Caleb laughed. “Lessons would be far too tedious. I just enjoy the chance to look sensitive and sentimental.”
Amusement tugged at Lady Ruperta’s lips, then vanishedagain so quickly, it would have given a lesser man whiplash to see it. But Caleb was well used to people annoying themselves by finding him delightful. After all, he’d mastered adorableness when he was a child, it having been an essential survival skill.
Assessing Lady Ruperta thoughtfully—although she’d never have guessed it from the sweetly pleasant look on his face—he perceived very little danger to him, and conversely, a wealth of opportunity to win her over. With an hour and the effort of a few smiles, Caleb felt sure he’d have her willing to subsidize any goal he chose to name.
It was easy to decide what he wanted from her. “Allow me to beg your forgiveness,” he said. Lady Ruperta’s eyes narrowed—she’d obviously met shysters before and possessed good defenses of mistrust and disdain. But they would be no better than paper against Caleb. Even in just an open-collared shirt and trousers, no expensive gold cuff link or silk tie in sight, he could impress this woman. “You seem like a generous soul,” he lied. And sliding his hands into his trouser pockets, he leaned against the piano at an angle that took him a delightful inch pastindolentintomellow.
Lady Ruperta swallowed rather heavily, and Caleb knew he’d hooked her. Now to begin reeling her in until she provided some way to get him and Amelia out of this assignment and on a train back to civilization. He let his smile deepen into one of sympathy and kindness. “Even so, you must be tired of having so many people in your home,” he said.
And then she bamboozled him utterly. “I am tired of more than you could ever imagine, young man,” she replied.
Caleb was able to do no more than blink at her, his smile frozen. The hauteur had not eased from her face, but he knewenough about pain to see it in the corners of her eyes and in the way her mouth moved with a habit of tightness, of speaking too few joyful words. She gave him a look so penetrating, he felt shaken to a degree he’d not for many years, his own defenses usually being excellent. His smile broke.
“Judging from the look on your face right now, perhaps youcouldimagine it,” Lady Ruperta said musingly. “And yet, how fortunate you are, Professor. You can put down history and walk away from it anytime you like.”
“Only if you mean antiques,” Caleb found himself saying before he could run it through his charm filter.
Lady Ruperta’s mouth twisted as if she felt pity but was resisting it. “Are you married?”
He shook his head.
“I didn’t think so. Come back to me with your ideas about history, material or otherwise, when you’ve been wed half as long as I. Now kindly leave the room. Yourassociates”—she said the word in the way someone else would sayplebs, and Caleb abruptly lost all sympathy for her—“are in the Mauve Drawing Room down the hall.”
She did not indicate the way, or indeed move the slightest muscle, and it remained only for Caleb to offer a polite nod and silently make his exit. He felt oddly soiled and wanted to go at once for a bath, to scrub old memories from his skin until he was renewed. Instead, slipping a casual smile onto his face, he stepped out into the corridor.
And collided with a perambulating red-and-white barber’s pole. Only upon being thwacked in the face with a topknot of hair did he realize it was in fact Vanity. The young woman gasped so ostentatiously, Caleb suspected she’d not bumped into him but actually pounced.
“Oh, Professor Sterling!” she squeaked and giggled, and Caleb discovered that he was capable of genuine chivalry when he stopped himself from wincing. “Fancy meeting you here!”
“Uh-huh,” he said.
“Are you on your way to drinkies? Shall we go together?”
Caleb would rather leap off a cliff than accompany anyone who used the worddrinkies, but it was too late: Vanity had her arm hooked around his and was practically dragging him down the corridor.Oh well,he thought, surrendering to his fate;at least I won’t get lost with her.
—
Amelia had tuckedherself into a corner of the drawing room with her back against the wall, as physically far from the crowd as she could manage, and several hundred years away mentally, musing about how Queen Elizabeth Woodville might have occupied her time in sanctuary during the Wars of the Roses. Amelia rather envied the beleaguered queen that respite from society.
Of course, the four men occupying the drawing room (and an undetermined number of servants) could not really be called a crowd…No,rabblewas a better descriptor.Throng. MULTITUDE.And definitely the capital letters were justified. The two academics were debating the Duke of Wellington’s scandalous life (“Publish!” Dummersby contended; “Be damned!” Throckmorton rebutted) while Sir Nigel tried to make verbal sallies into the discussion, only to fail each time. His voice was approaching heights that would surely soon render him breathless. Even Sergeant Sheffield’s presence added to the sense of overwhelm, for Amelia couldn’t help but fret a little about what exactly the man was thinking as he loomed in silence, aglass of sherry looking ridiculously fragile in his grip. One flex of the fingers and he might shatter it.
Vanity had yet to make an appearance, for which Amelia could only be grateful. Such a cheerful young woman, sweetly innocent, and unutterably annoying. If her giggles were added to the present commotion, it would quite possibly break Amelia’s sanity. This assignment had been a case study in frustration, but over the past couple of days she’d felt as if everything within her had been pushed right to the edge.
If only Caleb was able to touch her one more time and thus provide the sense of completion for which her body yearned, she might ease back into her usual Tarrant centeredness. Just a single gentle touch, in an interesting place, for an extended period of time. With motion applied. And associated kisses.
But surrounded as they were through the day by company, and with the perils of being caught together at night remaining too great, the impossibility of such a thing happening had left Amelia suffering to a degree not even her imagination could assuage.
Surely soon Lady Ruperta and Sir Nigel would declare that enough antiques had been assessed. Already the wagon in the stables was packed high with items of assorted value, awaiting transport to the Staveley train station and then on to the British Museum. Sir Nigel was in a near-constant state of mournful sniffling. And Dummersby was even beginning to look concerned as to the capacity of the museum’s display space. It all suggested that an announcement of their departure might happen at any time.Such as now,Amelia thought, holding her breath…But the chatter in the room went on.Or maybe now,she thought…But Lady Ruperta did not enter. Sighing, Amelia lost hope that she would.
Caleb’s lack of attendance, however, was another matter. His tardiness was par for the course, but considering all the dangerous magical antiques and obstreperous ghosts in the manor, Amelia worried that he’d fallen down several centuries or into a cannibalistic bathtub. She tried to deflect her concerns by imagining those of Queen Elizabeth Woodville instead, but with no success. Gripping a tiny plate of hors d’oeuvres that contained far too much sardine matter to actually eat, she kept her eye on the drawing room door.
Where are you, Caleb?
Suddenly, the door opened! But it admitted only Grimshaw, casting a pall over the gathering. “Dinner is served,” he announced.
The men began trooping out. But Amelia paused in the doorway, feeling more troubled than she could explain.
“Mr. Grimshaw, have you seen Professor Sterling this evening?” she asked.
