“Thank you.” Their gazes caught and held, and it seemed the electricity he felt also swirled between them, indicating she felt it too. At length she said, “I wondered if you might tell me how you came to inherit the bookshop.”
He knew the more time he spent with her, the more she would want to know about him. He felt the same way about her, except she was rather open about herself, her past, her feelings. Whereas he was purposefully mysterious. For her protection.
Or for yours?
Rafe shrugged the thought away. “When I was young, I liked to spend time there. Mr. Fletcher was the owner, and he allowed me to read as if he operated a library.” A smile crept over his mouth unbidden. “He was a good man.”
“Where did you live?”
“In Cheapside.” He shifted uncomfortably because that wasn’t true. At least not back then. “Perhaps I’ll show you where later, if we have time.”
She turned toward him, and though he couldn’t see her face clearly through the veil, he could sense her enthusiasm. “Really? That would be wonderful. I’d love to see it.”
He returned to what she’d asked originally. “Mr. Fletcher left me his shop when he died, as well as a fund.”
“And that’s how you started to accumulate your wealth?” She briefly touched his thigh. “I apologize for my curiosity. Knowing you had nothing and elevated yourself to where you are today is astonishing.”
He heard the pride in her voice and couldn’t help but feel a bit of the emotion himself. But the sensation quickly evaporated because the truth was far more sinister than she thought. He’d already accumulated some of his wealth—the start of it, anyway—before Fletcher died. In fact, Fletcher had left him the shop and a modest sum of money in the hope that Rafe would turn his back on his criminal enterprises entirely.
Rafe had wanted to. But wanting something and having the means, both externally and internally to do it, were completely different things. It wasn’t until he’d met Eliza that he’d finally wanted to leave his criminal life behind.
“Your curiosity is understandable,” he said evenly. “Mr. Fletcher’s generosity was paramount to my success. I was fortunate.”
“You deserved that, at least.” Her voice was soft but carried a hint of steel. “I spoke to Anthony and to my godfather. When would you like to have the dinner?”
“Soon, I should think.”
“Thursday?” she asked.
“That would be fine, thank you. I appreciate your help.” Rafe had his own curiosity about how her meeting with his uncle had gone. Had he betrayed anything about what he’d done nearly thirty years ago?
Rafe had gone over and over the conversations they’d had, trying to pick out anything his uncle had said that could incriminate him. There was nothing, of course. Except his anger and disappointment—that had been clear. But that reaction proved nothing. It made sense that a man who’d been an earl for twenty-seven years and would now lose the title and everything that went with it would be upset.
Anne settled back against the seat and in so doing brought herself more closely against him. Her heat pressed into his thigh and his arm. He should move away, but he did not.
“Are you trying to make yourself irresistible?” He immediately cursed himself for flirting with her. “Never mind. Whether that is your objective or not, it’s beyond your control.” At least where he was concerned. He hadn’t wanted a woman the way he wanted her since Eliza. And if that didn’t frighten him, nothing could.
“Are you saying I don’t even have to try?” she asked coyly.
He couldn’t help but laugh. Then he steered the conversation to their upcoming visit with Annie and whether Anne had already finished the book about Greek mythology.
“Of course. I wouldn’t want to disappoint Annie.”
He couldn’t imagine she would ever disappoint anyone.
When they arrived at the bookshop, Rafe gave the cabriolet over to the tiger, who went to park in Warwick Lane. Rafe guided Anne into the shop where she pulled the veil from her face, flipping it up over her bonnet.
“Oh, I’m taking this thing off,” she muttered, removing the hat.
John greeted them warmly.
Anne looked about. “Where is Annie?”
“She’ll be here presently,” John said.
Annie dashed from the back of the shop, looking much tidier than she had on their first meeting. She sent a cautious glance toward Rafe before settling her attention on Anne with a smile. “Good afternoon.”
Anne gave her a broad smile. “Good afternoon, Annie. I’m so pleased to see you again. How have you settled in here?”
“Quite well, thank you.”
“Wonderful.” Anne held out the wrapped pillow. “I brought you this for your room.”
Her eyes lighting, Annie’s mouth formed a small O as she accepted the package. “Thank you.”
“Go on, open it,” Anne encouraged with a smile.
Annie carefully tore the paper away and exposed the small ivory pillow. Colorful embroidered books of varying sizes marched along the edges. “It’s so beautiful.” She lifted her gaze to Anne’s. “I’ve never owned anything so lovely.”
“Well, you do now,” Anne said matter-of-factly. “Did you read the book so we may discuss it?”
Annie blinked as if she was having a hard time, and Rafe knew she must. To be the recipient of so much kindness and generosity after what she was used to was almost unbelievable. “I did. I thought we might go to the back of the shop.”
Anne looked toward Rafe. “Should Mr. Mallory join us?”
A look of distress creased Annie’s features. “Is that your name?”
Rafe exhaled. The child ought to know him as Mr. Bowles, but it was likely she also knew him as Mr. Blackwell if anyone had told her who he used to be. Several of the folks on Paternoster Row had met him as Rafe Blackwell. Indeed, John sometimes had trouble thinking of him as Bowles.
That was the problem with changing your name and not severing ties with everyone who knew you as the previous name. This bookshop was the one constant from when he’d been Blackwell and then Bowles. He’d divested everything as Blackwell over the past few years and replaced them with Mr. Bowles’ interests. Now he was on the verge of changing his identity yet again, but he didn’t need to hide that he’d been Mr. Bowles. Furthermore, that would be impossible since that was how he’d been introduced to Society.
“I am actually Lord Stone,” Rafe said. “Or I shall be, perhaps by the end of the week.” He’d explained the revelation to John when he’d stopped by the shop Saturday afternoon.
Annie’s eyes rounded. “A lord?” She looked to Anne. “Er, I don’t know how to curtsey.”
“I can teach you, if you’d like,” Anne said. “Come, show me to the back, and we’ll have a lesson.”
Nodding shyly, Annie clutched the pillow to her chest and led her toward the rear of the shop. Anne cast a look at Rafe over her shoulder, silently asking if he was coming.
“I’ll be along shortly,” he said before turning to John. “I see she’s wearing the clothes I brought on Saturday.”