Granted, he should’ve told her more details when he’d been negotiating for the book. He closed his eyes for a moment, admitting there had been no negotiating. He’d merely demanded. His social skills were now so rusty that he thought commanding words and the force of his will would convince her to hand over the book.
No. He couldn’t place the blame solely on that. It had been her, or rather her effect on him. That impression of her as a ray of light, as a beautiful damsel from days of old who might bring him into the warmth of her presence had scrambled his thoughts. Not just his thoughts, but his entire being. He’d forgotten to breathe as he’d stared at her.
Such a lovely lady. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had caught his interest thusly.
All the more reason he should keep his dark presence away from her. But she’d left him no choice. He truly had to have that book.
To have come so close to holding it in his hands only to be thwarted by that woman, no matter how attractive, was inconceivable. It was not to be borne. Even if another attempt to gain it required him leaving his sanctuary, he would do so. The book was his only clue.
He intended to speak with her father, the Earl of Burnham, after managing to obtain his address from the bookshop. If the earl would see him, he’d explain the situation in rational terms. He would even offer to double the price he’d paid as a way to make up for the inconvenience. Surely the earl would agree to sell it.
The carriage drew to a halt before a large residence in Mayfair. Oliver was faced once more with an open carriage door held by Tubbs. And again, he had to draw a deep breath to calm himself so he could alight. Ridiculous that he found it so difficult to do things of which he used to never think twice. The annoyance filling him was useful as it helped thrust him through the door and up the walkway to the steps, regardless of his anxiety.
He handed his card to the footman and was left waiting in the large foyer while the servant went to see if his lordship was at home. Oliver glanced about, focusing on his surroundings to help calm himself.
The elegance of their home denoted plenty of funds, something not all families could boast in this day and age. While not garish by any means, fine touches were numerable, from the gold wall sconces to the marble tile and the crystal chandelier hanging high above him. A wide, curving staircase led to the upper levels. All-in-all, the home was elegant but tasteful. He had to wonder if Lady Julia had anything to do with that or if the countess had put her stamp on the home.
The footman returned. “His lordship will see you in the library.”
“Excellent.” Though he wanted to ask about the daughter, he held his tongue. He had no valid excuse for doing so, other than his own curiosity. Inquiries about her were better left alone.
He followed the servant toward the rear of the home and through a door where he was announced. The library was half the size of his own but still his gaze caught on the tall shelves filled with books. Funny how the sight of them calmed his apprehension. The tightness in his shoulders eased and his heartbeat stopped pounding like mad.
Now was not the time to explore, he reminded himself. He was on a specific mission and intended the outcome to be successful.
The frail, elderly man seated in a massive chair behind the mahogany desk was a far cry from the vibrant daughter Oliver had met the previous day. He appeared overly thin, his suit a bit large on him. His face was pale and rather gaunt with large dark circles under his eyes. His balding head and wrinkled skin aged him considerably. But the color of his eyes, a sky blue that was such a rarity in this city, along with his smile confirmed the man was the lady’s father.
“Good day, my lord,” Oliver greeted him.
“Viscount Frost, your reputation precedes you.” He placed his hands on the arms of the chair as though preparing to rise.
“Please,” Oliver said with a wave of his hand. “Do not stand on my account.”
After a moment of indecision, the earl gave up his efforts and relaxed back against his chair. “Forgive me. I’ve been under the weather of late. Old age makes it more difficult to recover.”
Though his body appeared frail, Oliver guessed his mind was as sharp as ever. “I appreciate you seeing me.”
“I rarely have the opportunity to visit with a fellow scholar, though I do not have the expertise or the collection you do. Your visit is most welcome. I’ve enjoyed many of your articles.”
Oliver frowned. He’d submitted a few papers to the Medievalists Society, which had been printed in their monthly publication. He hadn’t realized anyone else actually read it.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you at any of the meetings though,” the earl said as he gestured for Oliver to sit in the chair before his desk.
“I fear I’ve been too busy to attend,” Oliver lied as he took a seat.
“Of course.” The earl nodded with a smile. “I’m sure your work is quite demanding. You’d be a welcome addition to the membership if you find the time.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” The idea of sitting in a room of other men had him breathing deeply to calm himself. It didn’t matter if they shared the same interests. The thought of attending had his shoulders climbing upward with tension once more.
“To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
“I understand you recently purchased a book written by Albertus Magnus.”
“Albert the Great?” The earl grinned, reminding Oliver once again of his daughter. “Brilliant man. An alchemist and the discoverer of the philosopher’s stone.”
Oliver sighed. While the romance of the medieval era appealed to him in many ways, he had difficulty aligning the many farfetched tales with those of actual science. The challenge was that some who called themselves scholars truly believed in the possibility of alchemy and the philosopher’s stone—a mythical substance said to turn any metal into gold. Oliver did not. Such feats were impossible, no matter what sort of chemical or method was used.
But he had no desire to insult the old man because he wanted that book. “Yes, Albert the Great.”
“One of the most amazing minds that ever existed, don’t you think?”
Though Oliver dearly wanted to make an offer for the book and be gone, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. The Earl of Burnham was so eager to discuss the topic. Oliver resigned himself to spending some time sharing what he knew of the author. Perhaps that would aid his cause. “Indeed. He seems to have been an expert on everything from Aristotle to the physical sciences.”
“A well-rounded man, considering he lived in the thirteenth century.”
The discussion continued for several minutes as Oliver offered some of what he’d learned about the author thus far. Hoping the pleasantries were complete after nearly a quarter of an hour of conversation, Oliver leaned forward. “I happened upon your daughter in the bookshop yesterday when she came to collect De Animalibus.”
“Incredible find, isn’t it?” The lord gave a raspy chuckle. “My Julia has a knack for finding unusual books. She’s helped me build my entire collection. My wife died many years ago, so I fear I’d be lost without Julia.”
“Yes, she seemed quite...competent.” That was certainly not the word that initially came to mind. Beautiful. Lovely. He stopped before he listed words more personal, and therefore inappropriate, than “competent.” Now was not the time to become distracted. “But as far as the book—”
“What is your interest in that specific text?”
“I’m hoping to find clues within it regarding the contents of another of his books.”
“Which one?”
“The Book of Secrets.”
“Fascinating. I’ve heard rumors of that text. It’s said to be filled with magic.” The light in the old man’s eyes was so bright it threatened to blind Oliver. “I would be honored to work on such a project with you.”
Oliver blinked, trying to understand what he was speaking about. Maybe the elderly man wasn’t as sharp as Oliver had first thought. Never min
d. It didn’t matter. He need only make his intent clear. “I appreciate your offer, but I would like to purchase De Animalibus from you. I’m pleased to offer double what you paid for it for any inconvenience.”
“Now then, where did I put my pen.” The earl ignored Oliver as he moved a sheet of paper to the center of his desk then searched in the depths of his drawer. “Here it is.” He triumphantly held up an old-fashioned quill pen, which he promptly dipped in an ink well. “For what sort of items should I be searching?”
Oliver stared in disbelief as the lord held his pen poised above the paper. “As I stated, I would like to purchase De Animalibus.”
“From what my Julia said, there is no other. I have the only copy.”
“Exactly. That is why I’d like to purchase yours.”
The old man frowned at Oliver as though he made no sense. His gaze shifted to a place over Oliver’s shoulder with a smile. “Ah, here is Julia now. She can tell us for certain as she spoke with the book dealer.”
Oliver smothered a groan. He didn’t think the lady would aid his cause. This meeting was not going according to his plan.
~*~
Julia entered her father’s library, intent on convincing him to rest, only to stop short when she realized he had a visitor. She approached slowly, staring at the visitor’s dark hair, which brushed his collar, suspiciously like—
No.
He wouldn’t dare.
Her mouth agape, she drew near her father to glare at Viscount Frost.
He rose almost reluctantly—or was it guiltily?—and his gaze met hers.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Julia, I understand you met Viscount Frost at the bookshop yesterday. Isn’t it delightful of him to pay me a visit?”
“Delightful,” she repeated, thinking it anything but. She held Frost’s gaze, trying to ignore the dip in her stomach at the sight of his deep green eyes.
“I have exciting news,” her father announced. “Viscount Frost has asked me to collaborate on a project with him.”
She turned to her father, prepared to explain why that was a terrible idea, only to halt at the look of joy on his face. When was the last time she’d seen that expression? “Oh?” was all she could manage.
“He is interested in De Animalibus, but I believe you said it was rare, that you’d only been able to locate the one copy.”
“Yes, only one.” She glared at the viscount once again. Couldn’t he see her father was not strong? Each illness from which he suffered continued to erode his health, setting him back a little further again and again. Inventing some project and inviting her father to share in it would only overtire him.
“I’m going to spend some time studying the text for clues.” The excitement in her father’s voice stopped any dissuasion from coming to her lips.
What on earth was the viscount about? A raised brow at him had him clearing his throat.
“Lord Burnham has kindly agreed to assist me in some research.”
“What sort of research?” She knew her tone was suspicious but after the way Frost had acted yesterday at the bookshop, she couldn’t understand what he was up to now. While some might accuse her of being overprotective, she didn’t care. She guarded her father closely.
“Nothing too difficult.” He glanced at her father. “But vitally important. Since I was not able to acquire De Animalibus, I am hoping your father could do some reading and note certain items of interest from the text.”
“What sort of things?” Her father had mentioned Viscount Frost was an expert in medieval texts. Why would he need her father’s help when he already had such skills?
“We were just about to make a list,” her father said eagerly. “Perhaps you’d ring for tea while we continue our work.”
The viscount offered her a bland smile, if one could call that small curling of his lips a smile.
Julia had to shut her gaping jaw once again. She was being dismissed? After being the primary person to uplift her father’s spirits for nearly a decade, she was astounded that Viscount Frost had managed to do so with little effort. And slightly envious to be honest.
With one last glare at the viscount, she arranged for tea to be brought in, found additional paper for her father, and made certain he had all he needed.
Then she went up to her aunt’s room to discuss the matter, hoping she might be able to offer some advice.
Aunt Matilda, her father’s younger spinster sister, had come to live with them soon after Julia’s mother had died nearly twelve years earlier.
Losing her mother at the age of ten had been devastating. Though her parents’ marriage had been far from perfect, she hadn’t been prepared for the grief that had filled her father with her mother’s passing. Never mind that her mother had been riding at her lover’s country estate when her horse had thrown her. All of them did their best to ignore that part of the accident.
Her father loved her mother deeply, but unfortunately, her mother hadn’t returned that love. She had been a restless spirit, always flitting to the next party—or the next lover—searching for elusive happiness.
Julia worked hard to make certain she didn’t share her mother’s characteristics. While bouts of restlessness sometimes plagued her, they were easily overcome. Surely she was capable of happiness and love. She just hadn’t yet found them. Besides, there was little time for such things in her life, not when she had her father to care for.
The depression and subsequent illnesses from which he suffered frightened Julia, and she did all in her power to keep him happy. That required her constant presence and diligence each and every day. Her younger brother, Jonathan, had finished university the previous year and was traveling abroad, which left the burden of her father to Julia and her aunt.
To think that Viscount Frost had found something so enjoyable for her father without even trying was a bit disheartening.
Aunt Matilda was helpful though the odd notions she came up with often frustrated Julia. Last month, she’d taken to meditation with incense to “help her transcend.” Her room still reeked of the nasty stuff. She’d tried to get Julia’s father to participate, but he’d refused, insisting he didn’t want to transcend. Julia was relieved as she feared he’d somehow turn the experience into a way to contact his wife in the afterlife, a popular diversion of late.
Julia knocked on her bedroom door, waiting for an answer. It was never wise to interrupt Aunt Matilda. Heaven only knew what her current interest was.
“Come in.”
Opening the door, Julia searched the large room currently draped in purple silk, making it look like a harem. Her aunt was difficult to spot as she wore the color as well. She sat on the floor on a large purple pillow with gold tassels. Her thick, grey hair was piled elegantly on her head, her posture perfect. Her warm brown eyes always held a look of amusement as though nothing life threw at her could unsettle her. A book lay open on her lap. New meditation material, no doubt.
While Julia liked to think her aunt eccentric, she sometimes wondered if it was more than that. Her logic, or lack thereof, was difficult to follow on good days and impossible at other times. Hopefully today she’d provide true assistance.
“Viscount Frost is visiting with Father,” Julia said as she took a seat on one of the other large pillows.
Her aunt’s eyes narrowed as though trying to place the name. “The medieval scholar viscount?”
“Yes. I encountered him in the bookshop yesterday. Apparently the book I picked up for father had also been promised to him.”
“Is he here to make trouble?” She braced her hands on the pillow as though prepared to launch a rescue.
“I’m not certain.” Julia scowled, still not sure what to make of his visit. “He’s asked Father to assist him with some research.”
“What sort of research?”
“It has to do with the book I brought home yesterday.”
“That sounds harmless. Your father must be delighted at the
idea of working with a scholar who has such an excellent reputation.”
Julia couldn’t help but sigh. “He is.”
“It’s rather kind of the viscount.”
“I don’t think he’s doing it out of kindness.”
“Perhaps his motivation isn’t important. The benefit of giving your father a purpose can’t be denied.”
The gentle reminder had Julia shaking her head at her uncharitable thoughts. “You’re right. But I intend to make certain the viscount understands father’s fragile state. I don’t want him overtaxed.”
“Excellent idea.” She raised a brow as she stared at Julia. “Shouldn’t you go down and attempt to catch him as he’s leaving?”
“Oh, yes. I suppose so. They’re having tea as they discuss their plans, but I wouldn’t want to miss the chance to speak with him.” In truth, she was reluctant to be alone with Viscount Frost. He unsettled her in a way she couldn’t explain. There was no doubt that he was an intimidating man due to his size and military bearing. But those weren’t the sole reasons for her discomfort. Still, she rose reluctantly from the pillow. “Would you care to join me?”
“No, thank you. I’m quite engrossed in my reading.” She held up her book. “Don’t forget to smile. Never underestimate your ability to charm others.”
Though her aunt’s suggestion had been proven helpful many times over the years, the viscount seemed unmoved by her friendly overtures. “I don’t want to charm him. I only want to keep him from hurting Father.”
“I’ve no doubt you’ll be able to manage both.”
Julia wasn’t so certain. Viscount Frost seemed as though he was charm-proof yet what other way did she have to convince him to take care when dealing with her father?
Charming the Scholar (The Seven Curses of London Book 2) Page 2
