Andrew’s voice pulled Isla’s head around from the closed door. His pale-blue eyes were fixed on her; she saw worry in those eyes, but he was trying to mask it with amusement.
She narrowed her gaze. “Why do I feel you’re not entirely complimenting me?”
He gave a short laugh. “I only wondered if you extend such generosity to all your students—or if you’ve secretly set up a campaign to see the young ladies outpace the men.”
Her chin lifted a fraction. “Perhaps I simply reward hard work. Maybe you could learn something from her.” She looked pointedly at his pile of unmarked papers.
That earned her a grin, though his tone softened as he added, “Still ... she’s fortunate to have you in her corner. Not everyone would give their time so freely.”
Isla blinked, unsettled by the shift. One moment his eyes were all full of worry, then full of cheeky mischief, daring her to rise to the bait; the next they had softened into something elseentirely, something she couldn’t pin down. The swing between jest and sincerity left her off-balance, and she hated how easily he managed it.
Andrew was her fiercest rival in the faculty—driven, diligent, every inch the scholar she strove to prove herself to be. And yet ... she admired that about him, even as she sharpened her tongue to meet his. She couldn’t help it; their exchanges had become a contest she secretly relished. No, notrelished; endured. He was just annoying Andrew. The plague of her days.
She shoved her arms into her coat. “I’m done for the afternoon.”
Andrew’s smile widened at her stiff, abrupt movements, which only irked her more. He really was the scourge of her existence.
“It’s been a long day; come, let me make you dinner.”
She stared at him, trying to read what lay behind those twinkling blue eyes.
A snort escaped her at the thought of her and Andrew eating dinner together—hardly ladylike—and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.
“What?” Andrew asked, smiling at her.
“Erm ... nothing. And no, you are not making me dinner.”
“Why not?”
Isla picked up her satchel and headed out of her office, Andrew scrambling to catch up. Behind them, the little room was left in its usual organized state. Isla liked things to be neat; order made her feel more in control. The shelves sagged under the weight of so many books, and the heavy oak desk, tidy but scored with ink stains from decades of scholars, made her feel privileged to be one of the lucky few to call it her own—untilthe next scholar took her place. The thought made her stomach tighten.
Out in the corridor, their footsteps sounded again beneath the vaulted ceiling. Isla stiffened when Andrew’s hand brushed her elbow, slowing her hurried pace.
“Why can’t I make you dinner, Isla?”
Right. She hadn’t answered him. Her mind scrambled for an excuse. “Well, because ...”
She was spared from finishing when Harold’s voice rang out.
“Ah, there you two are. You’re needed in the library at once. Detective Whitmore is expected any moment, and I need both of you to give statements about this morning’s events.”
A shudder rippled through Isla. She had done everything in her power to push away the memory of Ray’s lifeless body, but the image still clung to her, sharp and unyielding. After their report to Harold, Andrew had tried coaxing her to talk, to unburden herself, but she had refused.
Word could not be allowed to spread through the community.Keep calm and carry onhad become the day’s refrain. That suited Isla well enough; she had buried herself in work, her lectures running smoothly. Still, her gaze had strayed more than once to Jimmy. Had he been the one to attack her, to attack Ray?
“We will be right there,” Andrew replied.
Harold nodded. “I’ll meet you there with the detective,” he said, turning toward the university entrance.
Isla felt Andrew’s thumb brush lightly once along her arm, where he still held it. The touch was gentle, careful, but it made her stomach flutter; it made her feel safer. She pulled her arm away and looked over at him.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his eyes searching hers with quiet concern.
She hesitated, then nodded, aware of how reassuring his presence was, despite him being a perpetual thorn in her side, the torment of her waking hours. She would never admit that having him near her was maybe not the curse she thought she would have to endure.
“I’m fine, Andrew.”
At his look of disbelief, she let out a short puff of breath.“Okay, I’m notfinefine, but ... you know.”She shrugged, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”
