A Lady of Letters Read Online Free Page B

grab hold of the edge of the polished wood shelf. The gentleman was not so fortunate. He was sent crashing to the floor, along with the assorted volumes that Augusta had been carrying. One rather large book caught him a sharp clip on the head as he made to sit up.
     
    "Hell and damnation," he muttered, rubbing at his scalp. When his eyes came up, another word followed, though he spoke it low enough that she couldn't quite make it out. There was no mistaking the look of annoyance in his glare, however. "You!" he growled. "I seem to be cursed with the misfortune of making your acquaintance yet again. Have your parents considered locking you up in a barn, as a favor to Society? You are clumsier than the proverbial bull in a china shop."
     
    "The only curses seems to be coming from your unbridled mouth, sir. Perhaps it is you who should be locked up in a stall, given such barnyard manners." Her feelings were already in an agitated state, and his untempered rudeness caused a wave of anger to wash away her usual shyness. Really, how the dare the insufferable man keep implying that the blame for these mishaps was all hers.
     
    A slight flush came to the Earl's cheeks as he rose to his feet and carefully brushed the dust from his immaculate navy merino jacket. He looked as if to say something, but Augusta pointedly turned her back on him and began to gather up her books as if he didn't exist. When she straightened, he was still standing there, regarding her with a look that make no attempt to hide his ire at her deliberate snub. His gaze raked down from her slightly disheveled hair to the prim neckline of her gown to the pile of leatherbound volumes in her arms. A snort of derision came from his curled lips as he surveyed the titles. "Your father ought to send a more capable person to do his errands," he sneered. "You really should stay in the section with horrid novels—much more the thing for your type of flighty female. "
     
    She knew she shouldn't bother to respond to his gibe, but she couldn't restrain herself. "These books are for me, sir, not my father or any other male relative."
     
    He gave a bark of laughter. "Hah! You may leave off trying to convince me of that farrididdle. Somehow I doubt that sewing and sketching and whatever other inane things you ladies learn in the schoolroom have quite prepared your intelligence—such as it is— for these works. They may be in French, but they are not flowery snippets of romantic nonsense. You are wasting your money and your time. Why, I'd be willing to wager a goodly sum that you won't get past the first page"
     
    "A fool and his money are soon parted," she retorted, gratified to see his eyes narrow in further irritation. "And what do you think—that winning a fortune at cards, racing a curricle down St. James's Place at midnight in the buff and bedding other men's wives qualifies you as intelligent?" she went on, heedless of what dangerous ground she was now treading on.
     
    There was a moment of ominous silence. "Have a care, Miss," he said softly. "If you were a man I should be tempted to call you out for such words."
     
    "If I were a man, I imagine I should be tempted to accept." She paused for a fraction. "But women have infinitely more sense than to wave pistols at each other on account of some momentary fit of pique." With that, she shouldered her way past him and walked quickly toward the front of the store.
     

    "Now that, my dear, is the proper way to make an exit," murmured Sheffield under his breath as he watched her walk away. His anger was slowly giving way to a grudging admiration. Once again, an awkward situation had prompted less than exemplary behavior from him, yet this time, she had not fled in tongue tied embarrassment but rather had parried his sharp words with equally cutting ones of her own. Indeed, she had accounted for herself quite credibly, her set-downs showing a quickness and a cleverness he would never have suspected from their initial