Mr Hemming’s smile fell, but then he laughed again. “Very well,” he said, taking time to get his emotions under control. “No doubt Evangeline wishes to bring me up to the mark, so I’ll play this game.”
“Trust me. This is by no means a game.” Mr Ashwood’s voice held a sinister edge, though her publisher was too full of mirth to notice.
“Then tell me how and where you met. Evangeline rarely leaves the house these days and has made no mention of you before.”
“I shall let Miss Dunn explain.” Mr Ashwood gestured to her, and with remarkable poise added, “The next
time you use her given name, I shall grab you by the throat and knock that arrogant smirk off your face.”
Mr Hemming’s eyes narrowed as he struggled to know whether to take the threat seriously.
“I met Mr Ashwood three months ago,” Eva lied. Still, it felt like she had known him a lifetime. “In Vincent and Teale’s book shop in Bedford Street.”
“We share a love of poetry,” Mr Ashwood said, his tone soft and warm as if recalling a treasured memory. “She is, without doubt, the only woman ever to hold my interest. I found myself desperate to deepen our acquaintance.”
Oh, he was so convincing.
So good at this.
“We meet in the park every Wednesday, take a picnic and discuss a particular poem.” Creating a romantic fantasy proved easy when Mr Ashwood was the object of one’s desire. It occurred to her that she would like to stretch out on a blanket in the sunshine and have him read poetry.
Mr Hemming seemed unconvinced. “What was the last poem you discussed?”
Eva smiled, grateful for the recent conversation in the carriage as it would add authenticity to their tale. “We spoke about how the metaphor of a nomad failing to drink from an oasis relates to a man’s fear of commitment.”
Mr Hemming focused his attention on Mr Ashwood. “What’s the poem called?”
“The Journey. Last week we discussed her godfather’s poem, The Wanderer. We share an interest in Norse mythology, too.”
Mr Hemming’s gaze hardened. “And what if I told you Miss Dunn promised to marry me? That we agreed to announce our betrothal.”
“Then I would call you a liar. You’re her publisher, nothing more. She has no interest in pursuing a relationship with you when she is in love with me. Indeed, I have come today to return your advance and to inform you that she has found another publisher.”
Mr Ashwood reached into his pocket and removed a folded note. With a contemptuous glare, he threw it onto Mr Hemming’s disorderly desk.
A muscle in Mr Hemming’s cheek twitched. “You think ten pounds will free Miss Dunn from her contract? She owes me a damn sight more than that.”
“The note is for a hundred pounds. I’m certain that should suffice. I expect your clerk to issue a receipt.”
“A hundred pounds!” Eva gasped. She turned to Mr Ashwood in a state of blind panic. Matters were spiralling out of control. Lord, she could not repay such a huge debt. “I cannot let you part with such an extortionate sum.”
In a move that rocked her to her core—and one she suspected was done to rouse the publisher’s ire—Mr Ashwood cupped her cheek gently and said in his velvet voice, “I would pay a king’s ransom in the hope of making you happy.”
Eva swallowed past the lump in her throat as she gazed into his eyes. He sounded so sincere she struggled to distinguish between fantasy and reality. Heat flooded her body. Three times her stomach flipped as a nervous excitement raced through her veins.
“I cannot accept your charity,” she whispered. “It’s too much.”
It was all too much.
“Nothing is too much where you’re concerned.” He stared at her mouth. “Your publisher needs proof of our commitment. Let us show him the depth of our affection.”
Eva’s heart raced so fast she could barely breathe. Heaven help her. Did Mr Ashwood mean to kiss her? In the office? With her publisher as a witness?
“Give your permission, Eva,” he said, clearly serious in his intention, “for I am not a man who takes liberties at a lady’s expense.”
Eva’s mind whirled. Somehow she managed a weak nod while scrambling to know how to make the kiss look convincing when she lacked experience in that department. But she liked Mr Ashwood, found him appealing on every level. Indeed, she was rather desperate to feel those muscular arms holding her in a warm embrace.
Mr Ashwood took hold of her face between his hot hands. He ran the pad of his thumb over her quivering bottom lip. It wasn’t raging lust she saw in his eyes as he bent his head, it was a tender look that spoke of genuine affection.