“Forgive me,” she said meekly. “I haven’t a father.”

“Your guardian, then. Lady Belwood mentioned the man.” Lord Compton placed Effie’s book back on the shelf. “You must leave it with him.” He reached for her copy of the Westminster Review. “Allow me to return that rubbish to its place as well.”

Franc’s teeth flashed, narrowly missing the viscount’s fingers.

Effie hastily stepped back before the little dog could inflict any damage. “Do take care, my lord. My poodle is rather protective of me.”

Lord Compton stiffened. Withdrawing his empty hand, he dusted it on his trouser leg, as though the barest contact with Franc had sullied his glove. “That dog would benefit from a muzzle.”

“Doubtless you’re right,” Effie said, even as she took another step backward, the swell of her skirts enforcing distance between them. Muzzle Franc? The very notion!

“A dog that bites a man is liable to be destroyed. The law permits it.”

Her blood ran cold. “I couldn’t bear to contemplate it. Franc means more to me than anything in the world.”

“Then you must enforce civility on him.”

“I shall,” she lied.

The viscount’s mouth curled in a thin smile. “Less radicalism and more obedience, that’s what I recommend, Miss Flite. You will find it a suitable recipe for young ladies—and for dogs.” He bowed to her, his eyes lingering for an extra moment on her face. “Until we meet again, my dear.”

She inclined her head, her mouth gone dry. “My lord.”

The viscount strolled off, heading for the counter to purchase his daughter’s book. Effie was left standing in front of the ragtag shelf of women’s philosophy books, her nerves all ajangle.

She’d been warned Compton was a villain, but to threaten Franc? That was taking things rather too far. Indeed, the odious man had just made things personal.

Effie gave Franc a reassuring kiss on the head. “Dreadful man,” she murmured to him. “You were exactly within your rights.”

“Excuse me.” A woman approached the shelf behind Effie. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

It was a young lady, somewhat older than Effie in appearance. She wore a plain gray dress and was possessed of an unusually serious air. The impression was aided by the glass in her silver-framed spectacles. It was surely over an inch thick.

Effie moved out of her way. “I beg your pardon. Is it these titles you’re interested in? I fear the selection is rather scant.”

“So I discern.” Reaching up, the young lady selected the book Lord Compton had just returned to the shelf. She offered it to Effie. “I believe this is yours.”

Effie met the young woman’s eyes behind her spectacles. She wondered just how much the girl had overheard. “Thank you,” she said.

“Not at all.”

“Ruth! Oh, there you are.” A slim, handsomely dressed gentleman came to join them.