No, but she’d distracted him. Taking a deep breath, he shoved himself off her and stood, turned away from her, and adjusted himself. “We should probably call it an afternoon.”

He hadn’t heard her get up, but her arms came around him and she pressed her cheek to his back. “Kissing is like reading, isn’t it? The more you learn, the more comfortable you become with it, the more you want to do it.”

“I’m glad you found it enjoyable.”

“You’re a very good tutor. If you ever make a bad investment and need funds, I think you could make a living giving kissing lessons.”

Laughing, he spun around and wrapped her in his embrace. “At the moment, the only person I’m interested in kissing is you.”

Chapter 17

The following afternoon, using a thin but sharp blade, Fancy was carefully removing the leather cover from the book Timmy Tubbins had brought her when Marianne rapped on the doorjamb. Looking up from her desk, she wondered why her clerk’s brow was furrowed so deeply and her mouth pinched. “Is something amiss?”

“There’s a gent here what wants to talk to you.”

“Who wants to talk to me.”

“The gent. The gent what’s out here.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them. Marianne was sharp but had grown up with very little education. Although her grammar had improved greatly since coming to work at the shop, challenges still presented themselves. “It’s the gent who not the gent what.”

Marianne appeared even more flummoxed. Fancy waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind. We’ll discuss it later. Send him in.”

She rose to her feet. Not even half a minute later, a slender man of rather short height—she doubted the top his head would reach the shoulder of any of her brothers—entered, holding his hat and a satchel in one hand. “Miss Fancy Trewlove?”

“Yes, sir. How may I be of service?”

“It is I who am here to serve you.” Confidence shimmering off him, he came nearer and set his things on her desk. “My name is Paul Lassiter. I’m a solicitor. One of my clients wishes to make a donation toward helping to finance your lending library and your efforts to educate those adults who have yet to learn to read.”

“Oh.” She hardly knew what to say. Until that moment all her donations had come from her family or their spouses’ families or friends. Once she married, hopefully, she would be able to tap into a host of beneficiaries.

He opened his satchel, removed a package wrapped in brown paper secured with string, and set it before her. Slowly, she loosened the bow and folded back the covering to reveal a stack of notes.

“Five hundred pounds,” he said.

She jerked her gaze up to meet his. “Who is this client?”

“Someone who wishes to remain anonymous.”