“And release doves at the end of the ceremony!”
“And you’ll need to get a proper haircut!”
By this time, the men on the opposite bench were so tense, they appeared on the verge of shattering. Devon himself felt a headache coming on. He promised to use the ladies’ suggestedmarriage proposal, autographed their handkerchiefs, and finally effected an escape.
Beth had disappeared from the corridor, and with a doleful sigh he returned to his own compartment. Looking up from a geography textbook, Gabriel arched one eyebrow.
“What happened to you?”
“Admirers,” was all Devon managed to say before collapsing on the seat. He ran a hand across his face, through his hair. “Why people?”
Gabriel shrugged. “I wish I knew,” he said, and blessedly went back to reading his book.
Devon stared out the window, thinking aboutreuniting with Bethcatching the caladrius,kissing Bethpresenting the caladrius to the IOS committee, andsinking himself into Beth’s warm soft depths like a man experiencing a little death and temporarily visiting heavenwinning Birder of the Year and the best reward of all,Beth’s lovetenure.
Chapter Fourteen
A bird endeavoring to win a mate is often as unscrupulous as a certain German ornithologist who shall go unnamed for legal reasons but who can be identified by his brash manner and redolent cologne.
Birds Through a Sherry Glass, H.A. Quirm
Beth disembarked thetrain at Oxford Station with a great weight upon her. Namely, her suitcase, which she was used to leaving in the care of Hippolyta’s footmen. Nevertheless, determined to beat Devon to their mutual destination, she wrapped both arms around it and ventured forth with such speed, several shocked pedestrians muttered to each other, “There goes a feminist!”
They might have been relieved to know, however, that the real reason for this speed was because arriving before Devon would surely lead tomeeting withDevon, and at this point Beth would have swerved around a dozen caladriuses if they got in the way of her doing that.
Granted, a plain owl of a woman had little chance of winning the heart of a man like Devon Lockley—but she hadn’t become a doctor of ornithology, Britain’s youngest professor, and Huttingdon Primary School’s Most Reliable Student (1873), by surrendering when things got tough! Besides, she didn’t aim so high as hisheart, only his smile, maybe a kiss ortwo…and she wouldn’t turn up her nose at being stuck in a hotel bedroom with him again either, should fate absolutely insist upon it.
Stopping at her boardinghouse lodgings on St. Aldate’s to drop off the suitcase and despair briefly over the dust that had accumulated while she’d been away, she collected her bicycle, then set off for the Museum of Natural History, wherein Oxford University’s ornithology department was located. Twice, students from her classes waved to her, and she felt compelled to pause and check in on their welfare, encourage their summer reading, and inquire about any interesting birds they had seen. Consequently, it was twenty minutes before she finally reached Professor Gladstone’s office. Standing outside the door, her determination began wavering as she stared at the nameplate that someone, in an old and hallowed student tradition, had sabotaged to read “Professor BadStoned.”
“I’m doing this in the name of science,” she reassured herself as she drew the pin from her hat and inserted it in the door’s lock. Nevertheless, her breath ran away to hide at the back of her lungs. Gladstone’s secretary had informed her that the gentleman departed some time ago for the Peak District, which was indeed his annual tradition, but in the excitement of the competition Beth had forgotten it. At least with him being over one hundred miles away, it should be safe to search his office for clues about the caladrius.
On the other hand, being a teacher, Beth naturally expected the worst. Slipping cautiously into the warm, cluttered room and closing the door behind her, she turned toward Gladstone’s desk—
And the breath shook out of her.
Devon sat in Gladstone’s chair. With one leg crossed overthe other, his elbow on the armrest and his jaw set between thumb and finger, he looked exactly like a professor willing to spend no more than three minutes listening to your excuse for missing the exam—except for the smug smile that clearly conveyedha ha, got here before you.
Beth’s heart soared like an American bald eagle, even while her brain closed its eyes, knowing the fatal plummet that was sure to come.
—
Devon had takenonly one step into Gladstone’s office before he wanted to walk right back out and go in search of the strongest whiskey Oxford offered. An imposing clutter of books, maps, papers, and taxidermied birds packed the space so thoroughly, it seemed time could find no access. He smelled ash from a pipe that must have been smoked weeks ago, and noted a portrait of King George III on the wall with a dodo bird mounted beside it in what he suspected was a non-ironic placement. As a student at Yale, he’d visited offices like this often, trying to explain to stern-faced professors how his grades could be so good while his behavior wasso very bad. In contrast, his own office at Cambridge was little more than a desk, a comfortable chair, and a jar of peppermints to share with anxious students.
But he was also willing to bet that somewhere amid this antiquated mess lay a clue as to the caladrius’s whereabouts. And more importantly, he expected Beth would be along soon to uncover it. So he sat behind the professor’s desk and waited for her, like an Alaskan cat-catching warbler waiting for its prey. Like an utter scoundrel.
And then she arrived, so sweet and summery in her floraldress and pale gold boater that the grimy shadows in both the office and his heart seemed to fade away.Home, he thought with a silent sigh. Which was ridiculous, considering he’d only known the woman for a short while. And yet somehow, Beth Pickering had become a safe hearth for him.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded with a censorious frown. Devon struggled not to grin delightedly.
“Fieldwork, same as you.” Leaning back in the chair, he set his booted feet on the desk in a deliberate provocation. And sure enough, her frown deepened. He loved to see it. He wanted to push her against the crammed bookshelves and kiss all the most interesting places on her body until that frown was twisting with pleasure. But more than that, he wanted to be the kind of man this bookish, brilliant woman might come to like. So he just sat quietly.
“Villain,” she said, not fooled in the least.
He shrugged. “Ornithologist. I’m actually surprised we’re the only ones here. At the very least, I thought you’d reunited with Mrs. Quirm.”
“I left her on the train, heading for the Cotswolds.”
He grinned. “Ruthless woman.”
