“That can be arranged,” the man said, extending his hand. Amelia misunderstood and handed him her goblet. He laughed. “No, Miss Tate. I was offering to take you elsewhere.”
“Mr. De Rees, I have not yet told my friend that which I wished to tell her!” Philippa grabbed Amelia dramatically. “And you would steal her away from me, just like that! I dub you a cad of the worst sort—one who would see a lovely woman like Miss Tate robbed of a slice of delicious gossip.”
At this, Mr. De Rees laughed under his breath, raising his brows at Mr. Bright. “I assure you, I am nothing of the sort.” He glanced quickly toward the stairs. “But here comes Mr. Elston now. We should make ourselves scarce.”
“Mr. Elston?” Amelia asked, checking Philippa’s reaction. Her friend blushed slightly and fought a smile. “I did not know he was here.”
She had heard many things about Mr. Elston from Philippa, had met him once or twice at Philippa’s home when he had come to call on her and her brother. Her friend, though she liked to play the part of the difficult, disinterested woman, evidently enjoyed his company.
Amelia had no desire to leave her friend’s side, but if a moment alone with Mr. Elston was at stake, she felt her hands were tied. She did not want to compromise Philippa’s nascent courtship in any way—even at the expense of her own comfort.
And what an uncomfortable few minutes it would be alone with Mr. De Rees and Bright.
Perhaps sensing her hesitation, Mr. De Rees stepped forward quickly. “They are reading poetry outside in the quadrangle. Some aspirant writer or some such thing wanted to share his latest work,” he said, nodding over his shoulder. “We would not be alone there, but I wager it is much quieter out-of-doors than within. Would you not accompany us, Miss Tate?”
He seemed overly familiar, a little assertive, but maybe Amelia had simply misinterpreted their introductions. A consequence, Beatrice liked to say, of her inadequate socialization when she was a child.
“I like poetry. Especially the romantic sort,” she rambled, looking at Philippa for support. Her friend nodded, assuring her she would be fine alone. “That sounds wonderful. Let us go,” she told the gentlemen.
Amelia was not sure how it happened, but sometime between descending into the main hall and approaching the back doors, Mr. Bright had disappeared. She found herself alone with Mr. De Rees, hoping no one looked at them overlong.
The company of the unknown gentleman made her uneasy. She tried to say something just as he opened the door for her, all but forcing her outside.
The cool autumn air wrapped around her, and Amelia wished she had brought a shawl. She glanced up at the night sky. The moon glowed pleasantly overhead, threatening to be obscured by approaching clouds.
Following Mr. De Rees through the cloisters, Amelia looked up at the lanterns that lit the way forward, casting Mr. De Rees’s form in shadow.
“How did you say you knew Mr. Elston?” she asked distractedly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Mr. De Rees slowed his pace, allowing her to fall into step beside him. “We met only tonight,” he explained. “Mr. Colin Bright—the gentleman who was just with us—is a student, as I am, at Oxford. We are part of the same college, you see.Merton College, do you know it?”
“I have heard of it, yes. My uncle knows all about Oxford University. He is friends with some of the professors there.”
“Baron Spencer?”
“Yes...” She focused on the path ahead, ignoring her gut. “You must be very young then.”
“Do I not look young?”
“Not so young as eighteen or nineteen.” Amelia dared a look at him. His face was boyish. But his eyes... Those were experienced eyes, glinting at her in the dark where his irises reflected the light.
“I am the same age as you are,” he said.
Amelia started, her footsteps coming in uneven bursts until they stopped altogether.
“Did Miss Ashwood tell you my age?” she asked, surprised that he knew this fact about her.
“No.” His voice lilted with mischief. “Mr. Bright described you a little to me before we approached you and your friend. He had many interesting things to say, and I was eager to acquaint myself with you.” He smiled, extending his hand. “Come, Miss Tate. We are not far now from the poetry reading.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Amelia debated turning back. Something about the encounter, his persistence, hisfamiliaritywith her, unsettled her.
The man took her hand without asking.
Through the sheer fabric of her glove, his hand was cold and uninviting. She sensed something was wrong and pulled back abruptly, yanking her hand free.
By that point, they had arrived at the end of the cloister. A door before them led into another building, a dark gothic mass before them. The quadrangle was nowhere in sight. The gentleman turned around, slighted.
“Mr. De Rees, I would like to return indoors.”
