Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97740 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Is that because of my grievance with Papa or my encounter with the Duke? ‘I am feeling stifled, Mama,’ I admit, looking back at the house. Trapped. Helpless. Unfulfilled. I know there is little my mother can do about this. But still, she comes to me, taking my arm and leading me down the steps. ‘I have something that will cheer you up.’
‘What is that?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘I found it on my walk back from the royal park last week,’ Mother says as she pushes the door open, revealing a cavern full of…
‘My God,’ I breathe, wandering in, my mouth agape, my eyes high and low trying to take in the sheer amount of books before me. ‘There must be every book ever written.’ I turn on the spot, awed by the sight.
‘Not quite every book.’
My eyes drop, and I find a man behind the wooden counter with piles of books stacked around him – on the floor, the counter, even in the window. ‘This is wonderful.’
‘Thank you.’ He nods his head, looking over his spectacles at me. ‘Romance?’
I smile, enchanted, starting an unhurried wander, dragging my gloved fingers across the spines as I go, relishing the light thrum. ‘I like anything about travel or exploration, sometimes history too.’
‘Then you must venture to the very back of the store, dear.’
‘Thank you, Mr…’
‘Fuddy,’ he replies, going back to stamping the books on the counter. ‘I shall be here if you find you should require some assistance.’ He points to the opposite side of the store. ‘You’ll find all of the works of Austen on that shelf.’ He peeks up at Clara, who rolls her eyes but does not refute Mr Fuddy’s conclusion, going to the shelf and pulling out a book.
Mother gives me a nod, joining Clara, and I venture further into the store – or more through a tunnel of books – the smell simply magnificent.
When I have ventured as far as I can possibly go, I find the entire back of the shop, floor to ceiling, a wall of books, not one tiny piece of the plaster beyond exposed. Holy hell, where do I even begin? I inhale the smell once again. ‘Imagine if I could live here,’ I whisper to myself.
‘Just imagine.’
I gasp and whirl round, my poor heart shocked into a gallop. ‘Good heavens,’ I blurt, coming alarmingly close to a man’s chest. I quickly take a step back and look up to his face, despite being quite sure of who is before me. I have the exact same crazy trembles happening all over my body. I make it to his green eyes, his handsome face, his unconventional messy hair, and breathe back my awe as he rather unapologetically takes a long, leisurely look up and down my body, which feels utterly naked under his burning gaze. I have to move back to win some breathing space, but I do not find it because he quickly closes the gap I have made. One more step, and another, until my back is pressed up against the bookcase. He moves with me, watching me, the semblance of a knowing smirk tickling his lovely lips. He is very aware that my chest is not pumping because I am scared. ‘Your Grace, what are you doing?’ I whisper raggedly.
He reaches past me, his eyes stuck to mine, his face coming so close I can smell him. The rush of something unrecognisable overcomes me, but while it may be unfamiliar, this feeling, I know, is unquestionably forbidden. I swallow, silently demanding my body to wake up and move, and yet it refuses to hear me. Probably because it is all too fond of these thrilling sensations pitter-pattering all over me. And still, he stares down at me, almost in challenge, as if he is waiting for me to break and beg him for space.
I will not. I refuse.
‘Won’t you speak?’ I ask quietly.
His eyes fall to my lips, and I hold my breath, his mouth coming closer to mine, his eyes jumping across my face, his expression somewhat curious. My God, is he about to kiss me? Stop it, Eliza! ‘Your Grace,’ I whisper.
‘Miss Melrose,’ he says softly in return, and I gulp, feeling like his lips could be magnets, pulling me in. I feel his breath. The heat. My heart races faster. And when I am sure his mouth is just a hair’s breadth away, he jerks, frowns, and pulls back. ‘You want me to speak? And what would you have me say?’ His voice is velvet and all things illicit. My God, how many sweet promises has he whispered into the ears of ladies far and wide. I can hardly breathe.
‘I would have you apologise for crowding me.’
He steps back, a book in his hand. ‘I apologise for crowding you.’
I look away from him and clear my throat, brushing down my perfect dress. ‘You hardly sound sorry.’