His biggest concern was now that he knew her identity, each time he thought or talked about the book, an image of Annabelle filled his thoughts. He didn’t care for the reminder of her in the least. And he worried he might mistakenly reveal her true identity.
He’d managed to put her firmly out of his mind since the heated kiss they’d shared some months ago. That was, until her arrival in his office. He blamed his reaction to the kiss on the drink he’d had that night, even if a small voice in his mind suggested that wasn’t the case. Drinking had come later, after the unexpected kiss.
He appreciated the self-preservation that kept him from seeking out the lady again to further experiment with the physical reaction they’d experienced. He was certain she’d felt it as well. Yet every bone in his body suggested becoming involved with Annabelle Gold would be unwise.
Hence his shock heavily layered with concern at the realization that she was A. Golden. He need only remember to never mix business with pleasure. How difficult could that be?
A strange prickling on the back of his neck had him slowly turning to discover the cause.
Annabelle Gold stood a short distance away, casting him a glare he couldn’t miss. He could only surmise she’d overheard him talking about her and didn’t like it. A smile came to his lips when he realized there wasn’t a thing she could do about it without admitting she was A. Golden, something he was certain she’d never do. Why did he enjoy riling her so?
On second thought, he didn’t want to know the answer to that.
Her lips pressed tight in disapproval at his smile, and she turned her back to him.
Damn if he didn’t take that as a challenge.
He excused himself from Baron Bennington and moved to Annabelle’s side. “Good evening, Miss Gold.”
She dipped her head to acknowledge his greeting but said nothing to encourage him. His presence often garnered that same reaction from young ladies. His reputation as a rogue was well known.
Yet he couldn’t resist pressing her. “May I have the honor of a dance?”
She hesitated rather than giving an immediate refusal as he’d thought she would. She truly was a delight. He wanted to know how her mind worked, especially now that he knew she’d written the book. What was she thinking at this very moment?
He waited, holding his breath, torn between hoping she’d agree and hoping she refused. Something deep inside him recognized that she threatened the fragile grip he had on his self-preservation.
With a graceful dip of her head, she agreed.
Thomas offered his elbow to escort her to the dance floor, and they took their positions to start the cotillion. He rarely danced these days unless it was with someone he knew.
He’d already known of Annabelle’s skills as he’d watched her dance before, and she proved to be a perfect partner. Though graceful, her movements were concise as if she preferred not to draw undue attention to herself. She didn’t embellish the steps or bother with fanciful gestures to gain other’s notice. She simply danced for her own enjoyment.
The occasional brush of their hands and holding her gaze was enough to remind him of her effect on him. While he’d experienced more than his fair share of passion with the opposite sex, he was still surprised—and confused—by his physical reaction to Miss Gold. It was as if at some basic level, she lit an elemental force inside him. The fact that he had little control over it nearly made him take a misstep.
“You look lovely this evening,” he told her when they drew together once more.
“Thank you.” She frowned as if wondering what he was up to. That made him want to pay her another compliment. She truly was beautiful. Perhaps not in the same manner as her elder sister, Lady Aberland, who was known for her golden beauty, but pleasing to the eye all the same. Her features were pleasant, and the intelligence in her eyes increased her attractiveness, at least to him.
Those eyes, the color of melted chocolate, were the window to her soul. But rather than revealing her thoughts, they only hinted at them, making him more curious.
She glanced about as if to make certain no one was paying too close attention. “I couldn’t help but overhear you discussing an author.”
“I was recommending a book I enjoyed to a friend.”
Again came a glower. He wanted to caress the crease between her brows to remove it.
“Why?”
He was forced to wait to answer until the dance brought them together once again. “To sell more books.”
“No.”
“You don’t wish to sell more?”
“Not like this.”
“I beg to differ. Every sale matters. The more people hear of it the better.” Frustration filled him. Attempting to have this discussion between dance steps without letting anyone around them know exactly what they discussed was impossible.
“I appreciate your efforts, but there has to be a better way. Hearing you speak of the...author is too disconcerting.”
“Do you have any suggestions?” His father hadn’t made any effort to advertise the books he chose to publish. Nor did Thomas have any experience.
“Perhaps.”
He could practically see ideas swirling in her eyes. “I look forward to hearing them. But until then, I intend to tell all who will listen that I enjoyed the book.”
A delicate shade of pink rose in her cheeks, stirring desire within him. What might it be like to see that same flush across the rest of her bare skin? He blinked to clear the vision before this ridiculous attraction he had for her embarrassed him.
“It is unsettling to hear the...author’s name at events like this.”
“I would think you’d be used to it by now.” He’d heard people speak of her serial in the broadsheet long before he’d realized his father’s publishing house had released her book. “You do realize it’s a compliment, don’t you?”
“I suppose I worry that my reaction to whatever they say will give me away.” She glanced about as she whispered the last bit.
He liked the idea that they shared this secret though he knew it could also prove dangerous given the attraction that simmered between them. “Please know that I will do all in my power to protect your identity.”
Annabelle met his gaze, her eyes seeming to search his for sincerity. He hoped she found it. Though born a gentleman, he didn’t claim to act like one. But he had his own sense of honor and did his best not to stray from it.
She nodded after a long moment. The knowledge that she’d extended her trust pleased him in no small measure.
At last, the dance drew to a close. He bowed as she curtsied then he offered his arm to escort her from the dance floor. Rather than taking her directly back to her mother, he took a circular route with the hope of finding a hidden alcove or at the very least, a potted fern to give them a moment of privacy to speak freely.
Luck was on his side as Lady Stannus had numerous plants set about that provided what he needed. He drew Annabelle behind a combination of a column and two plants.
“If we want to do another printing, collecting additional orders is the best way.”
“Don’t people realize you speak of it only to make money?” she asked, her brow puckering again with concern.
“No, because I truly enjoyed the story. It’s easy to mention it. Besides, many people discuss books after they’re done talking about the weather. One can only mention the fog and rain so many times.”
She smiled at his jest. “I suppose I’ve become so used to never discussing the book that I only feel alarmed if someone raises the topic.”
“That’s understandable, but I think it’s something to which you need to become accustomed. The more books sold, the more people will be talking about it—and the author.”
“I’d rather they do that at places where I won’t overhear them.”
“Do you belong to any book clubs?” he asked, wondering if connecting with several of those might be an option.
“Good heavens, no. I don’t want to
discuss anyone else’s book either. Comparisons rarely go well.”
“True.” He’d spent much of his childhood comparing himself to his brothers and that had never left him feeling anything but less. He didn’t want Miss Gold to experience the same.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. He could only hope his insecurities weren’t etched on his face. To make sure, he offered his customary smile.
“Interesting,” she whispered as if to herself.
“What is?”
“Your dimples don’t appear when your smile is insincere.”
Nonplussed, he could only stare at her. He didn’t care to think about what else she might discover if they were together longer. That was all the more reason he should keep his distance.
Chapter Three
Annabelle strode into Artemis Press two days later with her maid, Lizzie, behind her. While she appreciated Thomas’s efforts to increase sales, she didn’t care to hear him discussing her book. It was too unsettling and made her worry that he’d somehow reveal her identity. Besides, they needed more than one or two sales a week. There had to be a way to reach more people.
She’d been at the apothecary shop on Crook Lane the previous day to fetch a tonic for her father when the realization struck that her books weren’t so different from the various bottles and tins displayed on the shelves. How did one with gout know they should try Dr. Smedley’s Miracle Ointment unless they heard about it? If tonics and the like were advertised in the broadsheet, why couldn’t they do the same with books?
“Good day, Mr. Bing,” she greeted the young man behind the desk.
He stood with a broad smile on his face and bowed. “Good day, Miss Gold. How may we be of service?”
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Raybourne if he’s in.”
“Allow me to see if he’s available.” He moved from behind his desk to open Thomas’s door then stepped inside, their voices too muffled for her to hear.
While she waited, she glanced about the area, wondering why they didn’t do more to decorate the offices. The drab interior with bare walls seemed like a terrible place to spend a day, let alone meet with clients. From what she remembered, Thomas’s space was no better. Why didn’t he make a more comfortable atmosphere for himself?
With a sigh, she realized her mother wouldn’t be pleased if she knew where she was. She’d merely told her she was stopping by the haberdashery and a few other shops. Yet she couldn’t deny how invigorating it was to guide her own career rather than make decisions through a solicitor.
The sound of Thomas’s voice caught her ear. She was acquainted with all three of the Raybourne sons, including the eldest who had inherited the title. He and his wife attended several events each year, though she hadn’t seen them since the previous earl’s passing.
All three brothers were handsome, had too much charm for their own good, and were terrible rakes. Rumor had it that Graham, the new earl, had sowed his fair share of wild oats during his university years but had settled down and married. Hugh, the second son, looked much like Graham with light-colored hair but had a more rugged appearance as if he belonged on the cricket field. Thomas, the youngest, was dark-haired with more classic features aided by the dimples that held far too many of Annabelle’s thoughts.
The late earl hadn’t made a secret of his dislike for his youngest son, although Annabelle never understood where those feelings originated. She couldn’t imagine having a parent who not only didn’t care about their child but was vocal about it. Her father adored all three of his daughters, though Annabelle tended to think Caroline was his favorite. That didn’t mean he didn’t love them all. These days, they were pleased if Sir Reginald recognized them.
He’d been well enough for Aberland to escort him to the office the previous day as promised. Thank heavens her brother-in-law had taken an interest in the business and had already managed to shift the company’s financial numbers from negative to positive. While he didn’t have experience with shipping, his time spent working as a spy made him an excellent judge of character. He also had a fair head for business.
His love for Caroline would’ve been enough for Annabelle to like him, but his gentle guidance with her father secured her affection. Aberland was a good man with a good heart.
Despite that, Annabelle watched her sister closely for the shift that seemed to occur in married women, where they soon began to care more about their husband’s wellbeing than their own. She was prepared to warn Caroline the moment she exhibited the same behavior that had stolen the life from their mother as well as their aunt, Louisa’s mother.
Aunt Felton had thoroughly enjoyed married life, so much so that when her husband, the Marquess of Whirlenhall, passed away, she’d been set adrift, unable to find joy in anything. Her search for love had landed her in one fiasco after another, much to Louisa’s dismay.
Annabelle didn’t want that. Love wasn’t worth losing oneself. She adored her writing career and couldn’t imagine a husband who would allow her to continue it after the wedding. Marriage was bad enough, but love changed people. Remaining a spinster would be the best way to protect against that and allow her to follow her dream, especially if she had the financial wherewithal to do so.
“Mr. Raybourne will see you, miss,” Mr. Bing said as he held open the door for her.
“Wait here, Lizzie,” she directed the maid, who took a seat in the reception area.
“Good day, Mr. Raybourne.”
Thomas stood behind the desk, a curious expression on his face. “And to you, Miss Gold. What a pleasant surprise.”
She was determined to keep their association on a professional footing, especially after dancing with him the other night. That dance made their relationship feel too personal. She’d promised herself to limit her social interactions with him so she could keep her wits about her when dealing with him.
Yet even now, those green eyes pulled at her. Thank goodness he hadn’t flashed those dimples, or she’d completely forget the purpose of her visit.
“I have an idea to improve book sales I wanted to share with you.” She handed him a torn piece of paper.
“You wish me to purchase a tonic for gout?” he asked with a frown.
“No, but I believe you can see from reading the advert that this particular tonic would be the ideal remedy to purchase if one had the need. It clearly states the advantages of the product and where it can be found.”
“And?” He studied her much like he’d examined the advert—with a genuine curiosity that made her lose her train of thought.
If only she could control the heat that suffused her entire being each time she saw him. What was it about him that caused this reaction? She spoke with various men at balls and other gatherings and never experienced this uncomfortable sensation.
Now wasn’t the time to worry over such things, she reminded herself.
“If we placed a similar advert about the book, including where it could be purchased, perhaps we could gain additional sales.”
“I don’t remember seeing any adverts for books.”
“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be the first.”
“It’s an interesting idea. I’ll consider it.” He gestured toward the empty chair.
“Do you have other thoughts on how to spread word about the book?” she asked as she took a seat.
“One or two, but nothing I’m prepared to discuss at the moment. How is the new book coming along?”
She was pleased he had asked. He looked tired today. Had he enjoyed one too many late nights? Did he ever grow weary of that life?
What drove him to it? Motivation was something she considered more than most people because of her writing. Characters needed to act in a certain manner for a reason, just like people did. What was the reason behind his behavior?
“I am nearly done rewriting the rough copy into a fair copy. I’m taking care to make certain the end of each volume will be both satisfying yet make the reader eager for the next one.”
The thought of reviewing the manuscript with Thomas in such a detailed manner had her catching her breath. It didn’t matter that she told herself she didn’t care what he thought. Somewhere inside, she did.
“In fact, I’m quite anxious to read the new book,” he added with anticipation in his expression. “You have yet to share any details about it.”
“Yes, well, I’ll deliver it soon.” Suddenly she was nervous at the idea of handing it over. What if he didn’t like the story?
“When?” The gleam in his eyes only made breathing more difficult.
“Next week, I suppose. If everything continues according to plan.”
“Excellent.” The appearance of his dimples, along with his smile, insisted she give up trying to breathe altogether.
Her knees weakened regardless of the fact that she was sitting. Would it be wrong to politely ask him to put away the dimples? Could she write that into their contract?
“The sooner the better,” he continued, seemingly unaware of her present impairment. “Does it have the same characters as before or is this an entirely new story?”
“The same characters solve a different murder.”
He ran a finger over his chin. “I’m sure it’s not easy to keep the story feeling new, but readers enjoy reuniting with characters.”
“As do I. Which brings me to my next question.” This was business, she reminded herself. “With Mr. Jonesby gone, who will do the editing?”
“I intend to.”
Given the differences of opinion she’d had with Mr. Jonesby, she couldn’t help but worry. She didn’t want to argue with Thomas. “Are you experienced in editing?”
“Not exactly, but neither was my father. I had a difference of opinion with Jonesby. His heavy-handedness with edits was an issue.” The defensiveness in his tone was impossible to miss. “But have no worry. I’m not completely without skills.”
A Rogue No More (The Rogue Chronicles Book 3) Page 3
