“The sign on your door indicated you were closed.” His enunciation, hinting at an education, good breeding, and possibly an affluent background, was posher than that spoken by most of the people who lived in the area. But it was his deep smooth voice that sent a warm shiver through her.

Interesting that in spite of the sign, he’d given the door a try. A man who obviously didn’t quite trust what was before him—or perhaps one who merely needed proof that what he was told was true.

Glancing at the tall standing clock resting against the wall to her left, near her office, she saw that indeed it was ten minutes past the hour of six when she usually locked her doors. She’d been so engrossed in the letter she’d failed to even notice the chimes signaling the time. “My posted hours are more a suggestion, not a law. Nor am I one for turning away someone in need of a book. If you would like to browse . . . or I’m happy to help you find something to your taste.”

He edged farther inside but only by a couple of steps. “I don’t wish to impose if you were on the verge of latching up for the night.”

“It’s no imposition I assure you. Partnering people with books is one of my greatest joys. I can even recommend a few of my favorites if you like.”

“As long as you’re so graciously willing to accommodate me, I’m in the mood for some dastardly deeds. Have you the latest penny blood?”

She blinked, parted her lips—

And heard the smallest of scoffs beneath his breath. “You’re no doubt too young to recall that phrase. I believe it’s more popularly known these days as a penny dreadful.”

“Ah, yes, over here.” She skirted around the edge of the counter and approached a narrow stand of slanting shelves where she displayed the weekly publications. “I have the individual serials available here and, on this shelf”—she walked a short distance away—“I’ve bound editions containing all the episodes for a particular tale.”