Page 20 of Captured By the Werewolf Highwaymen

“Here I thought you only wore nightgowns,” he murmured.

“I trust having me dressed isn’t too much of a disappointment,” she said drily.

His gaze traveled the length of her, from the top of her head, where she’d pinned up her hair, to the toes of her serviceable ankle boots. A flush rose in her skin wherever his gaze touched.

His smile widened. “There’s no such thing as disappointment where you’re concerned.”

“Wait until you see my needlework. I’ve no talent in that department.”

“Yet you stitched Hugh up as neat as a blanket.”

“A square of muslin in an embroidery hoop isn’t the same as human flesh.”

“And thank God for that. I’d hate to walk around with a daisy sewn into my cheek.”

“A spray of wild bluebells would suit you better,” she replied. “They’d match your eyes.”

He grinned. “Spending much time thinking of my eyes, Mrs. Ballantine?”

Instead of answering, she started down the hallway. “I need to go to my library and check a reference book to help tend Hugh’s injury.” When Desmond began to follow her, she stopped. “I assure you, I haven’t need of your assistance to find my own library.”

“I don’t like leaving you on your own,” he said with a frown.

“I need a moment to myself, if only to walk the one-minute journey from here to where I keep my books.”

His frown deepened, but he said, “If anyone harasses you⁠—”

“I will yell loud enough to bring the walls tumbling down.”

He gave a clipped nod. “Be quick.”

She gave him an ironic salute before hurrying downstairs. While she did need a minute or two on her own, she also didn’t delight in the idea of running into Cyrus. The heavens only knew what sort of humor the gang leader would be in, but it likely wouldn’t be pleasant and amenable.

The library was on the ground floor, and she walked to it quickly. She stopped short in the doorway when she discovered someone was already inside. A stab of alarm shot through her, but there was no need to fear. Her most private books were all stored securely in the walls of the house, where no one could find them. Even Olive had no notion that her mistress possessed a secret stash of books intended for Clara’s eyes only.

Well, once, she’d tried to share those books with Arthur. And paid a heavy price for what had been intended to be a means of connection between her and her husband.

“Apologies.” Gideon rose from one of the wingback chairs.

He’d shed his coat and was in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, with the cuffs of his shirt turned back to reveal his forearms. A book was in his hands, and he closed it, but not before sticking his finger between the pages to mark his place. In the morning light, he was even more striking, his jaw square, his onyx eyes possessing extraordinary depth. His was an elegant beauty, with a deep brow, a beautifully formed nose, and a sensuous mouth. He wasn’t exceptionally tall, and he inhabited his rangy body with confidence.

“I seem to keep finding myself here,” he continued.

“That’s…quite alright.” Her voice sounded slightly strained, and she cleared her throat. “A library is best when shared. Everyone should have access to books.”

“My sentiments precisely.” He smiled at her.

“What do you read, sir?” She took a tentative step toward him.

“Gideon, please.”

“Gideon.” She liked the feel of his name in her mouth, with its strong consonants and flowing conclusion.

His own step closer was equally tentative. “You might find it silly.”

“This is my library. I acquired every book on the shelves, and I assure you, there isn’t a work here that I find silly.”

He held up the book. “A medieval romance.”