Her Reformed Rake (Wicked Husbands #3)(55)
Following their conversation in his study—and the sizzling interlude that followed it, the likes of which still made her cheeks heat several days later—Sebastian had surprised her with a trip to a book shop. How marvelous it had been to be surrounded by walls of books, their heady leather and paper scent, and to know she could read any of them she liked.
“There are three crates’ worth, Your Grace,” Giles confirmed then. “I didn’t wish to presume and have them brought here immediately given the library’s current state.”
Daisy cast a wry glance about her at the butler’s apt observation. Crates littered the elegant carpet, some half-empty and others yet filled to the brim. Although the scene had the appearance of mayhem, she was methodically working her way through all the books on Sebastian’s shelves, deciding which books to keep, which to store, and which others might be donated.
“The library is yours,” Sebastian had told her at the book shop. “Remove whatever displeases you. Fill it with whatever you like.”
“It’s your library,” she had said. “I wouldn’t dream of encroaching.”
“It isn’t encroaching when you’ve been issued an invitation, buttercup.” He’d touched the tip of her nose then, and she had felt his heat even through his gloves. His expression had been serious, almost sad. “The library is filled with musty old tomes from the last three dukes, and I haven’t done much to make it my own. It is only right that you should make it yours.”
His soft words and solemn regard had made her heart pang. How was it, she’d wondered, that she could have been so wrong about him? He had seemed arrogant and aloof. On the first night they’d spoken, they’d matched wills and wits, and she’d been so certain he was an autocrat like so many of his fellow lords. Like her father. But in truth, he was multifaceted and complex, and he’d appeared in her life when she’d needed him most, setting her free.
“Your Grace,” she had protested.
A ghost of a smile had flitted over his sensual mouth then, and he’d brushed her bottom lip with his thumb. “A full ‘Your Grace.’ Where have I erred?”
She had frowned back at him, looking about to make certain they hadn’t an audience. “You are too generous.”
And he’d shaken his head slowly. “I’m selfish. Far too bloody selfish. I enjoy your happiness, Daisy. It occurs to me you’ve had far less of it than you deserve. Buy all the books you want. That’s why I’ve brought you here.”
In the face of his disconcerting kindness and the temptation of pages waiting to be turned, she gave in. She had lovingly browsed the entire shop, lingering over her choices as she narrowed her selections down to eight books. Sebastian had followed her, watching, making several recommendations. He’d urged her to purchase more but she’d refused, not wishing to overindulge in his generosity. She’d left the shop thrilled, thinking the matter settled.
Until the first delivery had arrived that morning. And the second. Then the third. Each opened crate revealed more than the last. Here was a treasure trove of literature waiting to be devoured: Shakespeare and Chaucer and Trollope and Dickens, Browning and Tennyson and Byron and Austen. History books, books in French and Latin, the two languages she’d told him she was well-versed in.
Best of all had been the single book, wrapped in fine paper and delivered by hand. She’d opened it to find an edition of Gulliver’s Travels, Sebastian’s bold scrawl on the first page.
A favorite for a favorite—
S.
If her heart had been Pegasus, it would have galloped and flown from her chest. But her heart was only mortal, formed of weak flesh, and it had pounded instead. Pounded with the knowledge that the mysterious feelings flitting through her over the last fortnight had solidified into something tangible and definable. Something quite frightening and altogether unexpected.
Love.
Daisy stared at the row of spines before her, unseeing. Over the past few hours, she’d had a great deal of time to think. Alone, in this vast chamber with nothing but a cheerfully flickering fire in the grate and hundreds of small worlds confined in pages and words, she had realized that she loved Sebastian.
It didn’t matter that their marriage was new, that there was so much of him she had yet to discover. The heart knew what it wanted, and it stubbornly wanted the man who had listened to her, who had rescued her, who had made her feel at home for the first time in her life. It wanted a handsome duke who could make her laugh or make her melt with equal proficiency.
The door opened, and with it came three strapping footmen, bearing crates laden with more books. “Over there, if you please,” she directed, enjoying the task laid before her. It was good to finally have a sense of purpose.
A sense of belonging.
She felt it here.
Now, if only she could manage to conquer Sebastian’s heart the same way she meant to surmount his library. As she watched the footmen gingerly make their delivery, she realized she was still holding the Swift volume. She’d carried it about all morning, unable to relinquish it to the shelf.
And of all the words waiting to fall beneath her eye in the cavernous chamber, there were only five that mattered to her the most.
A favorite for a favorite.
he realization struck Sebastian, much as he suspected lightning might, on a cold, foggy March morning as he reconnoitered with Griffin for the first time since his wedding night.