Pistols at Dawn by Andrea Pickens

Author:Andrea Pickens
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: ePublishing Works!
Published: 2014-01-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

The earl scratched out the number he had written. "Blast," he muttered. "That can't be right." Adjusting his spectacles, he took a moment to recalculate the column, then penned in a new total beneath the blot of ink.

"Correct." Eliza leaned in over his shoulder. "You see, you are beginning to get the knack of it now."

"I daresay the East India Company will not be vying for my services anytime soon," he replied. "However, as a page of numbers no longer looks like Greek to me, I should be able to tell in the future whether I am being robbed blind."

She turned away from the desk, but not quite enough to hide a half smile. "You read Greek, sir. Fluently."

"And how would you know that, Miss Kirtland?"

Eliza traced a hand over the carved acanthus leaf edging the shelves. She had, he realized, a very graceful hand, long fingered, with a firm yet gentle touch. He watched it come to rest on the top of the book, and couldn't help wondering what her palm would feel like, sliding insides the fastenings of his shirt.

Provocative, he imagined. Just like her intriguing emerald eyes. Which could be hard as gemstones or soft as the underside of a spring leaf, depending on her mood.

"You make notes in the margins of your books. Rather lengthy ones."

At the moment, her mood seemed quixotic—half serious, half teasing. Was the straight-laced Miss Kirtland actually loosing her hair enough to engage in a bit of banter?

He rather wished she would. The scraped-back curls, wound tight in a prim bun, were particularly unflattering. Not to speak of the slate gray gown, with its choking neckline and long sleeves.

Realizing that his thoughts were in danger of straying into dangerous territory, Marcus made himself return to the subject at hand. "How do you know they are mine, and not those of some long deceased scholar of the family?"

"I recognize your handwriting," replied Eliza. "After all, I've seen quite a bit of it lately, what with having to correct the ledgers and check over the requests you are sending to your bankers."

A low chuckle greeted the answer. "Are you, perchance, thinking of taking up a job as a Bow Street Runner in addition to your other endeavors?"

"I doubt they would pay me nearly as much as you do, sir." Turning in profile, she gazed out the window and the quirk of her lips quickly straightened to an expression that was all business. "Speaking of blunt, I have been going over the costs of repairing the mill, and we may need to ask for additional funds."

Marcus was sorry to see the humor die away from her face. The warmth of a smile, however fleeting, brought a glow to her skin and a sparkle to her eyes that made them appear far richer than cold, hard-edged jewels. A young lady of her years—for she was young, despite her assertions to the contrary—should not always be looking so serious, as if the weight of the world were resting upon her slim shoulders.

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