Rhyme and Reason Read Online Free PDF Page B

to where Miriam stood.
    “Lord Wentworth,” Miriam said coolly, “I am surprised to see you here.”
    “Are you?” he asked.
    “He came to return Papa’s hat.” Emily wondered what was wrong with her sister. Miriam’s manners usually offered no cause for complaint.
    “How kind of him!”
    She flinched at her sister’s taut tone. Why was Miriam acting so rag-mannered? Not willing to risk a glance at the viscount, Emily said, “I thought to see you home a while ago, Miriam.”
    “I was delayed because I saw this in the window of Mr. Homsby’s bookshop, and I guessed you would want a copy as soon as possible.”
    Taking the book that was wrapped in plain brown paper, Emily frowned. What book would Miriam guess she wanted with such haste? Mr. Homsby had told her only a few days past that Mr. Cobbett’s book on gardening was not yet ready for publication.
    Through the door, she saw Mrs. Hazlet taking the tea tray up to the sitting room. Thank goodness the housekeeper was keeping her head about her. Emily was glad one of them had during this call.
    “My lord,” she said, “we would be delighted if you would join us for tea.”
    “How could I say no to the company of two lovely ladies?”
    Emily recoiled from his suave tone. It had been missing while they spoke in her garden, and its resurrection was as harsh as the crack of a coachee’s whip.
    Letting her sister lead the way up the stairs, she tried to conceal her disquiet. Lord Wentworth was a chameleon, changing his personality before her eyes. Which was the real man—the debonair, pleasure-seeking lord or the man who had expressed such delight in something as simple as a rose? Was he either man? Or had she not met the real Damon Wentworth yet?
    Her uneasiness increased when the viscount sat next to her on the settee. Miriam’s smile appeared forced as she poured the tea. Handing Lord Wentworth a cup, she held another out to Emily. The wrapped book fell from Emily’s lap as she reached for her cup.
    “Allow me, Miss Talcott,” Lord Wentworth said, retrieving the book from the carpet.
    “Thank you.” She choked back a gasp when his fingers brushed hers as she took the book. It was as if the sun had followed him into the house and settled in his fingertips. Liquid heat spread out from where his skin had grazed hers, pooling over her thudding heart. She hoped he could not hear its wild beat.
    He touched one corner of the package. When she drew back, he frowned. “I only wish to ascertain if the book has been damaged by its fall.”
    “I shall check.” Giving her fingers something to do other than tremble would be wise.
    They were clumsy as she undid the string and the brown paper. Her eyes widened when she saw the gold embossed words on the royal-blue cover. Reflections on a Summer Love The title was repeated in French beneath the author’s name.
    “Oh, my goodness!” she breathed.
    “When I saw it in the bookshop window, I was sure you would want the marquis’s new book,” Miriam said with the return of her usual enthusiasm.
    “Yes,” she murmured as she opened the book to look at the frontispiece. How had this book come to be in the bookstore now ?
    Lord Wentworth tilted the book to look at the spine. “This is what you were anxious to read? The latest volume of poetry by Marquis de la Cour? I would have guessed a woman of your temperament would find this drivel, Miss Talcott.”
    “Why? The marquis is lauded as a favorite poet among the ton, ” she answered in a stiff voice. Remain calm , she warned herself when Miriam’s eyes widened with shock at her unmannerly retort. Neither Miriam nor Lord Wentworth must guess why she found his words insulting.
    No one must know the actual author of the poems published in this book. If anyone suspected the truth—that Emily Talcott struggled to write each one behind the locked door of her bedchamber—the scandal would give the élite something to prattle about for weeks. Miriam’s reputation would