“Why would I think that silly?” He smiled and relaxed in her presence for the first time. “I must have read that book a dozen times.”
“Truly?” She stared at him with wide-eyed amazement. “You’re not jesting?”
He leaned forward slightly and affected his most serious tone. “I would never jest about such an uplifting novel.”
She grinned, and in that moment, everything changed. Callum couldn’t explain it, but he felt like a bit of a fool. Somehow, he’d allowed his first encounter with her to guide every subsequent interaction. He’d managed to tie himself into knots over thinking of how to approach her and what he should say once he did. As a result, he’d always moved too quickly while in her presence, and this had made him clumsy.
Now, he wonderedwhyshe’d made him so nervous. She was, as it turned out, quite normal.
“What’s your favorite part of the story?”
Callum considered her question with care before giving his answer. “I believe it must be the duel.”
“I love that too, though I think my favorite part is when Willoughby discovers the truth about Celestina’s birth and realizes they are free to marry.”
“You’re absolutely right. How could I have forgotten?”
She beamed at him without answering that. “What’s your favorite pastime activity?”
“One would think it’s pestering you.” He was glad when she laughed in response to the joke. “In truth, it’s actually writing.”
“Oh?” She looked visibly intrigued and appeared as though she might say more on the subject, but then the maid returned and distracted her. A fresh pot of tea was placed on the table along with a teacup intended for Callum. A plate filled with four rhubarb tarts was set beside it. Lady Emily thanked the maid, and then, much to Callum’s surprise, she said, “I know you have duties to attend to, Georgina, so feel free to leave us.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey and departed. The door, Callum noted, remained wide open. Still, he could not help but ask, “You’re not worried you might need a witness in case I trip over my feet while attempting to stand?”
“I sent her away so therewon’tbe anyone here to see if something like that occurs,” she told him wryly. “Thought I’d protect your pride.”
He met her gaze with a laugh. The sparkle of pure amusement he found there went straight to his heart. Had he known she’d been this delightful he’d not have wasted six years steering clear of her or blaming her for turning him into an awkward idiot.
“I’m truly sorry for all of my blunders.” He’d told her so already, but it was the sort of thing that warranted repeating. “My intention was never to cause you harm or embarrassment. It was purely accidental.”
“So you’ve said, and I believe you.” She poured the tea. “Perhaps we can speak of your writing instead? I’m curious to know if you’ve ever been published.”
“I have not.” Thankfully this was the truth. The book he’d helped his friends write had been printed, but one couldn’t truly say it was published until it was made available in a shop. He picked up his cup. “It’s just a hobby, you see – a way for me to escape the world in a more responsible way than I used to.”
He didn’t miss the look of sympathy in her eyes, but rather than question what he might need to escape from, she asked, “What’s your preference? Poetry or novels?”
“Short stories,” he said. Having set his cup aside, he indicated the tarts. “May I?”
“By all means. Please help yourself.” She pushed the plate toward him and waited for him to select a tart before selecting her own. “And what sort of style would you say you favor?”
“It’s a bit of a mixed bag, to be honest. I suppose my mood sets the tone.” He bit into the flaky tart crust, catching Lady Emily’s gaze as she did the same. A laugh rolled through him, and her eyes, he noted, danced with humor. Not that there was any particular reason for it besides simply feeling at ease.
“Would you ever allow me to read some of it?” she asked once she’d finished eating.
Callum swallowed the last bite he’d taken and opened his mouth, prepared to answer, when the sight of her licking her fingers rendered him mute. She seemed not to care that he saw, and this had a couple of very opposing effects.
On the one hand, he liked that she was comfortable enough in his presence to do the most practical thing instead of what was considered most proper. On the other, however,she was sitting right there, licking her fingers!
While holding his gaze, no less. And smiling.
He would have shredded his napkin, had it been made of paper. The sight was so bloody provocative, his blood started to sizzle. Heaven have mercy, the woman was born to be a seductress.
“Well?” she asked.
Well, what?
He tried to marshal his thoughts. What had she been saying? Oh right. Would he let her read his writing.
