How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(49)

He nodded, sliding a hand down her neck, “I wish I didn’t have to go.”

“Me too.” Wrapping her fingers around the warm wool of his coat lapels, she teased, “Perhaps now you’ll stop resisting me.”

“I must.” His demeanor changed, all the heat and desire cooling bit by bit, until his face fell into an expression of pure misery. He drew back, dropping his hand. “I wish circumstances were different, but nothing’s changed.”

“Everything’s changed.”

“When we enter Ruthven’s tomorrow, you’ll still be an owner, and I’ll still be an employee. Your brother looks to me to mentor you, and he’d merrily murder me if he knew I’d laid a finger on you.”

Clary threw up her hands and spun away from him, pacing the narrow stretch of bare wood floor in front of Helen’s desk. “Why are you more concerned with my brother’s opinion than I am?”

“Because Ruthven’s pays my wages,” he barked. “And he’s right to wish to protect you,” he added more gently. “If you had any sense of your own safety, you wouldn’t spend your time in this part of London.” He ducked his head, as if he couldn’t quite face her to say the rest. “And if you had any discernment, you wouldn’t want a man like me to touch you.”

Clary’s throat burned. Her chest, which had been so full and warm and fizzing with bliss, went hollow. “You kiss me, and now you’re trying to make me despise you?”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe.”

He stared at her a moment, keeping all his thoughts and emotions hidden behind the icy surface of his gaze. Then he left her alone.

Don’t cry. She swiped at a tear. Don’t you dare cry.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“Nothing puts an ocean of distance between two people like a secret.”

—JOURNAL OF CLARY RUTHVEN

On Tuesday after the incident at Fisk Academy, Clary stood on the pavement outside Ruthven’s awhile before going inside. The gas lamps suspended above clerks in the workroom blazed through the glass.

She’d come late today, her eagerness to get inside vying with uncertainty about facing Gabriel.

As she stepped inside, she smiled at the buzzing activity of the place. Book stock had been delivered from the bindery and would soon be sorted for distribution to various shops around the city. The scents of Ruthven’s were familiar now—paper, binding glue, ink, and the peppermint sweets Daughtry kept in a bowl atop his desk.

“The wife insisted I bring them in to share,” he’d always say before popping another in his mouth.

Winding its way through them all, Gabriel’s scent set off an unbidden fluttering in her chest. Movement beyond the frosted glass of his office door caught her eye. He was here, and eventually she’d have to face him.

The kiss changed nothing, he’d said. But it had changed her. Now she was more determined than ever to discover the man behind his controlled facade. Whoever he truly was, he was a man she wished to know better.

One of the young clerks greeted her as she stepped toward her desk. “Good morning, Miss Ruthven.”

After smiling at the boy and greeting Daughtry, she scooped up a folder she’d prepared, pressed a hand to her cartwheeling stomach, and strode toward Gabriel’s office. She rapped twice and let herself in without giving him a chance to reply.

“Kit?”

“Clary. Good morning.” Her brother sat behind Gabriel’s desk, consternation crimping his features. “Where the hell is everything? Have you ever seen a desk this tidy in your life?”

Ruthvens weren’t known for their tidiness, except perhaps Sophia.

“He’s extremely organized. What are you looking for?” And why was he behind Gabriel’s desk?

“The report he provided last week.”

Clary pointed to a short wooden cabinet in the corner where Gabriel maintained documents and correspondence by topic, organized alphabetically. He’d shown her the filing system only briefly, giving the impression he did not trust anyone to rifle through its contents.

Kit opened the top drawer and began thumbing through the papers inside. A moment later, he’d retrieved the report and squared the sheet before him on the desk.

“Where is he?”

“Adamson? He’ll be in later,” Kit mumbled, his gaze fixed on the document on the blotter.

“Did he provide a reason?” A kiss he regretted, perhaps. A desire to avoid his mentee.

“Read the message if you like.” He retrieved a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and slid the note toward her.

The contents were as straightforward and devoid of detail as Kit’s explanation. Though Gabriel did at least mention a reason. Absence necessitated by a family matter.

“Odd, isn’t it?” Kit mused. “The man’s never requested a single hour away since Father died.”

Clary stared out the office’s single window and fought the heat flooding her cheeks.

“How’s the mentorship proceeding?” Kit chose precisely the wrong time to fold his hands on the desk and give her his full attention. “Is he teaching you everything you ever wished to know about Ruthven’s?”

Almost. And not nearly enough about himself.

“Do you know why Papa hired him, or when?”