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“How come Malcom didn’t join us?” Because he continued to push her away. Nay, because he wanted to keep her out. Alas, neither were suitable responses for her young sister. “Or is it you that he didn’t wish to be with?” Verity opened her mouth. “Or mayhap it makes more sense that it is because I was coming that he didn’t wish to join?”

Did those quickly strung-together questions count as three additional ones asked? Either way, Verity’s head throbbed from the incessant chatter, all about her marriage. Ultimately it was far easier to focus on her sister’s insecurity. “I assure you, his not accompanying us had nothing to do with you.”

It proved the wrong thing to say.

“So it was because of you,” Livvie said with her usual frankness.

Oh, blast and damn.“Hush,” she warned, glancing about at the lords and ladies streaming all around them. “It was not because of me.”Are you altogether certain?She ignored that jeering question.

“Are you certain?”

“I’m”—not—“certain. Malcom had business to attend.”

She caught Bertha’s snort and shot the old nursemaid a warning look.

“In his sewers?” Livvie speculated.

“In ... in ...” Whatever had been so pressing that he’d opted to not join her. “In matters that are none of our business.”

They reached the front of Hatchards, and stopped. “But he’s your husband. It’s absolutely your business. Furthermore”—Livvie stayed Verity as she reached for the door handle—“it would seem that someone as progressive as you, who believes a countess can and should retain employment if she so wishes it, should also expect to be privy to her husband’s business affairs.”

And blast if her sister wasn’t wholly correct. However, Verity’s was a marriage of pretend. As such, she couldn’t go saying as much to Livvie.

Silence proving safer, Verity drew the door open and motioned her sister in ahead of her.

Bertha followed close.

“Do you truly think you can go on for a year with that one not gathering that something is amiss?” Bertha asked in hushed tones as she shook out her skirts. “She’s too clever by half, and not the small girl you used to bounce on your knee.”

“This isn’t the time or place.” Verity spoke out of the corner of her mouth. She took in the crowded shop, the satin-clad ladies and top hat–wearing gentlemen who moved amongst the floor-to-ceiling rows of books.

“It never is, though, is it, Verity?”

“Bertha!” Livvie’s exuberant cry saved Verity from answering, and also earned a sea of stares from disapproving patrons.

“Go look after her,” Verity urged.

As Bertha made her way over to Livvie brandishing a small leather volume and waving it about, Verity took in the looks her sister and, by default, she herself continued to receive. Her neck heated, and it took a concerted effort to bring her shoulders back and her chin up.

Her gaze collided with that of a young gentleman, yet another patron boldly staring.

She made to take a step but lingered. Something in his warm eyes compelled her to remain. There was something vaguely memorable about him. With the spectacles perched on the edge of an aquiline nose, he had the look of many men she’d worked alongside atThe Londoner. His finely cut wool suit, however, set him apart from those other commoners like herself.

Giving her head a shake, she ventured deeper into the shop. She may have written stories on the nobility over the years, but every last one of them was a stranger to her.

Still, some air of familiarity tugged at her, and she tossed another glance to where he stood.

At some point, he’d gone.

Verity resumed her stroll through the bookshop. And as she wandered the rows, she studied titles. Periodically, she’d pluck one from the shelf and tuck it into the fold of her arm. Purposeful in her selection, she’d six titles in hand when she turned to go.

Gooseflesh popped up on her arms.

A different stranger stood at the opposite end of the aisle. Though also well dressed like the other man who’d been studying her a short while ago, that was where all similarities ended. His skin was faintly pockmarked. But it was his eyes. There was a coldness in them. They were eyes that emanated a threat.

Her heart racing, Verity bolted in the opposite direction.

A stockier man blocked that exit, bringing her up short.Trapped.