Her friend scooted closer. “Like, how intense?”
“Lacy,” Kat said, groaning. “I’m not telling you anything else. It was intense. That’s all you’re going to get.”
“Hmm. Well, it’s nice to see you having some fun, Kat. You are way too serious, you know. Burying yourself in books is not the way to spend your life.”
“I know, I know.” She sighed. She needed to stick to “Operation Adventure.” Just because her first foray into the world of living on the edge had ended with her discovering Tristan’s sordid romantic and elitist family history, it didn’t mean she couldn’t keep trying to have fun in other ways. Ways that didn’t involve a certain British bad boy. But she wasn’t going to let Lacy distract her from her need to hear about G. David. Books would always be a huge part of her life, even if she was out seeking some adventures. They were friends she could take with her whenever she and her father moved. Sure, she’d kept in touch online with a few girlfriends from high school, and Ben occasionally e-mailed or texted, but it wasn’t the same as being able to see them in person. It was easy to grow apart from people when you moved away.
I hate good-byes .
But coming here for school meant she was guaranteed three years in the same place. Mark and Lacy were her first real friends in a long time because Kat finally knew for sure that things in her life wouldn’t suddenly change.
“Okay, I told you about last night, so what about G. David?”
Leaning close, a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes, Lacy spoke. “They apparently had someone call in this morning and ask to buy that first edition of The Mysterious Island you were staring at last week.”
Kat’s heart fluttered. She’d never be able to afford it, but she hadn’t been able to resist wanting it. “How’d you find out about it?”
“I overheard one of the store clerks confirming the order while I was buying some Terry Brooks novels.”
Kat almost smiled, but then something clicked. An image of Tristan holding on to the worn paperback from her shelf. The way he’d looked at the book, then at her, as though sorting out a puzzle. No. It couldn’t be… But it was the only conclusion that made sense. He’d seen her book last night and then today he’d gone to G. David and bought the first edition. Did he intend to give it to her? She couldn’t see any other reason for him to do that, since he hadn’t mentioned that he was a Jules Verne fan.
Kat glanced at her watch. She had about half an hour before her next class, which was just enough time for her to visit the bookshop. She grabbed her books and shoved them into her bag. “I want to see it again before the buyer picks it up.”
Lacy followed as they exited the library. The courtyard was covered with snow now, but in the warmer months, the white stone library was a rich contrast against the green grass. There was so much that she loved about Cambridge: the town, the university, the people. It felt more like home than anywhere she’d lived before. Like going to school in a fairy-tale village with castles on every corner.
“If you’re going all the way to G. David, I’ll catch you later for dinner. Text me, okay?” Lacy called out as they parted ways.
“Bye!” Kat waved but she was already walking, with one thing on her mind. Well, maybe two things, the book and one sexy-as-hell, off-limits, future earl. Damn .
G. David was every book lover’s dream. It was the epitome of the antiquarian book collector’s world, and was tucked away on 16 St. Edward’s Passage. The shop’s wood storefront was painted blue, making it stand out from the stores around it, like a welcoming little cottage. The name “G. David” had appeared in white, creating a sharp contrast against the blue wood and white brick of the storefront of the building.
Much of the shop was full of the standard sort of used books. Kat meandered through the aisles, her shoulders brushing against the thickly stacked shelves containing hundreds of musty- smelling paperbacks. Some of the pages were yellowed with age and their covers faded. Unable to resist, she trailed a fingertip over their sun-warmed spines, idly reading the titles. A thousand stories hummed from the pages, whispering to her of heroes long gone, and tales of love that spanned centuries.
I could spend my life wandering through this shop, glimpsing worlds through the windows of these books.
She couldn’t help but smile as she remembered telling Tristan about Jules Verne and why she liked his stories. The fantastical adventures were addictive, almost as much as kissing him.
She jerked to a halt and shook her head a little, trying to clear it.
Stop thinking about him. The way he smelled of winter and spice, how his warm breath fanned over her face as he panted to regain his breath, and how that had sent shivers of excitement through her.
Glancing about, she looked for the sign pointing to the rare-book room. Once there, she paused in the doorway. Rows of gilded spines glinted beneath the soft lights overhead. Each one seemed to whisper secrets from the stories they held. Bookstores were holy to Kat. They offered adventure and the truth of the human soul, both dark and light.
Goose bumps covered her arms as she touched the spines nearest her, tracing the gilt letters of the titles. Some of the sturdier editions weren’t protected by glass casing. The musty scent that clung to the air brought back old memories of her father’s library. Her mother hadn’t been one for reading. It was her father’s lap she’d climbed onto for a story. As she’d gotten a little older, he’d perched on the edge of her bed and read her tales until her eyes had drifted shut and she’d slipped into dreams filled with dragons, warriors, and magic.
Homesickness swamped her, and her throat constricted. She hadn’t thought of those days in a long time. The days before she and her father had become nomads. He couldn’t bear to stay in one place too long, as the sense of missing something grew stronger over time. Her father used to come into the kitchen and pause, stare at the stove, then, with a sigh, reach for a pot to make dinner.
Cooking had been the one thing her mother had enjoyed. Before she’d left, the stove had always had something good-smelling on the cooktop. After the divorce, the house seemed to be gripped with a gaping void. An emptiness tempered by a quiet sense of grief was embedded in the very brick and wood of the house itself.
Her mother was still very much alive somewhere far away from them, and her leaving had felt like a death, in a way. It was hard to explain, but the pain Kat felt when she thought about her mother was still fresh.
“Hello, can I help you find anything in particular?” A female clerk’s voice jerked Kat out of her thoughts. The woman stood at the opposite end of the room, by a narrow wooden door labeled “storage.” In her late forties, she had a pair of glasses perched on her nose and a hint of gray in her hair.
She gently dusted the tops of books with a flat paintbrush as she slowly made her way down the nearest shelf toward Kat. It was a sight Kat was used to in old bookstores. Paintbrushes were an ideal dusting tool for books.
“Actually—” Kat shifted her backpack and took a step into the rare book room. “I heard you have a buyer for the first edition of The Mysterious Island by Jules Verne. I was wondering if I could look at it before the buyer picked it up. I’m a huge fan, but couldn’t afford the edition.”
The clerk’s eyes lit up. “A Verne fan! We don’t see too many of those these days. I’d be happy to let you take a peek at it.” The woman winked. “Come, let’s get it out.”
Each of the books inside the rare-edition glass cabinet had a strip of white paper with a name scrawled in black ink tucked inside its front cover. The lucky owners, Kat guessed.
“Here we are.” The woman crooked one index finger onto the top part of the spine and tugged gently so it slid free of its neighbors.
“This is part one. Dropped from the Clouds . At the buyer’s request we’re locating the second and third parts, The Abandoned and The Secret of the Island .” The clerk held out the red leather book.
Kat took it, holding it with reverence. Dark gold letters displayed the t
itle on the cover. Beneath was a gold etching of a hot-air balloon drifting over a calm ocean as though ready to crash into the sea. Someone lucky was going to be taking this home. A pang of envy shot through her, making her feel guilty.
There was something magical about old books. The detail and artistry that went into their creation, with their gilded edges, engraved illustrations, and eye-catching covers, made each of them a treasure. In today’s world, there was so much less magic, less wonder in the small things, like the beauty of books. It made her old-fashioned, yet she couldn’t help but appreciate the book for what it was, an icon of an era lost forever.
“Lovely, isn’t it?”
She nodded, carefully opening the book, studying the title page as she spoke. “How much is the buyer paying for it?” The number was going to make her cringe, but she couldn’t resist asking.
“About £1,000.00. He was most insistent we find the others, as well.”
Doing the math in her head, Kat winced. That was more than $1,500 dollars for one book. With great reluctance, she returned Dropped from the Clouds into the clerk’s hands.
“Anything else catch your fancy?” the clerk asked.
Kat shook her head. Her class, European History 1600 to 1800, started in half an hour, which left her no time to browse.
“Do you mind if I asked who bought Dropped from the Clouds ?” she asked the clerk.
The woman nudged her glasses up her nose an inch, hesitating to speak, as though she was considering if she ought to respect the buyer’s privacy.
“I have a friend, a man named Tristan Kingsley. I thought perhaps he might be the one who bought it,” Kat clarified. Tristan had no reason to buy it. Still…his flashing blue-green eyes crossed her mind, teasing her with memories of the previous night. She knew it was him. It wasn’t a coincidence that the first edition, which had been at G. David’s for a year, was being bought the day after Tristan had stood in her bedroom and looked at her battered, well-loved copy.
“Er…well, I’m not permitted to disclose our client’s information, but I can say that if it was your friend, he has excellent taste.” The clerk gave her a small but knowing smile.
Oh, wow . He’d really done it. The question now was, why? What would he do with a first edition of Jules Verne, other than give it to her? She couldn’t accept a gift like that, it was way too expensive. And she couldn’t help but wonder what his reason for buying it for her was. Did he always buy things for the women he claimed he was interested in? Did he expect her to sleep with him after getting a gift like that? It was all too confusing. She didn’t know what the protocol was for a girl to do when getting a gift like that. As she headed to class, she struggled to come up with a plan.
Nothing could take that sexy Brit out of her head. And that was a bad sign, since she knew she shouldn’t see him again. But what would she do when he gave her the Jules Verne book? Shove him out the door and tell him good-bye when she really just wanted to drag him into her dorm room again? Yeah…she knew without a doubt that if he showed up in her life again, they’d end up in trouble because he would kiss her and if he kissed her it would lead to so much more…
Chapter 7
Y ou have that funny look on your face again.” Celia laughed softly and nudged Tristan’s leg under the table with her high-heeled black boot.
For the last ten minutes, he’d been watching the door of a bookshop, waiting, holding his breath. Kat was inside. It had been sheer luck that he’d convinced Celia to meet him at the little café across the street, because he intended to pick up the book he’d ordered for Kat from G. David’s.
They’d only just taken their seats in front of the window when an all-too-familiar, tantalizing figure trudged through the snow to the store across the street.
His Kat. Well…she would be his soon enough.
“Tristan, what is the matter with you? Is everything all right? I’ve never seen you so distracted. First last night, now this morning. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were trying to placate me by agreeing to have lunch.” Celia frowned when he glanced her way. She always worried about him, but that was part of who she was. While she was beautiful, fashionable, and independent, she had a softer, more nurturing side to her that many daughters of the peerage lacked. Last night, when he’d called off their drinks, she’d let him go, but only if he agreed to meet up today so she could get to see him.
They were first cousins—her mother was Tristan’s father’s younger sister—but they had grown up together as close as siblings. Tristan had come to appreciate her friendship over the years, and how he could talk to her about everything—well, almost everything. Carter was the one exception. Celia was in love with Carter and couldn’t have him because her father would never allow it.
She’d always looked to Carter with those adoring hazel eyes, in a way that sometimes made Tristan jealous. Not because he wanted Celia, but because he longed for a woman of his own to look at him like that. As though he’d hung the moon and captured a string of stars for a necklace. He’d been with plenty of women, all of whom had looked at him like the social stepping-stone he was. Tristan loathed it. As much as he loved the things that his position in society provided, he wanted people to care about who he was as person, not his family’s lineage.
“Don’t ignore me, cousin,” Celia chided, her eyes narrowed. “Out with it. You’re distracted by something, and I want to know what it is.”
“Are you free next week?” Rather than answer her question, he changed the subject.
“Free for?” She’d make a good countess, or a duchess, if she ever married that high. Knowing her parents, he realized, she’d have to, because they would pressure her to pick a man of their choosing.
“Carter and I were thinking of having an end-of-semester-exams party next weekend. Would you like to help host?”
Celia’s face lit up. “I do so love a party.” Her excitement quickly morphed into curiosity. “Whenever you say ‘you and Carter’ it always ends up being only you who did the planning. Does poor Carter know you’ve roped him into this?”
Tristan shrugged. “Carter will be happy to be involved, especially if you’re there.” He let the teasing hint drop and took a sip of his hot tea, watching her over the rim of his cup, expecting her to react to his playful hint. But she didn’t take the bait, clever Celia, and she composed herself like a queen before replying.
“So, a party next weekend. At Fox Hill, I assume?”
“Yes.” His eyes drifted back on the bookshop door as it opened and Kat walked out. Her long hair was slightly curled at the ends, which gave the lustrous locks an enticing bounce. Tristan ached to wrap his fingers in the strands and tug lightly as he kissed her.
The fantasy of possessing her, owning her completely in his bed, was driving him mad. If he played his cards right, he wouldn’t have long to wait.
“And you want me to act as hostess for this party?” Celia scooted back in her chair to allow their waiter to set down two bowls of hot soup.
Steam curled up in thick tendrils as Tristan swirled his spoon in his bowl. He wanted nothing more than to eat a burger with brown sauce, but the café didn’t have anything like that on the menu. But this was the only place located near G. David’s bookshop where he could meet his cousin.
“I’d like you and Carter to help me extend some invitations. You still have connections at Magdalene College, don’t you?” It had been Celia’s college when she’d attended Cambridge as an undergraduate a few years before.
“Yes, why? You want me to invite the entire college?”
He knew she was joking. Shaking his head, he continued. “I want you to invite a woman named Katherine Roberts and anyone she’s friends with.”
His cousin’s eyes gleamed like topaz gemstones. “Ah…the truth comes out. So all of this is for a woman? I suspect you think she won’t come unless her friends do. Don’t tell me you’re getting soft, Tristan. Unable to seduce an undergraduate?”
His c
ousin’s teasing bruised his ego, and he winced.
“I’m taking care with this one. She’s not like the others.” It was no secret that his past relationships had been numerous and easy. Those girls hadn’t needed any convincing to climb into bed with him. But he didn’t just want to take Kat to bed, he wanted to spend time with her in whatever way he could manage.
“You taking care? What makes this one so special that you don’t just sleep with her and toss her to the side like the others?”
Her words dug deep like barbs, even more so because he knew what she said was true. It made him feel like a cad. “Feeling ruthless today, are we?” He turned one of his most charming grins on her.
She giggled against the rim of her teacup. “Perhaps a tad. So who is this Katherine Roberts?”
Tristan had no interest in sharing details on Kat, not with Celia. She was too nosy. The last thing he needed was his cousin inserting herself into his affairs.
“She is an interest of mine. You need know nothing else.”
Rather than grow cross with him as she often did when he didn’t tell her what she wanted to know, Celia clapped her hands. “Oh, this is famous! Whoever she is, she must be quite a woman to have you tied in knots.”
“She is quite a woman. One I can’t seem to figure out. Now, you’ll see to getting her invited? Drop on by Fox Hill in the next day or two for dinner so we can plan the party. I want it to be perfect.”
“Perfection. That I can do.” Celia was almost humming.
“Good. Finish your lunch. I need to collect something at G. David’s before my next class, and I should like your opinion.”
It was time to begin his seduction of Kat. He wouldn’t let up, not until she lowered those barriers and gave in to the passion he’d glimpsed the night before.
I will win her .
He smiled, as his gaze drifted back to the cheery shop entrance of G. David’s bookstore.
Forbidden: Her British Stepbrother Page 6
