Saving Miss Pratt: Book 4 of The Hope Clinic by Messmer Trisha

Author:Messmer, Trisha
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-09-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

Tinkle. The bell chimed as Timothy, Honoria, and her lady’s maid entered the bookseller’s shop. The earthy scent of books prickled Timothy’s nose, and he fought the sneeze.

Honoria chattered excitedly about a book she hoped to find as they waited for the bookseller to assist them. “It sounds so thrilling. A murder, an interrupted wedding, secrets, and a ghost.” She veritably whispered the last part. “I hope it lives up to Miss Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho. I did so love that one.”

Timothy couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. He patted her hand wrapped around his forearm. “Then I hope they have it. I shall purchase it for you.” It was an extravagance, to be certain. Timothy found his purse decreasing each month, what with contributing to help with his father’s expenses in addition to his own. All the more reason to move along with his proposal and marriage to Honoria, who promised a substantial dowry.

After the bookseller greeted them and assured them he had a copy of Gaston de Blondeville, he raced off to retrieve a copy. As they waited, Timothy and Honoria passed the time browsing the shelves, each wandering in a different direction.

Without warning, a shriek pierced the quiet of the shop. Timothy slipped the book he was perusing back onto the shelf and hurried in the direction of the alarming cry. Rounding the corner of one of the stacks, he skidded to a halt when he came face to face—or should he say—chest to bosom with Miss Pratt.

She stumbled back, tottering precariously for a moment, and out of reflex, he wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. Their eyes locked, the moment stretching between them, the silence of unspoken words deafening.

Scents of Priscilla’s lemon verbena replaced the mustier smell of the books, and he drew in a deep breath.

The scent and softness of her pressed against the hard planes of his chest made him dizzy. Heat from her fingers, grasping his arms, seared him through the fabric of his coat.

Unbidden, his gaze dipped to her mouth. When the pink tip of her tongue poked out, licking her lips, he groaned. Rustling noises broke the silence and brought him to his senses. He quickly dropped his arms and stepped away from his temptation.

“I heard someone in distress,” he said, the words sounding ridiculous even to his own ears.

“One of the children poked me in my . . .” She blushed and pointed to her derrière—as if he needed direction or incentive to look.

But one word stopped him cold. Children?

Heedless of the confusion that must have shown on his face, she continued. “Please don’t say anything. If they don’t behave, we won’t be able to go to the park. And I did so wish to go.”

He shook his head as if that might clear the wool filling it. “I beg your pardon? Who are we?”

“Mr. Ugbrooke and his children, Vincent and Mary. I have no idea who poked me, but I suspect it was Mary.

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