“May I help you with that, my lady?” His low rumble of a voice, beautiful in its purity and yet intricately masculine, sent a quiver down her spine.

Celia glanced over her shoulder as he approached. She’d just exited the library with an armload of books stacked as high as her chin. The volumes contained plays by Shakespeare and had been gathered for an afternoon of entertainment. She, along with a group of other guests would reenact a few favorite scenes.

“No need. I have it under control,” she insisted just as one book on top of the stack slid sideways. It defeated the pressure of her chin holding everything together and tumbled with a clatter onto the gleaming hardwood floor.

“So it appears.” A hint of amusement danced in Gabriel’s words.

Celia grit her teeth in annoyance. She bent at the knees, maintaining the balanced books while attempting to retrieve the one she’d dropped. A rather graceful maneuver, if she thought so herself.

The remaining books wobbled and began giving way.

“Oh, blast it!” Celia exclaimed.

She tried containing the spill, but that proved useless. The books splayed across the marble floor in a haphazard pile of leather and gilt covers, spines, and exposed pages.

“Now, see what you’ve done.” Dropping to her hands and knees, she began pulling the books back into a heap. It was wrong directing her annoyance at this man, but it was his fault he’d broken her concentration.

Gabriel obviously heard the words muttered beneath her breath and the irritation they contained. Biting back a grin, he stepped forward, although Celia raised a hand to ward him off.

The glint of interest in his eyes could not be dismissed. Celia knew she was susceptible when it came to gaining the attention of inappropriate men. Why she found rough and tumble males so much more attractive than the titled gentlemen of her world was an inconvenient tragedy.

With a sigh, her hand lowered, and she gazed up at him as he came closer.

“If I am to blame, then at least accept my assistance.” He knelt beside her, his body large and intimidating, and Celia’s breath caught in her throat. Large hands with squared-off, clean nails and blunt fingertips quickly arranged the books into a manageable stack.

Celia could not stop staring at those hands of his. Couldn’t help seeing how strong they were. How capable. And she couldn’t stop remembering the heat of his palm when he escorted her to safety the last time they’d been together.

That night at the Sutter’s Ball.

“This is not necessary, Mister Rose,” Celia protested weakly, but it was too late. Gabriel already had the books tucked under his arm and was rising to his feet. His free hand wedged beneath her elbow as he dragged her up along with his momentum. His scent, clean and sharp with a swirling combination of leather, spice, and evergreens, tickled her nostrils.

Damn him. He smelled delicious.

“Where are you taking these?” He murmured, “I will carry them for you.”