A Rogue No More - Lana Williams Page 0,3

secret, but the death of the Earl of Carlington, who’d owned the publishing house had changed that. Her letters to Mr. Jonesby, the editor with whom she’d worked on the previous manuscript, had gone unanswered. How could she advise a representative on how to respond when she didn’t know what was happening at the company?

“I was hoping for a word with Mr. Jonesby.”

“He’s no longer with us.”

“He passed away?”

“I only meant he’s no longer with the firm. As you may remember, my father recently died. For the moment, I have taken his place. A few changes were in order.”

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss.” She hadn’t spoken with Mr. Raybourne since hearing of the earl’s death.

“Thank you.” He seemed almost uncomfortable at her condolences as he glanced around the small office before returning his gaze to her. “I would be pleased to discuss any business you had with Mr. Jonesby.”

“I wondered if—” She halted as uncertainty choked off her words. Did she dare trust Thomas Raybourne, a rogue of the worst sort, with her deepest secret?

Artemis Press had done an excellent job with her last book, and she didn’t care for the thought of finding a new publishing house. But having him involved changed everything.

“Good heavens.” He stared at her in disbelief. “You’re A. Golden, the author of A Most Unusual Murder.”

Pride and embarrassment warred within her at his pronouncement. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder at the young man who stood watching them. “I trust that information will not leave this room.”

“A woman.” Mr. Raybourne continued to stare at her as if she were some exotic creature from a far-off land. No one ever looked at her like that. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

She lifted her chin. “Because you think a woman isn’t capable of writing well?”

“No. I just can’t imagine how you came up with the plot. You’re hiding more secrets than I realized.”

“I don’t understand.” His words made no sense. He now knew her one and only secret.

“First that surprising kiss a few months ago.” His smile returned along with the dimples. “And now this. Who knows of what else you’re capable?”

She gasped and glanced over her shoulder, relieved to see the young man had disappeared. She could only hope he hadn’t heard that last bit. “What gentleman would remind a lady of such a thing?”

“I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman,” he retorted with a flash of his dimples.

He managed to make the statement sound appealing. Blast his charm and that smile.

“Humph.” She had no idea how to respond.

“Would you care to have a seat?” He gestured toward the single chair before the desk.

“My maid is right outside the door.” Why she felt the need to warn him of that she didn’t know.

“I’ll leave the door open then, shall I?” He raised a brow again as if daring her to stay.

The challenge was impossible to ignore. She drew a fortifying breath to calm her nerves then took a seat, her gloved hands clutching her reticule. A glance around the office revealed little about the man behind the desk. Did that mean he didn’t spend much time here? The idea had her frowning. She wanted a dedicated professional to assist with her book and help make it a success.

Mr. Raybourne sat, folding his hands on the narrow desk before him. “I enjoyed your book. It was even better than the serial chapters you’ve been writing for the broadsheet.”

“Thank you.” Her thoughts raced at the idea of him reading her stories even as pleasure filled her. With her identity a secret, she rarely received direct praise from readers other than an occasional letter sent to the broadsheet editor.

“The twist of what the murder weapon was and where it was found was quite inventive.”

She nearly snorted as a chuckle escaped. “I’d almost forgotten about that.” The protagonist had discovered a bloody pair of embroidery scissors under his own bed.

“The pacing of the story was excellent. A clever hook at the end of each chapter, forcing the reader to turn one more page to see what happened.”

“Once they put it down, who knows if they’ll pick it up again.” She’d argued with Mr. Jonesby about that as he’d wanted a smoother transition between chapters as well as the three volumes into which her book was divided. She’d wanted the readers hanging onto a cliff by their fingertips, anxious to learn what happened next.

“Quite. The ending was satisfying as well. I appreciated fate stepping in to punish the meddling sergeant.”

The