“I have always been precocious when it comes to learning. Some of my teachers were disposed to encourage me.”

“And your parents approved?” His expression transformed into a sly mockery of paternal concern. “But you are without parents, I recall.”

Effie cradled the book in her hands. She was navigating a treacherous path. If she took a step wrong, the ground would give way beneath her feet. There would be no way of recovering it. She would be lost.

This was why, from the beginning, it had been important not to tell outright lies. A successful fabrication was always daringly close to the truth.

“They have been gone since I was a small child,” she said. “I was raised by my guardian.”

“A relation?”

“No, but she knew my mother, and was disposed to act in my interests.”

“She?” His brows lifted. He had presumed her guardian to be a man.

“Quite,” Effie said. “She saw I was brought up in accordance with my prospects.”

His smile thinned to hear his own words quoted back at him. “What female can ask for better?” He pulled out a chair at an inlaid drum table nearby. “Miss Flite?”

Effie sat down, permitting him to push in her chair. He stood at her back for a moment, uncomfortably close. She felt his hot breath, and smelled his sandalwood cologne. Her pulse skittered with anxiety as he took the chair beside her.

She focused on the book. Opening the cover, she found the first illumination—a man, a snake, a raven, and a lion. It was the same illumination that had graced the first page of the volume she’d perused the night of the musicale, only this one was far more vivid. The snake had been tinted in green, the lion in saffron yellow, and the raven was solid black.

She traced them with her fingertip. “Miss Compton said these books had been in your family for generations. They must be very precious to you.”

“They are.” Lord Compton brought his fingers to rest on the image of the snake, mere inches from her own. “I prize the rare and beautiful. When the two meet, you will not find a more diligent and appreciative custodian than I.”

Effie moistened her lips. Her mouth was suddenly dry. “What of the content of the book itself?” she inquired with a creditable degree of composure. “Do you not care what lies within the pages?”

“The substance of it is negligible. One might read a translation of Aristotle’s text on zoology anywhere these days.” His finger drew closer to hers on the page. “No, my dear. The value of this collection lies in its rarity. Its price cannot be measured.”

She gave him a frowning look. “But…you have read it?”

His lips flattened. “For the most part.”