Page 58 of Who’s That Earl

“Well, I’ll be—” Ross whistled between his teeth. “It could be them, I s’pose. Worth a look.”

Thomas was out of the carriage before its wheels had stopped rolling. He approached the dogs with an abundance of caution, as if he expected any moment to discover his mistake. When he got close enough to reach out and let the first sniff his fingers, he knew he had to have been wrong. No growling, no shrill yapping. Just a nudge of his hand from Aphrodite, asking to be petted, followed by a great deal of wriggling from both them.

“Hey, now.” A dirty boy emerged from the shadows, brandishing a broom. Thomas stood upright and looked down at him with a frown, but still the lad did not quail. “You leave Mrs. Thomas’s dogs alone,” he demanded.

“Mrs.—Thomas, did you say?” The most wretched coincidence imaginable. Unless...

“Aye. She’s just gone into the shop.” He jerked his chin toward the door behind him. R. Murray, bookseller read the gilded lettering on the glass.

“Wait here, Ross,” Thomas called to his friend. “I won’t be a moment.”

Above his head, a bell tinkled as the door closed behind him, forcing him to step farther into the warm, dusty room. A clerk was lighting a lamp against the oncoming gloom of evening. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m looking for Mrs. Thomas.”

The young man looked thoughtful. “Och, she popped in an hour or so ago. Upstairs, most likely—if she’s still here.”

Hope dared to rise in his chest, despite the fact that it might easily be another woman, so absorbed in a book that she’d lost track of time. A young woman? With brown hair and eyes that will linger in your memory for years? He couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“If you find her,” the clerk added as he blew out the curl of paper with which he’d lit the lamps, “you might tell her it’s nigh on six.”

“If I find her, I’ll do that.”

On one side of the shop, a steep wooden staircase rose into shadow. Thomas took the steps two at a time. At first, he saw nothing but shelves of books, old and new, thick and thin, too closely packed for him even to be able to determine the color of the paint on the walls. A few volumes lay scattered across a nearby table, left behind by some would-be customer. He crossed the floor, conscious of every creak, glancing around the edges of tall shelves, seeing no one. Then, in one dim corner, he spied a chair, and in it a woman, surrounded by books, bent over one lying open in her lap.

The curve of Jane’s neck, surely. The rich color of her hair, so neatly pinned. Still, the shadows made it difficult to be certain. The woman had shed her pelisse and laid it over the back of a second chair. Not the one he’d last seen her wear, but surely the fur-trimmed hood was hers...?

He approached, expecting her to look up at any moment. But the book still absorbed her entire attention. At the side of her chair, he paused, trying to determine what she was reading. Some treatise on chemistry—no. Alchemy? He smiled to himself. But of course...

“Well, well, well. Robin Ratliff. I’ve found you, at last.”

Her head jerked up, and it seemed to require an extraordinary effort for her to bring him into focus, as if she did not trust her eyes. “Thomas?”

He held out a hand to help her rise, and after a moment’s hesitation, she laid her fingers in his. Books slid from the chair onto the floor.

“Why—? How—?”

Fragments of questions seemed to be all she could manage, but still he strove to give her answers. “Your brother sent a letter to Dunnock, hoping it would reach you. Your father found your direction—he’s on his way to Edinburgh. I feared he might—” His voice broke as she searched his face, his eyes. He did not let go of her hand. “I needed to know that you were safe.”

“This—this cannot be real. How did you find me here?”

“I saw the lassies outside.”

Despite her obvious confusion and uncertainty, a smile twitched across her lips. “My watchdogs let you in?”

“Aye. You might almost say they welcomed me.” He squeezed her fingers as amusement mingled with surprise spread across her face. “I guess the only question left to answer, is...whether you’ll welcome me too.”

“Actually,” she said, pressing her lips together, though she could not seem to iron the smile from them entirely, “I have a number of additional questions. But I’ll answer yours first.”

To his utter shock, she launched herself into his arms, wrapping her own around his waist and laying her cheek against his chest. “I missed you. More than I had thought possible.”

His better angels urged caution. Missing him was a good sign, but it made no promises for the future. The devil on his shoulder whispered, Kiss her. Find out how much.

Whether wise or not, he listened to the devil.

He swept her quite literally off her feet, lifting her with one arm and turning her until her back was against one of the tall shelves. When a gasp of surprise left her lips, he covered them with his own, firm but not demanding, letting her set the tenor of the kiss.

Eagerly, she peppered him with a half dozen little kisses, pulling back each time as if to make sure he was still there, still real. Then she settled her lips against his more possessively, her arms tight around his waist, banding them together. Bracing himself with one hand against the shelf above her head, the other on her hip, he surrounded her, caged her. Let the world try to touch her. She was his to protect. Forever.