Page 82 of Lady Waldrey’s Gardening Almanac for Cultivating Scandal

“But where is the gap for the ones you already brought me?”

He cleared his throat. “Those were a more recent acquisition, but judging by your expression, you already knew that.”

“Arthur let that little secret slip. I have to thank you—it was very kind of you to buy them for me.”

“To clarify, I only lent you the books. I bought them for myself.”

She laughed. “Very well. Thank you all the same.”

“You are exceedingly welcome, though I’ll admit that the gesture wasn’t completely selfless.”

“Oh?”

“I’m hoping you’ll lend me some books in return.”

“Of course,” she said. “Consider all of the books in our library to be at your disposal.”

“That won’t do. Much like how I chose books for you, I’d like you to make selections for me.”

Candace tilted her head. “What subject interests you?”

“Honestly, I’d like to read something I haven’t read before, which is a challenge, as I’ve read extensively.”

She frowned. “Perhaps a history of an exotic nation? We have some fascinating books on Egypt.”

“I was thinking about fiction, actually.”

Her eyebrow raised. “Fiction?”

“Indeed. Some of your gothic novels would be a good start, I think.”

“My...my novels?”

Candace’s head swam. The last four books she’d read danced before her mind’s eye; she shuddered at the thought of James's large hands holding one of them, reading one of them... Or perhaps it was more a shiver than a shudder, but she didn’t want to admit that to herself.

He continued, “I suspect you brought some of your favorites with you from London?”

Still lingering on the idea of James's hands flipping the delicate pages of one of her novels, she nodded dumbly. Too late she realized her mistake—she might have bought time to order some harmless books from London if she’d claimed she’d left all her books in the city.

“Perfect,” he said, a note of triumph in his voice. “I’ll send a servant to follow your carriage and he can bring them back.”

“I might not be able to find them right away; I’m not sure where Hortense put them.”

“That’s easily enough solved.” He called across the room to her maid, who was staring out a window at the rain. “Hortense? Do you remember where you put Candace’s novels when you unpacked?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” She hurried forward and addressed Candace with a slight frown on her lips. “They’re in a row on the fireplace mantel, remember? You took one down only the other night.”

James turned back to Candace with accusing eyebrows and an amused smile while she internally cursed Hortense’s distraction.

“Right,” she stammered. “How silly of me to forget.”

“Excellent. He will have just enough time to bring them back before his supper.”

Candace pretended to be fascinated by the row of books before her and gave a hum of agreement while panic roiled inside.

Hours later, Candace paced in front of her bedroom fireplace as Hortense held up a paperback, her eyebrows raised in question.

“Not that one,” Candace hissed. “They do nothing but kiss in that one.”