“And breezes,” he went on. “I’ll get bronchitis or—oh God—a red nose.”
Amelia rolled her eyes at this whining. “You ought to haveconsidered the possible consequences before behaving so atrociously at the Minervaeum Club.”
Caleb shot her an aggrieved look. “Come on, bella luna, you knoweveryonebehaves atrociously at the Min. That’s the third time this year the library ceiling has been broken.”
She sighed. “True.” In glum silence they crossed the Front Quad and, nodding to the porter, exited onto Broad Street. A chill breeze swept past them, musky with the smell of decaying leaves. Beyond the dreaming spires and solemn stone rooftops of the city, dark clouds were gathering.
“Well at least we’re leaving before that storm gets here,” Caleb said.
Amelia smiled at him. “I know you need your sunshine.”
“That’s what you’re for,” he answered frivolously.
Amelia felt a throb of emotion. Caleb was always saying such things, and yet it made a different impression on her heart this time.Hewas different, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on how.
Something in her must have taken that to be a literal instruction, for she found herself touching a finger against Caleb’s forearm, as if that would solve the mystery. Alas, however, it only left her with a great deal more questions. Questions that Caleb turned into an outright interrogation by reaching out to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. Amelia suddenly felt as if she’d been strapped to a vibrating machine and electrified.
At precisely that moment, a group of sophomores emerged from a bookstore across the street. Amelia took a hasty step back. “Mind your manners, Professor Sterling,” she scolded, lest anyone had noticed their intimacy.Wait, no!she thought,blushing.Not intimacy, proximity!Just proximity. There was nothing intimate about him fixing her hair, his fingers stroking the sensitive, delicate shell of her ear, making her feel—
“I must go,” she said abruptly, turning away so Caleb did not see her red face. “I’ll meet you at the train station in forty-five minutes.”
Without another word, she strode off in a fine display of dignified nonchalance for all of three seconds before Caleb called out.
“Your house is in the other direction.”
Damn.“I am taking a stroll,” she lied.
“Don’t be silly.” Following her, he grasped her wrist.
Amelia repressed a gasp as an electric sensation shot right through her. Immediately, Caleb let go, as if he’d experienced it too. They stared at each other like she was English, he French, and the space between them a vast battlefield in Agincourt. The air felt affrighted, and Amelia realized she was breathing too fast when Caleb’s gaze dropped to watch the effect of it on her bosom. Half a second later he caught himself and looked up again, his eyes silvery beneath their lashes, his own breath stilled.
Amelia opened her mouth to say something—anything—
Then she turned and fled.
Chapter Three
History infuses our present the same way
tea infuses water (although it rarely tastes as good).
I, on the Past, Cornelius Ottersock
By the timeAmelia arrived at the Oxford train station, she had Made A Decision. The sort of decision that requires capital letters and a brisk nod of the head. As she entered the platform with a suitcase in one hand, gray coat flapping and beret threatening to become stylishly askew at any moment in the darkening wind, she stated this decision firmly (but silently, since talking aloud to oneself in public was undignified).
No longer would she be rattled by Caleb.
After all, they had been friends for two decades. There existed no good reason for her to suddenly go all fluttery in his presence. It was bad for her cardiovascular health (to say nothing of museum galleries and library ceilings). Furthermore,flutterywas worryingly close to slang. A Tarrant never used slang when any number of erudite, multisyllabic words were available instead, even if no one else understood what they meant. Henceforth, she would be sensible and self-controlled.
“You’re late.”
Amelia jolted as Caleb appeared at her side as if fromnowhere. Dressed in a black suit and matching coat whose wool had clearly been shorn from very expensive sheep, he looked like he’d stepped out of one of the dramatic poems he was forever reading. Amelia’s Decision instantaneously shredded within the storm of her pulse. In its place arose a memory of the crescent moon tattoo on Caleb’s left bicep. He’d shown it to her soon after he got it, unbuttoning his shirt, drawing the fabric aside…
“You’re wrong,” she snapped before she could stop herself. “I am here three minutes before eleven.”
Caleb grinned boyishly. “It’stwominutes before, actually,” he said as he took her suitcase easily, never mind the large case in his other hand and the bag slung over his shoulder. “But that’s fine; the train will be late of course.”
Of course it would. This was England. Silently lecturing herself to calm down, Amelia wrapped her thin coat around her as they walked along the platform in search of Miss Tunnicliffe. A small crowd awaited the train, dressed in somber colors as if to match the weather. Around their feet skittered old leaves and torn newspaper pages, and Amelia wondered if there was time to ask the station manager for a broom before the train arrived.
