Suddenly You(21)

It was hardly lost on Amanda that such a position would be accompanied by considerable social and political power. She stared at the hard-faced young man before her with a touch of wonder. “You are quite ambitious,” she commented.

He smiled slightly. “Aren’t you?”

“No, not at all.” She paused to consider the issue carefully. “I have no aspirations for great wealth or influence. I wish merely to be secure and comfortable, and perhaps someday to achieve a certain level of proficiency in my work.”

His black brows rose a fraction. “You don’t believe that you’re proficient now?”

“Not yet. I find many faults in my own work.”

“I find none,” he said softly.

Amanda couldn’t prevent the wash of color that spread upward from her throat as she was captured by his steady regard. Taking a deep breath, she struggled to keep her wits from dissolving. “Flatter me all you like, Mr. Devlin,” she said. “It will not soften me in the least. I have but one purpose for visiting you today—and that is to inform you that I will never accede to your plan of publishing An Unfinished Lady.”

“Before you refuse me absolutely,” he suggested gently, “why don’t you hear me out? I have an offer that you might find interesting.”

“Very well.”

“I want to publish An Unfinished Lady first as a serial novel.”

“A serial novel,” Amanda repeated in disbelief. She felt insulted by the idea, as serial novels were universally considered of far less quality and importance than the standard three-volume novel. “You can’t possibly mean to bring it out in paper-jacket monthly installments like one of your magazines!”

“And then after the last installment has been published,” Devlin continued evenly, “I’ll bring it out again, this time as a three-decker, with cloth binding, full-page illustrations, woodcuts, and gilt edging.”

“Why not simply publish it that way in the beginning? I am not a serial-novel writer, Mr. Devlin, nor have I ever aspired to be.”

“Yes, I know.” Although Devlin appeared relaxed, he leaned forward in his chair and stared at her with blue eyes that gleamed with heat and energy. “One can hardly fault you for that attitude. Very few of the serial novels I’ve ever read have been of high enough quality to capture the public’s interest. And there’s a particular style that’s required…each installment has to be self-contained, with a suspenseful conclusion that makes the readers look forward to the next month’s issue. Not an easy task for a writer.”

“I cannot see that An Unfinished Lady fits that description in any way,” Amanda said, frowning.

“But it does. It could easily be divided into thirty-page installments, with sufficient dramatic high points to make each issue entertaining. With relatively little work, you and I could tailor it to suit the structure of a serial novel.”

“Mr. Devlin,” Amanda said briskly, “in addition to my complete lack of interest in being known as the author of a serial book, I am hardly enthralled by the prospect of taking you on as my editor. I am also unwilling to waste my time revising a novel for which I have been paid a paltry ten pounds.”

“Of course.” Before Devlin could continue, Mr. Fretwell entered the room bearing a silver tea tray.

After setting the tray on a small table beside Amanda’s chair, Fretwell poured tea in a Sevres china cup, and indicated a plate laden with six perfect little biscuits. Flakes of crushed sugar glittered invitingly on the surface of each biscuit. “Do try one, Miss Briars,” he urged.

“Thank you, but no,” Amanda said regretfully, smiling after him as he bowed and left the room once more. She removed her gloves deftly and set them on the edge of her chair. She stirred milk and sugar into her tea and sipped it carefully. The tea was a smooth, rich blend, and she thought of how nicely a biscuit would accompany it. However, with a sluggish constitution like hers, one extra bonbon or tart seemed to make all her clothes fit more tightly the next day. The only way to keep her waist relatively trim was to avoid sweets and take frequent brisk walks.

Maddeningly, the man beside her seemed to read her thoughts. “Have a biscuit,” he said lazily. “If you’re worried about your figure, let me assure you it is splendid in every regard. I, of all people, should know.”

Amanda was flooded with embarrassment and annoyance. “I wondered how long it would be before you introduced the distasteful subject of that night!” Reaching for a biscuit, she crunched into the sweet confection and glared at him.

Devlin grinned and braced his elbows on his knees, staring at her intently. “Surely not distasteful.”

She chewed the biscuit vigorously and nearly choked on a swallow of hot tea. “Yes, it was! I was deceived and molested, and I would love nothing better than to forget the whole thing.”

“Oh, I won’t let you forget it,” he assured her. “But as to your being molested…it’s not as if I jumped at you from the shadows. You encouraged me nearly every step of the way.”

“You were not the man I thought you were! And I intend to find out exactly why that scheming Mrs. Bradshaw sent you instead of the man she should have sent. Right after I leave this establishment, I am going straight to Mrs. Bradshaw to demand an explanation.”

“Let me do it.” Although his tone was casual, it was clear that he was leaving no room for debate. “I’ve planned to visit her today as well. There’s no reason for you to risk your reputation by being seen at her establishment. In any event, she’ll explain more to me than she ever would to you.”