To Catch a Rake Read Online Free Page B

the wooden boy. In front of him, the large oak desk almost disappeared under piles of paper and small models of buildings. Directly under his scrutiny sat a model of a round structure, like a theater, with stairs descending on the inside.
    Meta expected that a gentleman interrupted by two women and a young man unknown to him would have immediately given them his attention.
    He did not.
    He blithely ignored all of them as he carefully balanced a small piece of wood along the final step at the bottom of the model’s stairs. Once the wood remained in place, he gingerly set a wooden figure of a soldier on the step. The soldier toddled on the slim piece of wood, causing the man to drop the other figurines on the pile of papers in order to steady the crimson-coated figurine with both hands. “Damnation,” he said from the side of his mouth.
    “Let me assist you,” Meta said, stepping forward to gather the figurines and pulling the boy from his mouth. She watched the man’s large hands deftly handle the wooden model and marveled at the combination of strength and dexterity in his active fingers. The gentleman before her must be an engineer, architect, or builder, not a scandalous man who could pen a field guide. So, before she could request him to change James’s mind, she had to devise a way to confirm his authorship, without insulting a busy, innocent man.
    He continued to have difficulties balancing the soldier on the piece of wood. “His legs are too wide. Set the boy in the exact position instead.”
    She held the boy inches over the bottom of the stairs. “Do you want him placed here?”
    “Yes, against the inner wall.”
    Once she finished her task, she gathered up the remaining figurines. “I’ll just hold these for you. Let me know when you need one.” She then examined the model to discover the other positions where a wooden figure might be placed.
    “Who in the blazes are you?”
    She looked up and found herself under his intense stare.
    He narrowed his dark eyes and then looked past her to Lily standing in the doorway. “Mrs. Morris!”
    Meta flinched at the shout just inches away from her ears. “Ah, allow me to give the proper introductions. My name is Mrs. Margaret Russell, the other lady is—”
    “I don’t care if she is the Queen come back to life.” He caught sight of Fitzy, who had stepped out from behind Lily and stood there mesmerized by the books, models, and drawings draped over every horizontal surface. “And you brought your son—that’s a first.” He whipped the figurines out of Meta’s hand. “I’ll take those. Now is not the time for this. Damnation, where can she be? Mrs. Morris,” he yelled again.
    “Is that your housekeeper?” Meta asked. “She showed us in and pointed to the drawing room, then hurried to the kitchen. Perhaps something downstairs required her attention. Now please let me finish the introductions. My name you already know, the other lady is my sister, Lily Broadsham, and the young man is my brother, Fitzhenry Broadsham.”
    He gave each of them the briefest of bows. Then he put down a figurine and strode to the mantel. “Please write your initials on these cards—your privacy will be assured—and the appropriate heading you desire in the next edition of the field guide.” He handed the two cards and pencils to Meta, since Lily stood by the door.
    Meta stared at the cards. “I don’t understand.”
    Fitzy had moved over to the table in the back of the room and now stood before a model of an unusual iron bridge.
    Mr. Drexel’s gaze followed him. “Don’t touch anything. All of my models are very fragile.”
    “Oh, no, I would never do that. I plan to be an artist, so I wish to admire these models and drawings for their artistic merit.”
    “Hmm.” Mr. Drexel appeared satisfied that Fitzy would not harm his models, and Lily remained unmoving by the door, so he turned his focus back to Meta.
    Focus was indeed the correct word. He glanced carefully