Rhyme and Reason by Jo Ann Ferguson Read Free Book Online Page B

was available for sale? I could hardly contain my astonishment when Miriam brought it home.”
    He flushed nearly to the color of the drape behind him. “Miss Talcott, I told you the book would be printed by midsummer.”
    “It’s barely the beginning of June. Spring is still with us.”
    “But you must own my words were true, for it’s before midsummer.”
    “I wish you had informed me before you put the book in the window,” she said, not willing to concede completely.
    He raised his hands in a broad shrug. “How could I do that? If I had sent a note, I was unsure who might intercept it.” Pointing past her, he asked, “But can you deny that it looks lovely there?”
    Emily went to the window. Rings holding a strip of paisley fabric rattled as she put her hands on the half-height railing. In spite of herself, she smiled when she saw the books glittering in the sunshine. Mr. Homsby’s publisher had topped himself with this volume, for the gilt letters gave it an appearance worthy of a marquis.
    She sighed. She had been a blind buzzard to start down this path of lies, but she was as sure today as she had been two years ago that her name on the cover would create questions. It was easier to collect her royalties from Mr. Homsby anonymously and slip them into the household accounts to keep her family from ruin. Yet she was growing tired of her double life.
    “It is a pretty book,” Emily said as she faced Mr. Homsby.
    “I shall tell the publisher that.”
    “I would like to tell him that myself.”
    The quarto lost his cheerful expression as his mustache drooped. “Miss Talcott, you know that is impossible. The publisher hired me to find him materials suitable for publication and to sell them. He wishes to have nothing to do with the authors, for he has no time to deal with their concerns.”
    “But—”
    “Miss Talcott, you have been satisfied with your books, haven’t you?”
    “Yes, but—”
    “And haven’t you been paid on time?”
    “I believe I have you to thank for that.”
    Swelling up with pride so broadly that she was afraid he would pop his waistcoat buttons, he said, “And I thank you for being such a fine author. That is the second shipment of books this week.”
    “You still have not given me a reason why I cannot meet with the publisher. Where can I contact him?”
    As the bell over the door rang merrily, Mr. Homsby looked past her. Sure she heard him sigh with relief as a grin lit his face, Emily turned. Her eyes widened as she met Lord Wentworth’s smile.
    As before, the viscount had adonized himself. His nankeen trousers and deep-green fustian coat covered a ruffled shirt and simple waistcoat. On his ebony hair, that was dulled by Mr. Homeby’s exuberant curtain, was a top hat with a tilted brim. He carried a walking stick in one hand. When she saw a cicisbeo of the brightest yellow tied to it, she was startled by the affectation she had not suspected he would assume. She chided herself, for she knew no more about the viscount than when they first had met a week ago.
    Lord Wentworth came forward, tipping his beaver. “Seeing you here is an unexpected delight, Miss Talcott.”
    “Good morning.” She was not delighted to see him again, for he had been false about the card games he had shared with Papa. He had betwattled her then, but he would not again. Even Mr. Homsby had the decency not to lie outright.
    “My lord,” gushed the bookseller, his smile broadening so far Emily feared it would escape his face, “I have the book you requested waiting.”
    “Very good.” Lord Wentworth turned back to Emily before she could take her leave. “You are a most pleasant sight in this shop, Miss Talcott. I believe your snapping eyes light up even its darkest corners.”
    Papa had been right. So had Miriam. This man deserved being called Demon Wentworth. After spinning tales which, like a goosecap, she had swallowed wholeheartedly, he had the gall to act as if she would be delighted to