The book jolted loose from her arm and fell to the ground. Opening her mouth to apologize to the man she'd bumped into, Rose turned around. And stopped.A History of the New World, he read, straightening with the book in his hands.Eyes black as pitch regarded her. She'd never seen eyes like that before. The effect of their direct, level gaze was... unsettling. Beside her, Maggie gave a small gasp. Thank you for retrieving my book, sir, she said, finding that her voice wanted to quaver and fighting against it. May I have it back?His head tilted a little to one side, a strand of coal black hair falling forward across his forehead. He was all in black, she realized, from his beaver hat to his gloves to the soles of his boots. Only a white shirt collar and simply tied white cravat leavened his stark appearance. No, not stark, she amended as he glanced down at the book again. Predatory. All six lean feet of him.Do the Americas interest you? he asked, his voice a low, cultured drawl that seemed to resonate down her spine.Learning things interests me, she replied, and held out her hand.The corner of his mouth quirked, and he slowly placed the book into her fingers. Well, then. I could teach you such things, Lady Rosamund, he murmured.