Page 50 of Playing the Scoundrel

Chapter Twenty-Two

Henry could not believe what he was seeing. On Grosvenor Street, one of the most respectable and fashionable addresses in all of London, he was looking at a woman’s bare feet. And not just any woman’s, but Miss Emma Follett’s herself. Henry was certain this was something he should turn away from as any respectable gentleman would, but as his respectability had recently been called into question, he allowed himself a moment to linger at the adorable scene.

It had become a sunny day, so Miss Follett had undoubtedly opened the curtains in the library, which happened to be the room facing the street by the front door of the townhouse. Then she’d decided to lounge in the armchair, legs resting across the arms as she read a book, bare ankles showing for the world to see. Fortunately, only someone intent on that house specifically would be close enough to observe. She must not have noticed him in the window on his way to pay them a visit, else she surely would have covered the shocking display and made herself presentable. But it would be quite amusing to see how she reacted when he mentioned it.

Knocking on the door, Humphrey allowed him in, then asked him to wait in the foyer. The butler disappeared into the library, and Henry stifled a laugh when he heard a sudden shuffle, then waited a long moment before the butler returned.

“Mrs. Dunn is resting, but I can show you in to see Miss Follett, sir.”

“Very good, thank you.”

When the library door was opened wider, Henry entered to find Miss Follett standing stiff by her seat, stockings and shoes properly donned, but the book was missing from sight.

He bowed as he ought, and she gave him a curtsy.

“Mr. Godwin. What an unexpected surprise.”

Henry stifled a chuckle. “Indeed. Though not unwelcome, I hope?”

“Never unwelcome. Please have a seat.”

He sat on the couch across from her, allowing himself a moment to take in the scene before him. The room was small, matching the size of the townhouse––Mrs. Dunn was not an overly glamorous woman. But if it had ever been a gentleman’s library, she had surely seen to the remodeling of it. The floral couch matched the pale green color of the walls, the white trimming and gold accents softening the dark wood of the surrounding bookshelves. Marble busts and vases holding bouquets of flowers gave the room a certain charm, adding to the inviting atmosphere. It was not dark and dusty, tainted with tobacco smoke like his father’s study. The open windows allowed the rare sunlight to shine through, making the library a haven for quiet and reading, and with Miss Follett sitting comfortably there, he couldn’t imagine her anywhere else. She looked completely at home, only adding to her endearments.

“To what do we owe the pleasure?” she asked lightly.

“Only to invite you and Mrs. Dunn to join me for a stroll through a new museum exhibit. This one is full of ancient Egyptian artifacts.”

“I’m sure she would love to accept, but I’m afraid Mrs. Dunn has retired, saying she needed to rest her old bones.” Miss Follett chuckled. “I can pass on your message, or you’re welcome to wait.”

“I have no other engagements,” Henry said, leaning back into his seat. “Though I would not want to disturb your reading.”

“I’m not reading.” She said the words too quickly, and seemed to notice it, pressing her lips together.

“Not reading… in a library?” Henry quirked one eyebrow.

Miss Follett smiled, looking to the ground.

“In fact, I caught a glimpse of you reading through the front window there.”

Her head shot up, dark eyes glaring at the guilty windows. “You didn’t.”

“Don’t fret. I didn’t see anything untoward. Just a comfortable young lady casually reading, though I didn’t quite catch the title.”

She gave him a wry smile before rolling her eyes. “I suppose there’s no harm in you knowing, for you already know the worst of me.”

She turned and from behind a carefully placed pillow, she revealed an old book bound in blue with worn edges.

“Knowing that you are a lover of reading? I could have guessed that about you from that day at the museum.” Henry stood and held out his hand for the book.

Miss Follett sighed, plopping it into his grasp. “Not just a lover of reading. One might call me a bluestocking.”

“You say that with such disdain.” Henry examined the book, something written by a Frenchman entitledCatalogue of Nebulae and Clusters of Stars.What in heaven’s name was she reading?

“My father led me to believe that my affinity for history and science might dampen my chances at finding a respectable match, and urged me to keep it secret. Along with all my other secrets.” She shook her head. “Do you see why this season might have been an impossibility?”

Henry wanted to ensure her that she had countless admirable traits and was plenty desirable on the marriage market, but when he started flipping through the book’s pages, it made him slowly sit into the armchair next to hers. “Whatisthis? It’s completely beyond my ken.”

A charming smile curled her lips as she chuckled. “It’s a collection of star clusters. Some are comets, others are just stars clustered together. Many of them stem from the constellations studied by ancient civilizations.”

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