Page 30 of A Literary Liaison
Elisha steadied herself as Thornton’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist. She then came face to face with a stunning blonde whose diamonds probably cost more than theMetropolitan’syearly revenue. But it was the man beside her that made Elisha’s breath catch.
“Lady Stanton, may I present Miss Elisha Linde and Mr. Steven Thornton of theMetropolitan Review,” Lancaster said stiffly.
Elisha managed a precise curtsy, acutely aware of her plain wool dress. Even before Lord Stanton’s untimely passing, Lady Stanton had been the toast of London Society, her salons drawing nobility and artists alike. Now, standing before the woman herself in her practical walking dress, Elisha felt every thread of her own modest attire.
“Charmed,” Lady Stanton said, her smile sharp as she pressed closer to Lancaster. “His Grace speaks of you so often, I feel we’realready acquainted.”
“You’re too kind, my lady.”
“How… practical you look today,” Lady Stanton purred. “Surely there are more amusing ways to spend a morning than being a spectator?”
Elisha felt Thornton’s arm tense beneath her hand and patted his arm soothingly. “Miss Linde is assisting me with some acquisitions today,” he supplied smoothly.
Lancaster’s gaze flew to her hand then back to Thornton’s eyes, but his tone remained light. “I believe you mistake the purpose of Miss Linde’s ‘practical’ attire, Lady Stanton. Miss Linde has an extraordinary eye for rare manuscripts. One can hardly go crawling through dusty archives in silk. I would watch Mr. Thornton very carefully. He shall prove to be your strongest rival with an expert by his side.”
Warmth bloomed in Elisha’s chest at Lancaster’s defense, even as her eyes caught on the way Lady Stanton’s perfectly manicured fingers curled possessively around his arm.
“You’re too kind, Your Grace,” she said softly, the words tasting bittersweet on her tongue. “I’m afraid my scholarly pursuits pale compared to the excitement of your… social engagements.” Before he could respond, she turned away, tugging Thornton gently toward the auction room where the first lots were being arranged for viewing.
She’d been a fool to think… but no. Better to focus on the task at hand than dwell on what could never be.
Elisha forced herself to focus on the leatherbound volume before her, though her awareness of Lancaster and Lady Stanton lingered like a thorn in her side. Thornton’s presence beside her did nothing to steady her nerves. When he leaned closer to examine a page she indicated, she caught the subtle scent of pine and leather—masculine, but not overwhelming.
“Your thoughts seem elsewhere,” he murmured, his penetrating gaze studying her face with concern. The tenderness in his expressionwould have set most ladies’ hearts aflutter.
“Forgive me. I was considering the annotation styles.” It was a half-truth at best.
From across the room came Lady Stanton’s musical laugh followed by Lancaster’s deeper tones. Thornton’s hand brushed her elbow as he steadied her, and she realized she had tensed.
“Interesting how some books,” he said quietly, “no matter how beautifully bound, fail to capture our hearts the way simpler volumes do.”
The knowing look in his eyes made her cheeks warm.
“Some might say the same of people,” he added, then mercifully returned to discussing print dates and paper quality.
Later, when Lancaster found her standing alone by a window as Thornton conversed with another gentleman, she steeled herself for another polite exchange.
“Miss Linde,” he said softly. “Might I request the pleasure of your company for tea tomorrow? Hyde Park has a particularly fine selection this season.”
“I’m afraid I must decline, Your Grace.” Her voice was cool and professional. “My schedule is quite full, and I have no wish to provide fodder for gossip about Mayfair Mavericks and their… companions.”
“My interest in you is genuine, Elisha.”
Her eyebrow arched. “I didn’t give you permission to use my Christian name, Your Grace. I find your claim to be most insincere and can’t help wonder how Lady Stanton feels…”
“Lady Stanton is a friend, nothing more.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I suspect it would interest you to know Wordsworth has agreed to attend a gathering at theMetropolitan Review.”
She stilled. “Wordsworth?”
“He has expressed curiosity about your charitable works. A more comfortable arena for him than politics, I should think.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And this gathering would take place…?”
“After our tea tomorrow.” His lips curved. “Unless you are still too busy?”
She hesitated, clearly weighing professional opportunity against personal risk. The man was insufferable—using her professional interests to manipulate her into a social engagement. And yet, Wordsworth…
“Three o’clock,” she finally said. “Don’t be late, Your Grace.”
