Flashing her a brittle smile, he swept a case of preserved beetles off the chair behind his desk and sat down.
“We have things to discuss,” he repeated, fixing her with a firm look. “We must discuss the events of this morning and last night.”
She was not listening. He watched in resignation as she leaned forward, poring over the clutter on his desk.
“I thought a gentleman’s study was always kept immaculate,” she murmured. “Father kept a study in our old house. Whenever I went in, everything was so very neat. All his papers and books were tidied nicely away on the shelves. The maid dusted it daily, and the carpets and curtains were swept and beaten often. He did not care for trinkets, but he had a collection of coins. He kept them in glass-fronted cases, up on the walls.”
“How pleasant for him,” Stephen responded. “My study is my own business.”
“Of course, of course.” She paused, picking up a complex brass instrument. “What is this?”
“It is a sextant.”
“A what?”
He sighed, leaning forward, and plucked the instrument from her hands. “It is a navigation tool. See, you place your eye here,and you angle the other end toward the sun at noon or toward Polaris at night. From the reading’s position, you calculate exactly where you are at sea.”
“How intriguing,” she murmured. He shot her a sharp look, certain she was mocking him, but there was no hint of amusement on her face. “Is it a complex reading?”
“It can be,” he responded, placing the sextant back on his desk.
“What would you do if it were cloudy?”
“Hm?”
She tilted her head. “You say you use the sun or Polaris, the star, but what if it is cloudy, or foggy, and you cannot see either?”
He gave a tight, brittle smile. “Then we wait for the clouds to clear and pray hard. Sailors’ prayers are not often answered, however.”
“You must be fond of sailing, then.”
Something bubbled in his gut.
“No,” Stephen answered shortly. “I am not. Let us get to business, Amelia.”
She blinked, as if waking from a reverie. He sensed that he had said the wrong thing. The open interest in her eyes was gone, replaced by that blank, protective stare from earlier.
“Of course,” she murmured. “I should apologize for my sisters’ bringing Tiny here. I did not think they would bring him, but if he is left alone at home, he howls horribly. We haven’t the heart to chain him outside.”
Stephen grunted. “I have no objection to your dog’s presence here. I only ask that he does not bother my cat.”
Amelia paused, tilting her head. “You did not strike me as the sort of man to have a cat.”
I should have known this would happen.
Sighing, Stephen folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, I suppose I have a cat after all. The fellow followed me home and set himself up here as regal as a lord.”
“That’s cats for you.”
“Hmm. He was once a ship’s cat, and remains an excellent mouser.”
He should have known that mentioning the creature would summon him. Not unlike a biblical demon, in fact.
A gray, shaggy mess uncoiled itself from a nest among some boxes. It arched its back, stretching with slow ease. Then it picked its way toward the desk. A low rumble echoed through the room, aimed at Amelia.
“Is hepurring?” she asked, blinking.
The cat weaved around her ankles, twisting round and round, rubbing his furry cheek against her skirt.
