Page 40 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

“You revealed to Grandmother that I have a place I go,” she said, hearing her voice edge into a higher register than she’d ever used before. “When she sees me next, she will demand to know where, and then I’ll never be able to use the tower again, and—”

Andrew left his bundle behind and moved from where he sat across the floor to kneel in front of her. He put one hand on her shoulder and cupped her chin with the other, guiding her to look at him. His brow was etched with concern, his eyes dark with worry. “Josie. Take a breath. Listen.”

She pressed her lips together and stared at him, her heart aching with the loss of the only place in the castle she felt was truly her own. She tried to follow back the bitter taste of disappointment on her tongue.

“You needn’t tell anyone where you go. You are in the castle. Tucked away in a quiet corner. If they press you for answers, you need only say that you are sorry you worried them, but you needn’t disclose your location to anyone unless you wish it.”

“Grandmama will tell Father,” Josephine whispered, her eyes burning with tears. She couldn’t cry in front of Andrew. He’d never let her hear the last of it—except she had cried in front of him that day in the rain. And he’d never mentioned it.

Andrew’s voice softened. “Your father is the most reasonable man I know. I cannot imagine him intruding upon you here, even if you told him where you spend your time.” His thumb brushed her cheek near the corner of her mouth, then he slowly withdrew his hands and moved away. “Don’t borrow trouble until it comes.”

She sniffled and searched about for her handkerchief. “That is much easier for you to say than for me to do.”

“Josie.” Andrew held his large white handkerchief out to her. “Stop fretting. Your secret is still safe.”

Perhaps he was right. Her father hadn’t ever treated his children heavy-handed, despite being a duke. She dabbed at her eyes with the cloth Andrew provided, then sighed. “I don’t suppose I expected to have it all to myself forever. What a childish thing. Like when boys make their ridiculous ‘clubs’ in attics and outbuildings.”

“The clubs in London are as ridiculous,” Andrew told her with complete seriousness. “Why do we always look for places to hide ourselves away from things?”

She shrugged one shoulder and leaned against the stone wall. “I cannot speak for anyone but myself. I suppose I am here because I want a place that is my own.” Her throat tightened, and she looked to Andrew, measuring his response to her words. “Is that ridiculous for me to say, given who I am?”

Andrew settled in his place again and stretched out his legs before him, crossing them at the ankles and looking for all the world as comfortable as a man on a picnic. “I imagine writers would need a quiet place to think, and to write undisturbed. The last time I tried writing a letter in the Rose Salon, I was interrupted half a dozen times by people pestering me with questions about what I was writing.” He appeared heartily disgusted by the memory and then broke into a smile. “Is that what you mean?”

“I meant because I am a duke’s daughter.” Josephine looked down at her traveling desk, the pen and paper atop it appearing as nothing more than innocent tools. “I live in a castle.”

“Your father’s castle, full of family, guests, and servants. Taking time to yourself is not a horrible thing.” Andrew picked up his bundle and unwrapped it, revealing the cloth as a large linen napkin, and its contents.

“Food,” Josephine said, eyes wide. “But what of mice?”

“Up here?” he shrugged. “We will be careful not to leave so much as a crumb behind.” He offered her a roll and an apple. “Are you hungry?”

Her empty stomach twisted unhappily. She took the apple and soft round roll from him. “Thank you. Did you bring any for yourself?”

“Are you inviting me to stay?” Was it her imagination, or did he seem hopeful as he asked that absurd question?

“Of course. I cannot have you leaving at the wrong moment and giving away my position.”

One corner of his mouth went higher than the other when he smiled, and a gleam of amusement appeared in his eyes. “I thought as much. There is enough for two of us to enjoy a small repast.”

He took an apple in one hand and reached into his waistcoat with the other, pulling out a slim book which he opened. He leaned back and started reading without another word, taking a large bite of his apple before turning the page.

Josephine watched him as she nibbled at the bread, waiting for him to begin a conversation. But when he remained quiet, even after he’d finished his apple and she hers, she put her desk upon her lap again and took up her quill pen. Only then did he look up from the pages of his book.

“Would you like me to leave, so you can write in peace?”

“No.” The answer surprised her almost as much as it seemed to surprise him. “I do not mind—and you will have a quiet place to read. If you wish to stay, that is.” She ducked her head and dipped her quill in the inkwell, ignoring the way her cheeks grew warm. Had she sounded foolish to him, or only to herself?

“Thank you.” Andrew didn’t complicate the matter with more words than that. He picked up his book, and the two remained together in the sunlit tower. Quietly keeping each other from being alone.

CHAPTER 14

When Josephine appeared in the sitting room before dinner, Grandmama surprised her by not asking where she had hidden away. Though she hinted heavily that Josephine better not disappear the next day.

That meant when morning came, Josephine lingered at the breakfast table with the others, and she accepted an invitation to ride with the gentlemen when her brother extended it. Despite preferring to stay inside, working on her book. Or perhaps reading one. The time spent quietly in Andrew’s company the day before had surprised her. It had been peaceful. Restorative, even.

Instead of giving in to her wishes, Josephine spent the morning comporting herself as a proper young lady, riding side-saddle, and most certainly not thinking of riding in the rain. That last was quite difficult considering the expressions Andrew sent her way every time their eyes met.

Given the way he grinned, smirked, and teased as ever he had, he certainly didn’t think on that day as often as she did, or with the same strange muddle of emotion. Or as often as she tried not to relive the moments when her shoulder pressed against his chest and his arm encircled her waist.