for your hand. I feel I must renege on my offer.”

  “No, Henry, you mustn’t.” Marguerite gasped as Rosemary fought back tears. “Even if Father doesn’t agree to sell the company to you, you’re a fine businessman. Any publishing house in New York will hire you.”

  “Possibly so, Marguerite, but then what will happen to you? After all, you’re a part of this business as well, and if Father removes us from the company, I’ll need to find you an occupation as well as myself. I can’t just leave you to twist in the wind, since it was my brilliant idea to move you here and face the ire of our father. And Rosemary will need to find a new publisher. There’s so much that can go wrong, and until it all gets sorted out, I think Rosemary and I should put our plans to wed on hold.”

  Rosemary took a gulp of air and laid her hand on Henry’s arm. “I don’t care about money, Henry. I’ve been paying my own way for years now and will continue, even if it’s not with this publishing house. I can support both of us until you find another job.”

  Henry’s heart swelled at the sight of Rosemary attempting to put on an accommodating face even as her tears spilled over. He lifted her hand from his arm and kissed her fingers.

  “You know it’s not that simple, Rosemary. Until I get this sorted out, I can’t hold you to your promise to marry me.”

  She turned away. “Of course, Henry. I understand.”

  Henry could not abide her tears, and once again, took her into his arms, the scent of patchouli offering little comfort. What should have been one of the most memorable days in her life had just turned into her worst. And, once again, his father could take the blame.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Henry snapped the folder shut that contained Rosemary’s latest effort. Harry Hawk involved in swordplay with a pirate, indeed. Henry ran his hand over his chin. She’d taken the moves he taught her during their fencing lessons and applied them to her book. He had to applaud her efforts. This was her best work to date.

  It was time to meet his father at the train station. Even though Marguerite had told Henry her version for his banishment from Boston he wasn’t so sure.

  But regardless of the reason, the fact his father had sent a young boy into the vast unknown without another thought was a better measure of the man—and he came up woefully short, in Henry’s opinion. He hoped his father was irritated enough by Henry’s behavior to sell the company. Then Henry could purchase it out from under him, as planned with Mr. Fitzpatrick, and run it the way he deemed fit. He was ready for this latest skirmish, certain it would put all their previous encounters to shame. “En garde, Father,” he whispered as he tucked Rosemary’s story into his top desk drawer and went to the next room to fetch his sister.

  At the station, Henry stood back as Marguerite embraced their father, then he stepped forward and shook his father’s hand. Little was said as they got their father to a hotel, and his room was assigned. When they returned to the publishing house and to Henry’s office, Henry realized his father was ready to explode in anger. Henry already held the advantage, if his father wasn’t able to c
ontrol himself. By the way his father had struck the match to light his cheroot, he’d given himself away.

  He took a long draw on his cigar before he turned his rage to Henry. “Just what do you think you’re trying to pull, son?”

  Henry grimaced at the tone in his father’s voice. The man was not open to reason. His mind was already made up. What was the purpose in trying to be civil? Prêt. He inhaled the scent of tobacco, which usually calmed him, but now he found offensive. Perhaps it was the man smoking, and not the cigar, he found offensive. Allez.

  “Please sit, Father and Marguerite. There’s no reason we can’t discuss this as the mature adults I hope we are. What I’m trying to pull, as you call it, is to employ the best people possible and bring the company into this decade. Mr. Page had antiquated methods for his accounting, and I need a sharp mind with a head for figures to straighten things out and implement newer, more streamlined ways to handle the business side. Marguerite is the perfect choice.”

  Henry sat still while waiting for his father’s next move, even though his muscles were jumping under his clothing. He locked eyes with his father and was surprised to see his father blink first. Maxwell Cooper slid his glance to his daughter.

  “Marguerite needs to forget this foolishness, come home, and behave as the proper lady she is. Arthur Putnam came calling a few days ago. He has decided to ask for Marguerite’s hand, after all this time.” His father moved and took his daughter’s hand. “I guess your absence has made him realize he is in love with you. He is a good friend and a fellow Brahmin.”

  “But I don’t love him, Father. He is annoying, even if he is more wealthy than you are.”

  “It would be an excellent match, Marguerite. Two of Boston’s oldest names joining together. You could be a powerful force in society.”

  “But if I don’t love him, what’s the point? Don’t you want me to have the kind of love you did with Maman?”

  “No! I never want you to be so desperate. It’s much better if your feelings are not involved. I paid dearly, for years, for loving your mother instead of someone suitable.”

  Marguerite began to pace the room. Her rose-colored satin skirt swished softly against the floorboards as she walked. “Well, I will not agree to an arranged marriage. I want the kind of love Henry has found. Nothing else will do.”

  “What?” Maxwell’s head snapped around to Henry again. “You have found a woman to marry? Here, in New York?”

  “Yes, Father, I have. A lovely lady from a prominent New York family. I think even you will be impressed.”

  “Have you asked for her hand yet?”

  “She is aware of my intentions.”

  “Marguerite, sit, for God’s sake!” Maxwell Cooper’s voice rose as he eyed his offspring, who was still pacing the room. She returned to the seat beside her father. “All right, you two. I’ve had enough of your games. Marguerite must come home and marry Arthur Putnam. And I don’t give a tinker’s damn about meeting your lady from a prominent family, Henry. You can’t very well marry her if you have no source of income to sustain the two of you. And you won’t, if you defy my wishes and give Marguerite refuge and a position here. I’ll sell the company.”

  Henry peered over the desk at his father. “You’re telling me the only way you’ll keep the company is if Marguerite returns to Boston and marries a man she doesn’t love? I’m supposed to agree to this? Consign her to a miserable life just to save this company from a sell-out? To offer Marguerite up as chattel so I can retain my position with this company? I’m sorry, Father, but I can’t allow that to happen. Marguerite deserves to be happy, as happy as you claim you were with Maman. Sell the company if you want to be so petty. Neither of us is returning to Boston anytime soon.”

  Marguerite’s eyes were filled with tears. “Henry, you realize you can’t marry if you have no job. Perhaps it’s best if I do Father’s bidding.”

  Henry jumped to his feet. “No! Father, you sent me away once, when I was a mere boy and couldn’t fight you. But I can fight back now.” He opened the desk drawer and drew out the folder containing Rosemary’s latest story. “Let’s suspend our conversation for the evening, since neither of us is willing to give in, and emotions are getting heated. Before we each say things neither of us can take back, we should stop. Take this manuscript back to the hotel and read it. It’s the newest story from F.P. Elliott. If you sell the company, you’ll be giving away the rights to the folder’s contents, as well as the rights to our other authors. Think carefully about how much money you’ll stand to lose.”

  His father snatched the folder and rose as well. “I’ll find my own way back to the hotel. I don’t need either of you obstinate children to accompany me. I’ll read this story, but don’t expect it to change my mind. I’ll sell the company if that’s the only way to bring the two of you into line. Then Marguerite will have no choice except to return home and marry Arthur. His family is one of the oldest in Boston, and he will bring a lot of wealth to the table, so I don’t need to worry about a financial setback from the early sale of this pitiful excuse of a company. I’ve actually been expecting an outcome such as this. You aren’t able to run a business, Henry. I’ve sent a boy to do a man’s job.”

  As his father huffed out of the room, Henry sank back into his chair. His eyes connected with Marguerite’s, and he smiled slightly. “That went well, don’t you think?”

  Marguerite matched his small smile. “Let’s hope Rosemary’s story can work its magic on Father.”

  “Yes, magic is definitely called for.” It was a long shot, but his father was an astute businessman and could see the value in keeping the company in the family, even if he objected to which members of the family were involved. If not, Henry would need to rely on Mr. Fitzpatrick to pull off a buy-out on behalf of an anonymous party. And then hope to hell his father wouldn’t ask too many questions.

  • • •

  Rosemary hadn’t yet met the man who was destroying her life, and she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to meet the elder Mr. Cooper. To send Henry away from all he’d ever known, from his only sister, at a time when they’d needed each other the most, had been excessively cruel, regardless of his reasons. She’d already formed her opinion of his character.

  Although, if things went well between Henry and his father, the man would become her father-in-law. Actually, even if things didn’t go well between Henry and his father, and Mr. Cooper did something totally despicable, such as sell the company out from under Henry, he would still end up becoming her father-in-law sooner or later. It would just be a lot harder to find any love for him.

  The situation was not ideal, but she’d make the best of it. She was certain even if Henry was left without a job, he’d find something else soon enough. New York was full of small publishing houses, and they would not turn their back on such a talented man. And such a handsome one. He’d be good for their business, whatever business it might be. Then they could marry, as they had planned.

  She chewed on her fingernail as she tried to find something to do with herself. Too nervous to write anything, she had picked up a book from her father’s library, but could not get sucked into the story as she usually could. So she stared out the window instead. Even though it was long past the dinner hour, carriages drove by on the cobblestone streets as people went about their evening’s activities. The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves on the hard stone usually soothed her, but not tonight.

  As Rosemary stood at the window, she thought of the folks inside the carriages and what their lives encompassed. Had any of the women been as duplicitous as she had been in their quest to capture a husband? No, she corrected herself. She was not duplicitous in her quest to gain a husband. Merely in her quest to retain her position as an author, although the two did overlap. She supposed getting un-engaged in the same hour she got engaged was fitting punishment for what she had done, whatever the reason had been. And, to be quite honest, there had been more than a little duplicity in her intentions toward H
enry. She’d followed her mother’s advice and made certain he was in love with her before she’d opened the door to her own heart.

  Her vision blurred as sudden tears filled her eyes. Bosh. You’re getting every measure of what you deserve for toying with Henry’s affections. It’s his turn now to toy with yours. Somehow, being able to justify it, and to give Henry an excuse, didn’t make her feel any better. She turned from the window, scrubbing the tears away, as soft footsteps came down the hallway. Her mother opened the door to the library and stuck her head inside.

  “There you are,” she began the conversation without preamble. “I wondered where you’d flitted off to. You were awfully quiet at dinner, dear. Is something wrong?” Charlotte came into the room and took Rosemary’s hand.

  “Yes, Mother. Everything that could go wrong has. I finally revealed to Henry who F.P. Elliott really is when I turned in the last story under contract.”

  “That’s wonderful news, is it not? You can cease the subterfuge now. What a relief, since we never could fashion a good standin for Mr. Elliott. How can it have gone so wrong, as you say?”

  Rosemary took a seat alongside her mother. She wrung her hands, her ink-stained fingers lacing together. “There’s more to what happened today than telling him who I really am. In fact, he told me he’d known for a month or so I was really F.P.”