Page 8 of The Truth about the Rogue
“No,Ishall purchase it,” he declared, taking the book from her, his fingers brushing hers as he did so. “It was my fault, and I have no concern in doing such a thing.”
Charlotte blinked, a little surprised at his bold actions.
“There is no need, I assure you.”
The gentleman said nothing, lowering his dark head to look at the book a little more clearly.
“A book of poetry, I see.”
“Yes, it is,” Charlotte answered, a gentle heat swirling within her as he lifted his gaze to hers, perhaps wondering what it was that she was so interested in. “I hear that there has been a poem printed in The London Chronicle which has captured the heart of many a young lady.”
A hint of a smile tugged at the gentleman’s lips.
“And you thought to go and find more poetry to read, having been inspired by it?”
Hesitating for a moment, Charlotte lifted her shoulders and then let them fall.
“In truth, while I think the poem has its worth, I am seeking out another book of poetry that I might share with my friend, to show her that there are many other writers of poetry also. She might find herself just as caught up by one of those other poems as she is with the one in the Chronicle.”
The smile which had been held lightly to the gentleman’s face soon faded.
“You mean to say that you think the poem which was in the London Chronicle to have no particular merit?”
Charlotte spread out her hands, a little confused about why the gentleman appeared a little upset at this.
“I have read many poems, Sir, and think that, while the one in the Chronicle is beautifully worded, there are others which are just as delicate in their choice of phrase. Indeed, there has been poetry written about almost every subject known to man, and those words inspire, regardless of what subject they speak about!”
“I see.” The gentleman sniffed and then looked down at the book. “This book is solely romantic poetry, however.”
“Yes, that is so. I confess that I have not read as much romantic poetry as I have other types of poetry, but I know that William Blake is an excellent poet and I have enjoyed his work previously.”
The gentleman opened the book and read for a few minutes, nodding slowly.
“He does write well.”
“Might you have come to the bookshop in order to secure your own book of poetry?” Charlotte asked, though the gentleman quickly lifted his head and snapped the book shut as she asked that question, a sharpness coming into his eyes which Charlotte could not understand. “Poetry may often be writtenaboutladies, but it is notonlyladies who read it.”
“I am well aware of that.” The gentleman’s tone had changed completely, going from an amiable tone to one which was rather sharp. “I am not inclined to read poetry. I am not inclined to read anything, in fact. My time is filled with greater considerations.”
She blinked.
“Then why are you in a bookshop?”
The gentleman looked back at her for a long moment as if he was trying to come up with an answer, only for a small, crinkling smile to twist up the side of his mouth.
“Ah, that is because I am seeking a quiet rendezvous,” he said, speaking in a low voice now, which was almost a whisper as it raked up Charlotte’s spine. “I do hope that you understand, Miss…?”
Charlotte recoiled from him, refusing to give him her name.
“My book, if you please?”
She snatched it from his fingers and, without another word, turned on her heel and hurried back towards Miss Marshall, her heart pounding furiously. There was no doubt in her mind about what that gentleman had meant. He was a rogue and nothing short of it, declaring quite openly that he was looking for a place where he might twine his arms about a lady’s waist, might pull her close to him, and bend his head to kiss her lips. Her heart pounded as she heard a quiet chuckle coming from behind her, making her go hot all over. This was, no doubt, the very sort of gentleman that her mother had insisted she avoid and, therefore, she was not about to give him her name, nor ask for his!
“You have a book, yes?”
Miss Marshall smiled at Charlotte, only for her gaze to dart over Charlotte’s shoulder, her eyes flaring wide.
“I was not with him,” Charlotte murmured quietly, aware that her friend was now gazing at the gentleman, perhaps aware of who he was. “He came upon me suddenly and I dropped the book when he knocked into me. Though I have no qualms with that, given that I thought to buy it already.”
