Mr. Winters waved a hand. “It’s quite all right, Miss Jones. How were you to know that I’m a widower? ItisMiss Jones, isn’t it?”
She inclined her head. “Yes. Yes it is.”
“Well then, I’m very pleased to have made your acquaintance. However, while I’ve enjoyed our chat, and I thank you for taking the time to assist me”—he pulled a silver pocket watch from his dark-blue silk waistcoat and consulted it—“I’m afraid I must go now that I have what I came for.” After pocketing the watch, he bowed once more. “Until we meet again.”
Artemis eyed him with suspicion. “What makes you so sure that we will?”
His mouth tilted into a rakish smile that made Artemis’s belly flutter in the most disconcertingandannoying way. “It’s just a feeling I have. Farewell again. I’ll leave you to continue your book browsing in peace.”
In peace? Artemis felt anythingbutpeaceful as she watched Mr. Dominic Winters’s long strides carry him past the rows of shelves and then down the stairs. She felt giddy and flustered as though she’d been spun around, turned inside out and upside down. Not like herself at all.
If she everdidencounter the far-too-charming Dominic Winters again, she most certainly would have to be on her guard. She’d been taken in by a rake once before, and that was one story sheneverwished to repeat.
***
When Dominic reached the bottom of the stairs, Morton stepped forward from the shadows of a towering set of bookcases.
“Would you mind taking care of these?” Dominic handed over his peace offering for Celeste. She hadn’t spoken to him since their altercation late yesterday, and it bothered him more than he could say. “I’m running late for an engagement at White’s. Just begin an account here.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Morton inclined his head. “Is there anything else you require?”
“Yes, actually.” Dominic donned his top hat and lowered his voice. “There’s presently a young woman upstairs. Tallish, slim, attractive, with auburn hair, and I’d place her age somewhere between five-and-twenty and thirty. She claims her name is Miss Artemis Jones, but I’d like to find out more about her background.” He paused. When Miss Jones had given her direction to the hackney driver outside Paddington Station, she’d mentioned some square or other, but he hadn’t quite caught which one because of the rumble of passing traffic and the drumming rain. It seemed he’d have to rely on others for additional information. “I suspect she’s a regular customer here,” he continued, nodding toward the shop attendant. “Make your inquiries discreet though. The last thing I want to do is alarm her.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Excellent.” Dominic pulled on his gloves, then accepted his umbrella from his secretary. “I shall see you anon.”
As he strode out of the bookstore onto Piccadilly, heading in the direction of St. James’s Street, Dominic took a brief moment to ponder why on earth he wanted to know more about Artemis Jones. While she was handsome in a physical sense—both her figure and face were most agreeable to the eye—he’d also found their exchange refreshing. It had been a long time since he’d engaged in such an entertaining bout of banter with a member of the opposite sex.
Indeed, he imagined most society women of marriageable age would eye the Dastardly Duke of Dartmoor with fear, as though he were some sort of vile monster—a sharply fanged suitor perhaps—who’d pounce and cart them off to his lair to commit perverse acts. Then there were the truly avaricious who saw nothing beyond his title and wealth. And then there were a rare few with decidedly odd inclinations, at least to Dominic’s way of thinking—women who seemed to believe it would be thrilling to wed a man whose wife had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. It was as though Dominic’s notoriety and his wife’s tragic history had imbued him with some strange sort of glamour. Those individuals he didn’t understand at all.
While Miss Jones hadn’t known he was a duke, she’d been perceptive enough to suspect he was a member of society’s upper echelons. Yes, Miss Jones was whip smart and that was appealing. However, given her obvious intelligence, her taste in lowbrow Gothic novels on the lurid side was surprising. And if she were a proponent of someone like Mary Wollstonecraft, her views about society could be on the controversial side. She certainly wasn’t the sort of woman he had in mind for a future duchess or a mother for Celeste.
But there’d been a wicked glint in her gaze and a knowing edge to her smile that Dominic found eminently appealing. No, it was more than that. If he were being perfectly honest with himself, the base male in him would admit he found them stimulating. And he was sure that she’d felt the spark of attraction flare between them too. He was…intrigued.
It had been such a long time since he’d had a casual affair or engaged a mistress. He supposed that would explain why Miss Jones had him in such a lather. The question was, would the sharp-witted Miss Artemis Jones with her flashing brown eyes and fiery hair be interested in getting to knowhimbetter? Until Dominic managed to find a suitable wife, he was certainly going to make it his business to find out.