Suddenly You(20)

“Why and how did Mr. Devlin become a publisher?” she asked. “He’s not at all like the other publishers I am acquainted with. That is to say, he doesn’t seem like a bookish sort.”

A strange hesitation followed, and Amanda saw from Fretwell’s expression that there was some interesting and private story to tell, related to Devlin’s mysterious past. “Perhaps you should ask Mr. Devlin the ‘why and how’ of it,” Fretwell finally said. “But I can tell you this: he has a deep love of reading, and the greatest respect for the written word. And he possesses a great ability to discern a writer’s particular strengths and encourage his or her highest potential for success.”

“In other words, he pushes them to make a profit,” Amanda said dryly.

Fretwell’s smile contained a hint of teasing. “Surely you have no objections to making a profit, Miss Briars.”

“Only when art is sacrificed for the sake of commerce, Mr. Fretwell.”

“Oh, I think you will find that Mr. Devlin has the greatest respect for liberty of expression,” he said hastily.

They proceeded to the back of the building and ascended a set of stairs illuminated by a succession of skylights. The interior of Devlin’s seemed to resemble the exterior in that it was serviceable but attractive, with good-quality fittings. The various rooms they passed were heated with either fireplaces or flues, the chimneypieces all made from veined marble, the floors covered with thick carpets. Being sensitive to atmosphere, Amanda noticed that there was a general air of cheerful industry among the employees in the bindery and printing room.

Fretwell paused before a particularly fine paneled door and arched his brows inquiringly. “Miss Briars, would you like to view our rare-book collection?”

Amanda nodded and accompanied him inside. The door opened to reveal a room with walls consisting mostly of inset mahogany bookcases covered by leaded glass doors. Intricate plasterwork adorned the ceiling in a flowered medallion style that matched the thick Aubusson carpet on the floor.

“Are all of these books for sale?” Amanda asked in a hushed voice, feeling as if she had entered a king’s treasure room.

Fretwell nodded. “You’ll find everything from antiques to zoology. We have a wide selection of antique maps and celestial charts, original folios and manuscripts…” He gestured around them, as if the extensive rows of books were self-explanatory.

“I would love to lock myself in here for a week,” she said impulsively.

Fretwell laughed and guided her from the room. They ascended one more floor to reach a suite of office rooms. Before Amanda had the opportunity to dwell on the sudden flurry of her nerves, Fretwell opened a mahogany door and gently urged her past the threshold. Impressions rushed at her…the massive desk, the large marble fireplace and leather chairs beside it, the elegant masculine ambiance and rich brown-striped paper on the walls. Sunlight streamed through a row of narrow, tall windows. It smelled like leather and vellum in this room, tinged with the faint earthy perfume of tobacco.

“At last,” came a familiar deep voice, subtly shaded with laughter, and Amanda realized that Devlin was amused by the fact that she had come to see him after all. But she’d had no choice, had she?

Devlin bowed with a mocking, ceremonial flourish, and he flashed a grin as his blue gaze raked over her. “My dear Miss Briars,” he said in a way that somehow robbed his words of all sincerity, “never have I passed such a long morning, anticipating your arrival. I could barely restrain myself from waiting out on the street for you.”

She scowled at him. “I wish to conduct our business with all possible haste so that I may be on my way.”

Devlin grinned as if she had said something clever rather than cutting. “Come sit near the fire,” he coaxed.

The generous blaze behind the gilded iron screen did look inviting. After removing her hat and cloak and placing them in Oscar Fretwell’s waiting arms, Amanda seated herself in a leather chair.

“Would you take some refreshments with me?” Devlin asked, all solicitous charm. “I usually have coffee at this hour.”

“I prefer tea,” she said shortly.

Devlin glanced at Fretwell with dancing blue eyes. “Tea and a plate of sugar-biscuits,” he informed the manager, who promptly disappeared and left them alone.

Amanda glanced discreetly at her companion, and felt her palms grow damp inside her leather gloves. It was indecent for a man to be so strikingly handsome, his blue eyes even more exotic than she had remembered, his black hair cut so that only a hint of a wave showed in the thick locks. It seemed odd that such a large, obviously robust man should be so fond of books. He did not look like the scholarly kind, nor did he seem to belong in the confines of an office room, even one as large as this.

“You have an impressive establishment, Mr. Devlin,” she said. “No doubt everyone tells you so.”

“Thank you. But the place is nothing close to what it is going to be. I’ve only just begun.” Devlin sat beside her and stretched his long legs before him, studying the tips of his polished black shoes. He was as well tailored as on the previous evening, wearing a simple but fashionable coat with straight-cut front edges, and trousers in matching gray wool.

“And where will all of this lead?” she asked, wondering what more he could want.

“This year I’m going to open a half-dozen stores across the country. In two years I’ll triple that number. I’m going to acquire every newspaper worth owning, and several more magazines while I’m at it.”