Page 70 of Bookshop Cinderella

“Sorry, Spence, what did you say?”

Spencer laughed. “I was hoping your silence was inspired by a feeling of dread. I was challenging you to a game of tennis this afternoon.”

A hard, sweaty game of tennis was just what he needed. “You’re on. Tennis sounds like a smashing idea.”

But like everything else in his life these days, tennis didn’t go according to plan. Instead of keeping his eye on his own game, his attention kept straying from the tennis court to the croquet lawn. Every time Evie made a shot, he watched her, silently cheering her on. When she got into the weeds, he crossed his fingers for her. And when she managed to hit the wicket on a nearly impossible shot, winning the game for her team, he almost tossed his racquet in the air with a whoop of jubilation.

Needless to say, Desmond trounced him in straight sets.

16

Max’s tennis game was a fitting prelude to the remainder of his weekend. At dinner, he could see Evie plainly from where he sat, and though he tried to keep his attention properly fixed on the guests to his left and right, it proved impossible. The Countess of Portlebury was dull as paint, and the Bishop of Avonlea insisted upon quoting from various sermons about sins of the flesh, a topic that did nothing to prevent his gaze from sliding down the long dining table to Evie’s place.

Unlike him, she seemed to be enjoying her dinner companions, both of whom, he was aggravated to note, were men. Every time Max glanced in her direction, she was either leaning closer to Doctor Brandon for an intimate tête-à-tête or bestowing that amazing smile of hers on Edward Harbisher. And both of them, he noted grimly, seemed every bit as delighted with her company as she was with theirs.

None of this was a surprise, of course. He’d known all along that if Evie could be brought out of her shell, she’d have men dancing attendance, but being right about her attractions was now proving to be no satisfaction at all, especially since he had no right to claim her attention for himself.

Over the port, he arranged a game of cards with three of the other gentlemen, but whist required a level of concentration he simply could not muster, and much like his tennis game, he got shredded and lost a packet.

On Sunday morning, Whitsun church services found her seated right across the aisle from him. The scent of bergamot that kept wafting to his nose during the service was imaginary, he knew, but it seemed real enough to bring memories of that scorching kiss in his London ballroom roaring back, making church a painful and hypocritical ordeal.

As the interminable hours of the weekend went by, memories of the touch of her lips, the taste of her mouth, and the scent of her skin became impossible to push away, transforming into a sweet addiction that he knew he would be unable to break as long as she was so tantalizingly close.

In consequence, he avoided her as much as possible, but nonetheless, he got no peace of mind and very little sleep, and by the time guests started leaving on Monday morning, it was all he could do to hide his happy relief as he paid his farewells to everyone.

Unfortunately, Delia was one to oversleep as a matter of course, and because of that, she had booked the later train for her and Evie to return to London. With all other distractions now gone, Max had no choice but to take refuge in his library—a decision that proved beyond doubt he’d lost his wits, because only an idiot would think to avoid a bibliophile by going to his library.

“Max?”

As the sound of her voice floated from the library into the muniment room where he was sorting estate papers, Max nearly groaned aloud.

“Max? Are you in here?”

Taking a deep breath, he set aside the papers in his hand and stepped into the doorway.

She was standing near the entrance to the library, and though she wore no hat, she was already dressed for the train in a brown linen traveling suit. At the sight of him, she came all the way into the room, smiling a greeting. “Good morning.”

He bowed. “Good morning.”

Something in his voice must have given an inkling of his feelings, for her steps faltered and her smile faded to an uncertain expression.

“Am I disturbing you?” she asked, taking another step forward.

“Not at all,” he lied, crossing the room to her side. “Can I help you with something?”

“Delia mentioned to me during the train journey up that your library was splendid, and I thought I’d have a look at it before we go back to London.”

Despite how he was feeling, her words made him smile a little. “I’m surprised it took you this long.”

“So am I, rather,” she confessed, glancing around. “But it’s been a busy weekend.”

“Yes, I heard you were the terror of the other teams on the croquet field on Saturday.”

She laughed. “I was, wasn’t I?” she agreed, sounding surprised. “Beginner’s luck.”

“Or a newly discovered talent.”

“I doubt that. I’ve never been particularly good at athletic endeavors.”

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