It was late when they finally arrived back at Mick’s hotel, and she was safely ensconced inside her shop. After lowering the flame in the gas sconce, she headed for the stairs where a pale glow filtered down from above. Halfway up, at a tiny landing, the steps made an abrupt right turn and the light became a bit brighter. Mr. Tittlefitz must have left it on so she wouldn’t be stumbling about in the dark.

At the top of the stairs, she could see it wasn’t a light in the hallway, but rather one coming from the reading parlor. The secretary must have simply forgotten to turn it off.

Walking into the room, she came to a stop at the sight of Matthew sitting in a chair by the fireplace, so lost in a book he hadn’t heard her arrive. She was taken aback by the joy that struck her, as though she’d traveled the world, alone and forgotten, to suddenly arrive at the place where she belonged. She imagined the pleasure to be found in looking up from her own book to see him so near. He still wore his jacket, neck cloth, and waistcoat. She had an urge to divest him of the cumbersome clothing, and yet he was relaxed, as though accustomed to wearing them late into the evening.

“I’m surprised to find you here,” she said softly.

Slowly, as though not at all startled by her appearance, he lifted his gaze while closing the book and setting it aside. He came to his feet, and as always, she was surprised by how elegantly he moved, gracefully, as though accustomed to being watched and determined to project a confident mien. “I decided to make use of your library while waiting for you. How was your evening?”

She crossed over to the settee near his chair and lowered herself to it, grateful when he again took his seat, studying her with those incredibly green eyes. Removing her dance card from her wrist, she extended it toward him and watched as he scrutinized it.

Dickens jumped onto the settee and curled up on the other end. After removing her gloves, she buried the fingers of one hand in his fur and waited for Matthew’s response.

Finally, he looked up, met and held her gaze. “Nearly every dance claimed.”

She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “And my brothers weren’t making any offers.”

He leaned back and brought one booted foot up, resting it on his knee. Such a relaxed, masculine pose, as though they were settling in for the evening. “Were you impressed by anyone?”

“The Marquess of Wilbourne was rather charming. Lord Beresford, who called on me last week—”

“Beresford called on you?”

“Yes, he was one of two gentlemen who did. Do you know him?”

“I’ve read something about him in the gossip rags, I think.”