Once Upon a Maiden Lane (Maiden Lane #12.5)

Once Upon a Maiden Lane (Maiden Lane #12.5)

Elizabeth Hoyt



Chapter One



Once upon a time there lived a mermaid who was very curious. Her name was Clio.…

—From The Curious Mermaid



September 1747

London, England

Mary Whitsun did not like comely gentlemen. She knew it to be an un-Christian prejudice, but there it was nonetheless: she disapproved of and distrusted them. In her experience—not very extensive, it must be admitted, because she was not quite one and twenty—comely gentlemen tended to be aware of exactly how handsome they were. They were affected and flirtatious when a girl just wanted to mind her own business, and they had a tendency to become irate if she did not respond to their ridiculous overtures.

And that was just common handsome gentlemen. An aristocratic handsome gentleman was far worse should he take it into his head to cast his supposed charms upon a woman such as she.

Aristocrats were not used to hearing the word no—especially from maidservants.

Thus it was with no small amount of vexation that Mary realized that an excruciatingly attractive aristocrat was watching her in her favorite bookstore.

Bugger it all.

It was her one full day off for the week, and she had planned to spend several lovely hours perusing the volumes for sale at Adams and Sons before a frugal luncheon at the nearby tea shop. She’d been saving for weeks just for this day, and she’d really rather not have it ruined by some spoiled rake.

Mary moved behind a shelf, hoping that out of sight might mean out of mind for the fellow. She took down The History of Herodotus and pretended to scan the little book while keeping an eye on the shop door. Perhaps he’d leave the bookshop and then she could continue with— “Sweetheart, whatever are you about?”

The male voice was soft and deep and murmured in her ear from right behind her.

It was only by the greatest use of self-control that Mary didn’t shriek and fling poor Herodotus up in the air.

Slowly she turned and leveled her very best nursery stare at the beautiful aristocrat. It was a stare that made small children immediately put away their toys and ready themselves for bed, but alas, it appeared to be ineffective on males over the age of two.

The one in front of her was at least eight and twenty, and he merely grinned down at her and said, “Is it a wager of some sort?”

When he smiled the comely aristocrat did the impossible and became even more attractive. He already had deep-blue eyes—set off wonderfully by a dark-blue coat, black waistcoat, and snowy white neckcloth—curling jet-black hair clubbed back into a tail, a strong jaw, and a wide, sensual mouth, but when the man smiled, he revealed white, even teeth and dimples on either side of his mouth.

Typical.

Mary placed Herodotus firmly back on the shelf and turned toward the shop door.

“Wait!”

There was no reason for her to stop and look at him at his command, and yet something compelled her to do just that.

The handsome aristocrat wasn’t grinning anymore. In fact, he looked a bit puzzled.

No doubt he wasn’t used to maidservants walking away from him.

“This is a very odd sort of game,” he said.

“I don’t consider it a game at all, sir,” she replied. “Good day.”

“No, but wait,” he protested again, this time laying his hand on her arm.

Mary stiffened. “Unhand me, sir.”

“If I’d known you liked books, I would’ve escorted you here myself,” he said slowly, searching her face in the oddest manner. His gaze dropped to her gray linsey-woolsey gown and neat white apron. “Although I’m not sure why you’ve chosen that costume. Rather plain, isn’t it?”

Mary frowned up at him. It was early in the day to be intoxicated, but one never knew with beautiful male aristocrats. They tended to be an undisciplined lot. “I’ll thank you not to make comment on my person, and I certainly don’t need you or anyone else to escort me to the bookshop, sir. Now let me go.”

But instead of doing as she asked, he grasped her other arm and turned her so that she faced him. He bent his head, peering at her, black brows drawn together over his startling blue eyes. “Lady Joanna?”

“That is quite enough,” Mary said in a firm tone. “You’ve had your amusement at my expense, sir, but now the jest has grown old. Let me go or I shall be forced to notify my employer. He is—”

“You’re not Lady Joanna,” he interrupted her, having apparently not paid attention to a word she’d said.

“I’m sorry to ask this, but were you dropped on your head as a child?” Mary inquired sweetly. “Because that would certainly explain the inability to follow a simple conversation.”

He grinned. “No, you’re not Lady Joanna at all, are you, sweetheart? You’re much too fiery.”

“I,” Mary enunciated with deep disapproval, “am not your sweetheart.”

“Actually, that remains to be seen,” he muttered under his breath, which did not in any way calm Mary’s alarm. “What’s your name?”

She stared at him, mutely. Perhaps she could wait him out.

“Stubborn,” he said, possibly to himself, since he obviously wasn’t talking to her. “Very stubborn, but the eyes more than make up for it. And the wit. Good Lord, this is amazing…”