Miss Dodd continued eating.
He turned his head away from her and concentrated all of his focus on the written word, doing his best to lose himself into a tale of heroics and adventure as he did every morning, whilst knowing his ward would interrupt him at any moment.
She did not.
Was she even still here? The sounds of eating had ceased. Had she left the breakfast room?
Titus waded through one more chapter before turning his head just enough so that he could peek out over the top of his book at her from the corner of his eye.
Miss Dodd was reading her own book.
He stared crossly at her, heroic adventures forgotten. How dare she… copy him companionably… by bringing her own reading material unrequested… and doing nothing to disturb his peace and quiet.
It galled him to admit that if Miss Dodd was intolerably distracting, it was not because of any disruptive action she had taken, but rather Titus’s own inability to look at anyone else or think of anything else when in her presence. Heaven help him.
If she was captivating now… The new wardrobe was going to be an absolute disaster.
Chapter 19
After breakfast, Titus had intended to remove to his study and resume all of the preparations and correspondence for the committee projects he’d had to put on hold whilst he was off in Marrywell. He took his novel to his library instead. He’d read three chapters at breakfast—or tried to; he’d turned the pages anyway—and resolved to begin the segment anew, this time with his full concentration.
Miss Dodd followed him into the library with her own book and settled wordlessly in the chaise opposite.
He glowered at her.
She licked her lips and turned a page.
He watched her in growing aggravation as she apparently experienced no hindrance whatsoever to losing herself in her own novel. She did not display the slightest hint of distraction due to the scowling earl with a white-knuckled grip on his own book three feet away.
Titus wanted to ask what she was reading that was so bloody enthralling, but heroically refrained. Nothing made him more homicidal than whenever a passer-by interrupted him mid-climactic scene to ask, Having a nice read? or to comment, Good book, is it?
And yet there was no hope of him returning to his fictional adventure when his very real ward was seated an arm’s width away.
He settled on increasing his glowering.
She continued reading, oblivious, as the seconds turned into minutes and the minutes turned into half an hour. At last, she made a happy little sigh and closed her book. When she glanced up, she appeared startled to discover him still in the library, right in front of her.
“Oh!” She hugged her novel to her chest. “Did you finish yours, as well?”
“No, I did not,” he bit out sourly, and tossed his book aside. “I suppose now that you’ve nothing constructive with which to entertain yourself, you’ll wish to go out on the town and see a bit of London.”
She tilted her head as though his words made no sense. “You hate London. You’d rather sink to the bottom of the sea than ferry a tourist about from sight to sight.”
“I don’t hate London,” he groused. “And I never offered to accompany you on such an insipid outing.”
“You would never send me off alone,” she said with confidence. “And I would never ask you to make yourself miserable on my behalf. This book belonged to my aunt, so I’ll have to return it, but I see you have many others. If you don’t mind me borrowing one, I’m happy to stay indoors and read with you.”
“Stop being so deuced…” Reasonable. Likable. Sweet.
She waited patiently, eyebrows up, lips parted in polite interest.
He huffed and rose to his feet. “Get your pelisse on, then. I refuse to go near Vauxhall, Hyde Park, the shopping districts, or anywhere crowds and traffic might form, but I suppose we could take a short walk in one of the less frequented parks whilst everyone else is still abed.”
Her eyes brightened and she set her book aside at once. “I would adore that. Thank you.”
“Don’t expect me to take you anywhere else,” he warned her, as he led her down the corridor toward the front door. “I’m very busy, and even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t be caught dead at some fashionable crush. My man of business has been instructed to file all invitations directly into the closest fire.”
“I understand,” she promised.
