“Turr, turr,” she trilled, accompanying the coo with a gentle flap of her arms.“You may recognize the sound as the call of a turtledove seeking its mate.”
“I’m not trying to learn its language,” Nicholas said.“I’m trying to draw it.”
“You should stop thinking of women like biscuits,” she scolded him.
“What?”he choked out.
She crossed her arms.“You can’t just eat one and then immediately go on to the next one.”
“That is exactly how people eat biscuits,” he said.“It is the only way.What does it have to do with anything?”
“Wait here.”Miss Underwood made an about-face and disappeared amongst the stacks of books.
Before Nicholas could decide whether or not he was meant to follow, she reappeared with a slim volume in her hand.“Sketches from the Royal Ornithology Society.Turtledoves, pages eighty-eight to ninety-three.”
He accepted the book.There was no other option.“Do I need to sign my name somewhere, or…?”
“Is your sketch for Penelope?”she asked.
“It is not for Penelope,” he said quickly.“I doubt she’s an aficionado of the genre.There are noobjets d’artin her cottage.”
Miss Underwood eyed him knowingly.“So when you enter her home, you know you are looking for something.You thought it was art.It is not.”
“What is it I am searching for, O Wise One?”he said in exasperation.
She flapped her arms.“Turr, turr.”
“You’re wrong,” he said firmly.“You have no idea what I’m doing.This project is for me.I’m not looking for anything else.”
“But is Penelope?”Miss Underwood asked archly, then turned and walked out of the library.
Nicholas glared after her in consternation.
The only thing Penelope sought was a chemical combination for her new perfume.She was far too busy for anything else.Her life was full of interests and hobbies and activities.The baking and laboratory experiments alone gave her little time to be sitting around thinking about life, or turtledoves, or Nicholas.She wasn’t the least bit clingy.A trait he respected in a woman.
Penelope had never once paid him an unexpected call, or begged him not to leave when his visits came to a close, or—
Good God.Nicholas snapped up straight in horror.Hewas the clingy one.
He hurried from the library.He had to get to the smithy, quick.Prove to himself he had plenty of better things to do than sit around reminiscing about a steamy kiss he’d shared with a lady chemist.He paused with his hand on the banister.
What if Penelopewouldconsider mating for life?She might not believe in love, but she believed in nature.As a woman of science, she might very well select a biologically ideal candidate amongst the local gentlemen and wed him out of a sense of duty to the continued propagation of humankind.
Worse, she might find someone sheliked.Someone truly perfect for her.
Nicholas’s stomach turned.He didn’t want her to fall for someone else.Nor could he see how such an eventuality could be prevented.Better gentlemen routinely offered things Nicholas had never considered.They were willing to promise an entire life, when Nicholas had only ever been willing to give a single night.
He forced his feet to continue their descent down the spiral stairs.It didn’t matter.He was only here for a few more days.No need to complicate matters further.
Once he was gone, Penelope would forget him.And he… He would go back to the way things were.The way they’d always been.
Rather than lift his spirits, the realization made his chest feel empty.
He slid his hand into his pocket to ensure the sketchbook was still there, nestled against the slim volume of ornithology.
Feathers were a thousand times more intricate than turtle shells.He’d design a partridge.It would take hours of concentration to blow glass delicately enough to do it any justice.He might not leave the smithy for the rest of the week.
When he reached the foot of the stair, he strode toward the castle exit.
