James Fordyce was under a spell. It was as though some enchantress had stepped into Madame Ella’s dress shop and cast a glittering web of light over him. The moment he accidentally pulled back the dressing room curtain and saw her, it was as though no other woman had ever existed before or after in his mind. He was an admitted rogue who’d done things that would make his father blush were the man still alive, yet this woman had made him feel like a lad of seventeen, giddy and gawkish as he gazed at her like a moon-eyed calf.

He’d lost all rational thought when he glimpsed her bare shoulders and back. Pale creamy skin was exposed by the open gown from her neck down to just above a delightfully rounded derrière. He’d had to restrain his baser instincts to grip her hips and pull her back against him.

Once he’d caught sight of those soft gray eyes, he was lost. They were as pale as morning mist covering a field of bluebells. When he gazed deep into her eyes, he had the strangest feeling he was floating somewhere in the clouds, that time seemed to suspend itself and he didn’t need to think or breathe outside this single moment. No one had ever made him feel that way before. Something about this woman filled him with a wild compulsion to strip her of her clothes and possess her right there in the modiste’s shop. How was this possible?

At the last moment, he dimly recalled that he was a gentleman, and seeing her in such a way could ruin the lovely gentle-bred lady.

Gillian Beaumont.

A lovely name for a lovely woman. Her face was not what most men might consider that of a typical beauty, but there was something honest and enchanting about her eyes and the openness of her expression. So many women of the ton hid their true selves, but not Miss Beaumont. And he’d had the good fortune to have Letty with him to convince the lady to accompany them to Gunter’s. If he could claim only a few hours with this woman, he would. As he escorted his sister and Miss Beaumont out of the shop, he wanted to skip about like a young lad.

“Let me carry those.” He collected the clothing boxes from Miss Beaumont’s arms and escorted her to her coach. It gave him a chance to admire the sway of her hips and the flutter of her lavender skirts as she walked away to inform her driver to wait for her at Gunter’s Tea Shop.

“I hope you’re bringing home that dark-purple gown, the one I saw you trying on.” James teased, and he hoped it wouldn’t make her hop in her coach and flee.

“I…” She blushed prettily, and he couldn’t help but dream about where else she might blush once he had her beneath him in a bed. The thought made his body rigid with need, but he buried it, which took a lot of effort.

“Well, did you?” He grinned at her as he handed the boxes to the coach driver who secured them in trunks at the back.

She nodded. “It was already fitted. I just had to be sure.” Her reply was so methodical he wanted to laugh. She didn’t sound like any lady he’d ever met. Most of them wouldn’t think about gowns so practically. They would instead gush over the cut of the décolletage or the embroidery on the hem.

“I’m glad it did. I hope to see you wearing it soon. Such a lovely gown will draw the attention of every man in a ballroom.”

Her head ducked, and those lovely cheeks stayed bright red. “I suppose it will.”

Something about her tone seemed wistful. He cocked his head to one side. Surely she would wear the gown and not let it sit idle in a wardrobe. That would be a travesty.

Once they had returned to his conveyance, he opened the carriage door for the ladies. As he bent his head to pull himself into the coach, he saw Letty making a show of piling her dress boxes next to her, her voice almost trilling as she discussed how much she liked her recent purchases.

James hid a grin at the perceptiveness and playfulness of his sister in realizing he would wish to sit next to Miss Beaumont. He would have to find a way to thank her later, because at the moment he had to take the only available seat—next to his new acquaintance, who spared him a glance of surprise before moving to the far side of the bench. James sat down, flashing a smile in her direction as he allowed his left knee to fall ever so slightly towards her, bumping her lightly. It was impossible not to relish the color in her cheeks. The lady had great restraint and did not pull away from him.

When they entered the bookshop, he was greeted with the pleasant musty smell of old paper and leather. Afternoon peeped through the curtains at the front of the shop, making the spines with gilded lettering gleam and wink. He’d always adored reading, and his own library at his country estate was extensive. He glanced toward Miss Beaumont, and she was staring about at the shop with the same hunger and appreciation for literature he felt. She seemed to sense his focus, and her eyes darted to his.

“A lover of books?” he asked softly.

“Yes, most definitely. How about you, Lord Pembroke?” she replied, her eyes finally settling on him.

“Most definitely,” he echoed. “Books feed the dreams and minds of men and women alike. A person who doesn’t love books isn’t a person worth knowing.”

“I quite agree. If you don’t read, you often have so little of worth to say in conversation,” she added.

“Well,” Letty said with a chuckle. “I see you two will be fine if I leave you for a few minutes. The shopkeeper must help me find the book I’m looking for.” She made herself scarce in a distant part of the store where she could not be seen. James wanted to crow in triumph. His sister was most certainly playing matchmaker, and he couldn’t have been more delighted. She’d chased off more than one lady who’d attempted to catch his eye, but she seemed to like Miss Beaumont.

James escorted Miss Beaumont farther into the bookshop. “Where may I escort you? Perhaps the latest in sciences, or the philosophy section, or the newest novels?”

“The novels, if you please.” Her blue-gray eyes held a faint twinkle that gave him hope he might yet win her with his teasing.

“Novels? This way.” He took her through a few more crowded aisles, not having the faintest clue where to find the novels, but he did his best to look about purposefully, until she started to giggle.

“Do you even know where the novels are?” She covered her mouth with a gloved hand to hide her smile.

“Er… Not in this particular shop…” He stopped and then glanced around. “Aha!” He pointed to a gilded sign that hung above the nearest shelf. It read, “Novels.”

“You were lucky,” Miss Beaumont said, giggling.

“Ahem.” He straightened his shoulders. “What sort of novels are you searching for, Miss Beaumont?”

His teasing tone was rewarded by a smile that curved her lips as she studied the shelves of books around them. “I’m afraid you will judge me harshly if I admit it.”

“Nonsense. I would never judge a lady, especially a beguiling one.” Was that a coquettish tilt to her head as she flicked a gaze his way? James pressed on, crossing his index finger over his heart in a childlike way.

She laughed, though her eyes glanced away from his before raising to meet them again. “Very well.” She lifted her chin. “I rather enjoy gothic novels. L. R. Gloucester has a new book out. Lady Gloria and the Earnest Earl.”

Castles, supernatural forces, and dire stakes were something that delighted her? James couldn’t fault her for that; he had a fondness for such things as well.

“I’ve read one or two of those. Most amusing, if I do say so. Towers and storms and passionate affairs. It’s exciting, isn’t it?” He trailed a fingertip along the shelf nearest him, tapping the spine of each book as he walked.

“It is,” Miss Beaumont admitted. “What do you enjoy reading, Lord Pembroke?”

“Well…” He paused to think as they both studied the titles stacked neatly on the shelves. “I like a bit of everything. It’s good to be well versed in many things, but I suppose I like a bit of poetry most, aside from novels.”

“Poetry?” Miss Beaumont’s blue-gray eyes grew wide. “Most gentlemen of my acquaintance have no patience for poetry.”

“A pity for them. Poetry is a window to a person’s soul. With just a few words, a great writer can move mountains. I read it when I need to find a place of strength.” He realized he was revealing far more of himself to this woman than he had intended to.

“And who do you read that gives you strength?” she asked.

“John Donne. A bit old-fashioned, I know, but there’s something about him…”

Miss Beaumont lingered close to the shelf, her eyes drifting as she recalled a passage by Donne.

Let maps to others, worlds on worlds have shown,

Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one.

His shock was momentary as he recognized Donne’s “The Good-Morrow,” and he couldn’t help but reply.

If our two loves be one, or thou and I

Love so alike that none do slacken, none can die.

She shivered, and he felt it too, a wildness that skittered beneath his skin until it created a lingering sense of chills along his arms and the back of his neck. How alike they were, and how strange he had never met her before now. How was it possible? He’d met nearly every woman in London of marriageable age, from debutantes to aging spinsters. But he had never once glimpsed this beauty from across a ballroom.

“Sometimes it is nice to escape one’s daily life, don’t you agree?” Miss Beaumont asked.

Escape her daily life? James couldn’t help but wonder what about her daily life was poor enough that she longed for escape. Then again, he’d heard Letty often complain about what little women had to do during a day. Shopping, riding, paying calls, the dreaded embroidery hoop… Perhaps Miss Beaumont found it tedious as well. His esteem grew for this quiet, intelligent beauty.

“Er… Yes. I feel that way too.” It was true enough. Sometimes he wished he was happily married and settled down, but his duties to his title and his estate rarely let him have a moment for himself. One of his few indulgences was belonging to a rather elite underground gathering known as the Wicked Earls’ Club. Aside from his time spent at the club, he did his best to behave himself.

“Ah.” Gillian paused in front of him and used a gloved fingertip to pull a book out of its shelf and examine the title page. “Found it.”

James plucked the book from her hands, delighting in her little gasp as she tried to take it back.

“Oh please, give it back!” She lunged for it, and he danced out of reach. When she gave up, he grinned and skimmed through the first few pages.

“Well, this chap doesn’t waste any time. Listen to this.” He chose a passage, speaking in a deep baritone, pretending to be the hero. “Lady Gloria lay prostrate on the bed, listening to the sounds of rain on the gables and dreading the moment her captor, the Earl of Blackacre, would come. When he’d kissed her in the corridor only one hour before, their passionate embrace had promised dark, delicious things, and she’d been unable to resist him…” James trailed off, his words ending in a silken whisper.

Miss Beaumont had stopped trying to reach for the book, their bodies mere inches apart, her face tilted up to his. An energy rippled through him to her in that moment. Her face was a delightful rosy red, and her lips were parted in shock.

“Shall I continue?” he asked, stepping closer. He was damn tempted to steal a kiss, no matter how scandalous it would be.