Free Heartless by Kat Martin Page B

drivers and neighing horses.
    The incredible sights and sounds enthralled her, making her forget her nebulous circumstances, at least for a while.
    Then the earl’s deep voice broke into her thoughts, a jarring reminder that she was alone with him and about to leave the somewhat questionable protection of the city.
    â€œI’ve a stop to make before we leave town. It shouldn’t take all that long.”
    They rounded a corner a few minutes later and the carriage pulled up in front of a three-story brick building in Threadneedle Street. “I need to speak to my solicitor. You may come in if you like.”
    She was surprised by the offer. She started to decline, then thought, Why not? She was traveling with the man, though certainly not by choice. Any information she might garner could prove useful. “Thank you. I believe I shall.”
    He caught her hand to help her descend the iron steps, and they made their way inside the building. A young clerk with sandy brown hair and a studious expression greeted the earl, then led them down the hall into a well-appointed wood-paneled office.
    â€œMy solicitor, Jonathan Whipple.” The earl tipped his head, indicating the gray-haired man who rose from behind his desk and started toward them. A slender man in his fifties, he wore wire-rimmed spectacles that perched on a long, crooked nose. “Jonathan … may I present Miss Ariel Summers. She is newly arrived in the city.”
    â€œA pleasure, Miss Summers.” He smiled, made a politely formal bow, then returned his attention to the earl. “I have those figures you requested, my lord. I was just in the process of making the final additions before you arrived.” The two men moved toward the desk, leaving Ariel to survey Mr. Whipple’s domain.
    It was cozy and warm, with a fire blazing in a small oak-manteled hearth and bookshelves along one wall. A pile of aging newspapers sat beside a brown leather chair, but aside from that the room was rather Spartan and scrupulously clean. It occurred to her that the earl was much the same, neatly ordered and pristine. It appeared he also demanded those qualities in the people who worked for him.
    Ariel wandered along the bookshelf, drifting closer to the big mahogany desk in the center of the room, perusing the numerous leather-bound volumes, most of which were financial in nature. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the earl, seated in the chair behind the desk, his dark head bent over a stack of open ledgers.
    Arithmetic had been her best subject in school. Watching as he studied the numbers on the page in front of him, she began to add the columns in her head, as she had learned to do.
    Ariel frowned. “Excuse me, my lord, but there is an error in the column on the right.”
    He cocked a brow in her direction. “It comforts me to know that among your newly acquired talents you are also an expert in accounting.”
    She flushed at the sarcasm in his voice but refused to back down. “I know little of accounting. I do know those numbers do not add up. The total should be two thousand, six hundred, and seventy-six, not three thousand, one hundred, and forty-eight.”
    Greville frowned. The gray-haired man beside him looked suddenly worried and quickly set to work, adding once more the numbers on the page.
    â€œOh, dear. I’m afraid Miss Summers is correct, my lord. I can’t imagine how I could have made such an error.” He sighed. “Now I shall have to refigure all of the other columns based on the adjusted figure. It will take a bit of time.”
    â€œI can do it for you,” Ariel offered. “It turns out I have rather a knack for numbers.” She glanced down and silently set to work. “The total in the first column should be forty-two hundred fourteen. The second column is … thirty-three hundred eighty-seven, and the third should be—” She stopped, glanced over at