Suddenly You(27)

“Do you always keep a change of clothes at your place of business, Mr. Devlin?” Amanda asked.

“Oh, yes,” Fretwell said cheerfully before Devlin could reply. “Ink stains, spills, marauding aristocrats…one never knows what to expect. It is best to be prepared.”

“Out, Fretwell,” Devlin said meaningfully, and the manager continued to grin as he complied.

“I like that Mr. Fretwell,” Amanda said, reaching for a rolled bandage when the cut was cleaned.

“Everyone does,” rejoined Devlin dryly.

“How did he come to work for you?” Carefully she wrapped the bandage around his lean midriff.

“I’ve known him since boyhood,” he said, holding the end of the linen strip in place. “We went to school together. When I decided to enter the publishing business, he and a few of our classmates elected to follow me. One of them, Mr. Guy Stubbins, manages my accounts and bookkeeping, and another, Mr. Basil Fry, supervises my business abroad. And Will Orpin manages my bindery.”

“What school did you attend?”

For a long moment there was no reply. His face was completely blank. In fact, Amanda thought he might not have heard her, and she began to repeat the question. “Mr. Devlin—”

“A little place in the middle of the moors,” he said curtly. “You wouldn’t know of it.”

“Then why not tell me—” She tucked the loose end of the bandage neatly in place.

“Hand me my shirt,” he interrupted.

The air nearly vibrated from the force of his annoyance. Shrugging slightly, Amanda abandoned the subject and reached for the neatly folded shirt. She shook it out with a deft snap and unfastened the top button. By sheer habit, she held it up for him as expertly as a seasoned valet, the way she had done so often for her father.

“You seem to be remarkably facile with men’s clothing, Miss Briars,” Devlin commented, buttoning the shirt unaided, concealing the wealth of muscle behind fresh white linen.

Amanda turned away, averting her gaze as he tucked the hem of the shirt into the waist of his trousers. For the first time, she enjoyed the freedom of being a thirty-year-old spinster. This was a distinctly compromising situation that no schoolroom virgin would ever have been allowed to witness. However, she could do as she liked by sheer virtue of her age.

“I took care of my father during the last two year of his life,” she said in response to Devlin’s comment. “He was an invalid, and required assistance with his clothes. I served as valet, cook, and nurse for him, especially toward the end.”

Devlin’s face seemed to change, his annoyance vanishing. “What a capable woman you are,” he said softly, with no trace of irony.

She was suddenly caught by his warm gaze, and she realized somehow that he understood a great deal about her. About how the last precious years of her youth had been sacrificed for duty and love. About the inexorable pull of responsibility…and the fact that she had so rarely gotten to flirt and laugh and be carefree.

His mouth tilted upward at the corners in the promise of a smile, and her response to it was alarming. There was a spark of mischief in him, a sense of irreverent playfulness, that confounded her. All of the men she was acquainted with, especially the successful ones, were so utterly serious. She hardly knew what to make of Jack Devlin.

She floundered for something, anything, to break the intimate silence between them. “What did Mrs. Bradshaw write about Lord Tirwitt that would provoke him so?”

“Knowing the turn of your mind, peaches, I’m not surprised that you asked.” Heading to a nearby bookcase, Devlin scanned the rows of volumes. He extracted a cloth-bound book and gave it to her.

“The Sins of Madam B,” Amanda said, frowning.

“My gift to you,” he said. “You’ll find the misadventures of Lord T in Chapter Six or Seven. You’ll soon discover why he was sufficiently provoked to attempt murder.”

“I can’t take this filthy thing home with me,” Amanda protested, staring down at the elaborate gilded adornment on the cover. All too soon, she made the discovery that when one looked long enough at the arrangement of curlicues, they began to resemble some rather obscene shapes. She scowled up at him. “Why in heaven’s name do you think I would read this?”

“For your research, of course,” he said innocently. “You’re a woman of the world, aren’t you? Besides, this book isn’t filthy by half.” He leaned closer to her, and his velvety murmur caused the back of her neck to tingle excitingly. “Now, if you want to read something really decadent, I could show you some books that would make you blush for a month.”

“No doubt you could,” she returned coolly, while her palms turned wet on the book and a hot shiver went up her spine. She cursed silently. Now she couldn’t return the damned book, or Devlin would see the moist imprint her hands had made on the leather. “I’m certain that Mrs. Bradshaw has done an excellent job of describing her profession. Thank you for the research material.”

Laughter sparkled in the blue depths of his eyes. “It’s the least I can do, after you dispatched Lord Tirwitt so handily.”

She shrugged, as if her actions had been of no importance. “Had I allowed him to murder you, I would never have gotten my five thousand pounds.”

“Then you’ve decided to accept my offer?”