Love In The Library (13 page)

When she went to move from the warm bed, pain surged to her temple. Another casualty of the wine. She stepped cautiously toward the door. Each step vibrated to her throbbing head. “That is very kind of you,” she said to the door that separated them. “Please go ahead and eat. Perhaps by the time I’m dressed, I will feel more like eating than I do just now.”

He cleared his throat. “If there’s a need, I’ve brought tisane.”

“There is need,” she groaned.
A very great need
.

“If you’ll just open the door a bit, I’ll hand you the glass. It’s our valet’s own special decoction which my brother swears by to banish the bad head after. . .”

She was utterly mortified. “After one has imbibed too much?”

"I wouldn't necessarily say that." His voice was ever so polite. "You scarcely had two glasses."

"You are too kind, Mr. Steffington." She inched the door open and stuck out her hand for the elixir.

It tasted nasty, but if it would rid her of the wretched headache, it would be well worth it.

Because she was unaccustomed to dressing herself, it took her longer than normal, and still her hair was a disaster. Fortunately, Mr. Steffington wasn’t the sort of man who would notice. As she peered at herself in the looking glass, she unaccountably wondered which of her features he would take notice of. If he were apt to take notice of any.

This was not her best day. Her eyes were dull, and she looked pallid. And she prayed he would not notice that no matter how hard she had tried to arrange her hair, it still looked as if she had just climbed from her bed.

When she finally made her way to the adjoining parlor, her head still throbbed.

He stood as she came through the doorway, and she inclined her head ever so slowly so as not to jar it and send her into agonies of pain. Her glance flicked to the plate in front of him. He had eaten every bite.

The very sight of her own plate with toast and hog's pudding sent her stomach reeling. She could not even sit in front of it. Instead she remained standing, even though he indicated for her to sit in front of untouched plate full of food.

When she didn’t move, a sly smile lifted one corner of his very agreeable mouth. “Allow me to guess. Could Mrs. Bexley be feeling poorly today?”

“Your amusement does not amuse me, Mr. Steffington, for it comes at my cost.”

“Forgive me, but you were so. . .so delightful last night.”

Her eyes narrowed. “In what way?”

"Have no fear that you've done anything less than expected of a lady."

That was a relief. "So, in what way was I delightful?" Uh, oh. She vaguely recalled placing her head against his chest. Oh, dear. Crimson hiked into her cheeks.

He shrugged. "Allow me to say that you behaved as if we were very old friends."

She certainly hoped he meant
friend
and not
doxy
. "I feel as if we are old friends." Truly, he'd been more loyal to her than any man she'd ever known. Even Mr. Bexley.

She frowned. Especially Mr. Bexley.

"If you're not going to eat, we need to carry on."

* * *

Because the sun had not risen high in the sky when they first started their journey, it was cool enough to have Catherine stuffing her gloved hands within her muff—after throwing a rug across her lap. As skies brightened, she was able to throw off the rug.

A pity she couldn't get rid of her headache that easily. "I thought you said your valet's elixir of tisane always brought relief to your brother."

His brows lowered. "It's not helping you?"

"Oh, it's helped lessen the intensity of the pain."

"I'm terribly sorry. It's my fault for continuing to fill your glass."

"You didn't pour it down my throat. I really should have known better. It’s just that I have not had a single drop of wine in these past fourteen months. It didn't seem right while I was in mourning."

"That would explain why after so small amount, you . . . experienced the effects of the spirits."

"I know you're trying to be the perfect gentlemen by reassuring me, but I would prefer to speak of my embarrassment no more."

"As you wish. What would you like to speak of?"

"Our quest. When shall we arrive at Lord Seacrest's?"

"I hope to be there by three this afternoon."

"If you read the map correctly." She flashed a smile. "You did account for hills, dales, and mountains this time?"

He tried to look angry, but he was unable to suppress his smile. "Allow me to make a proposal. I won’t speak any more about your . . . wine binge if you won’t speak about my mapping mishaps."

"Wine binge?" she shrieked.

He started laughing, and she was powerless not to join him. She loved to laugh. Always had. It had been a great disappointment that Mr. Bexley had neither a sense of humor nor was he clever enough to know when she was teasing.

In spite of her dull headache, she was nearly swamped with a feeling of well-being. Mr. Steffington was so very good for her. Perhaps, though, her happiness was connected to the emerging sun. Sunshine always had that effect upon her.

What a pretty site all those red and gold autumn leaves made as they scattered beneath the blue skies. Even the stark branches of the beech and oak were lovely to behold on this cheerful day.

If only the motion of the carriage did not disturb the contents of her stomach. If only her head did not throb.

"I think when we arrive at Granfield Manor, you ought to stay in the coach. That is," he said, eying her muff. "If the weather doesn't turn too cool. We are going north."

"So it is expected to be cooler."

He shrugged.

"I don’t wish to stay in the carriage." She folded her arms across her chest.

"Then what is it you would like, madam?"

"I want to be your wife."

Chapter 10

What the devil!
She wants to marry me?
Their gazes locked and held. For that one moment, he fancied that she really did wish to marry him. But as quickly as she had uttered the words, he realized she didn’t want to be his wife but wanted to be his fake wife for an afternoon.

For some odd reason, the truth deflated him. Not, of course, that he wished to be married. He had no desire to be shackled for life to some empty-headed female. It was just that. . . well, the notion of a lovely thing like Mrs. Bexley being attracted to him couldn't help but please any man.

Good lord, that was the sort of reasoning that ruled his twin—not the serious, pragmatic brother. He had best push away such destructive thoughts.

He met her gaze squarely and shook his head. "No, no, that won’t do."

She gave him that pout she had so successfully employed in the past to get exactly what she wanted from him. "Give me one good reason why it won't."

"Your good name. There's one good reason."

"Lord Seacrest need never find out my true identity."

"You couldn't possibly know such a thing."

She eyed him with a smug look that accentuated the dimple in her cheek. "But there is the
probability
that he will never learn who I am. Are you not a believer in mathematical probabilities, Mr. Steffington? Are you not given to looking at life in terms of mathematics?"

He was, so much so that he had once seriously considered being a mathematician. Before he realized he loved books more. How was it this woman knew him so well? It was deuced awkward having a woman getting so close. He cleared his throat. "You know I am."

"Then there you have it!"

"No, I don't. Why can't you just stay in the coach and let me do what you came to me to do in the first place?"

"I have a very good reason for not wanting to stay in the carriage. Unless Lord Seacrest has the Chaucer on display under glass as did my late husband and his father before him, determining if Lord Seacrest has the Chaucer might take a concentrated bit of deduction. It could be hours. It's not like you can just waltz in there and demand to see the Chaucer. You must go about searching for it in a polite manner. Have him think you're looking for something else."

"I had hoped to play to his vanity and make it appear I have come to see one of the finest libraries in the kingdom."

"Oh yes, I am certain he'd like that. Man doesn't collect not to share."

"Dr. Mather said the very same thing." And Mather was one of the most intelligent men he'd ever known. He cleared his throat. What was there about this woman that had him prefacing so many remarks with a rumpled cough? "And what if we discover the Chaucer in his possession? Then will you reveal your true identity?"

She puckered her lips in thought. "That's a very good question." She sighed. "I shall have to cross that bridge when I come to it, but if I must claim it, then I'm ever so happy to have a strapping man like you with me."

Strapping man? No one had ever referred to him in that way before. Elvin had likely been referred to in such a manner. And he supposed they did look exactly the same to most people. He
was
even the tallest twin by an inch.

Suddenly, he grew suspicious of her comment regarding his size. Why should his size matter? Did the lady want him to seize the book and fight off the peer's servants as he and Mrs. Bexley made a getaway? He could see he was going to have discuss this further with the woman.

But first, he needed to address what she'd said just prior to the
strapping
praise part. "Now see here, you can't just say
I'll cross that bridge when I come to it
. The key to any successful mission is a well-thought-out plan." Now he folded his arms across his chest. "I refuse to step one foot inside of Granfield Manor without a plan."

"There are some things in life for which one cannot plan."

One minute ago he was a strapping man whose company she desired, and now she spoke icily as if she must wish him to Coventry.

"I always have a plan."

She glared. "It's impossible to be prepared for every contingency. I like to get the lay of the land before I decide upon a course of action."

"Then it is very good thing you are not leading men into battle because you could lead your troops to slaughter."

Her eyes narrowed. "You are accusing me of gross incompetence."

"Do you know how ridiculous you sound? You're not a general, Mrs. Bexley."

She started to giggle. Her laughing increased. She laughed so hard, rivulets streamed from her lovely eyes.

Once again, her laughter was contagious. Why was it she made him laugh so easily? No one had ever had such an effect upon him.

After a considerable period of time, she wiped away the last of her tears and faced him. "It really is too funny imagining me as a general! You do say the silliest things." She drew a breath. "But to return to our discussion, can we not reach some sort of compromise? Partial plan, partial improvisation?"

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"All right. Let's say that as soon as you enter his library, you see the Chaucer prominently displayed. Let's form a plan on how we would handle it. On, the other hand, if it's not readily discernible at first, we form a plan on how to discover it."

He nodded. "Exactly what I'd like to do."

"Good. So plan away, Mr. Telford."

Very good. How many women would know the name of England's greatest engineer? "First," he said with a nod, "what should we do if the manuscript is on display? Will you wish to immediately reveal your identity and claim it? I did some investigation of my own which substantiates what you had learned about the rightful ownership of stolen goods."

"Legally, it is mine, is it not?"

"It is."

"Then I think I would—under those circumstances—reveal my identity and claim it."

"If that's what you wish, I will back you up."

"But—owing to the fact you want to plan for every contingency—what should you wish to do if he summons big, burly footmen to take it away from you after you've taken it away from him?"

"I would bloody well get out of there."Oh oh. He wasn't supposed to say bloody in front of a lady. His mother was forever chastising the twins for using such language in front of their sisters. "I beg your pardon for my choice of words."

"I assure you, my husband often said much worse, and he never asked for forgiveness."

What a beast the fellow must have been. Why would she continue to refer to such a man as
my dear Mr. Bexley
?

"Since you wish to make a thorough plan," she continued, "how many burly footman would it take to have you racing from the house? Two? Three? Five?"

"I should have to see them."

"Ah ha! See, some things just cannot be calculated ahead of time."

Now it was his turn to glare. "You have made your point, madam."

She held her head high, a smug smile crossing her face. "Now, let us discuss how we react if the Chaucer is not readily visible."

"I thought I would say that it is my desire to see the rare editions that are in his possession and for which he is so noted."

"Playing to his great vanity, again," she said with a nod. "Very good."

"Surely if he had the Chaucer, he would reveal it at that time. As you said, one does not collect who does not wish to display."

"And so, if he then reveals it, we go back to the initial plan, declare ownership, claim it, and leave—unless you find the size of the footmen giving chase too terrifying." She gave a little giggle.

"Now see here! I never said I would be terrified." He sat rather straighter and expanded his chest in an attempt to appear as manly as possible. "In fact, I daresay if I ever thought you in peril, I could defend you most adequately."

"Would you really, Airy?" Her voice had gone all youthful again.

"You must guard your good name, Mrs. Bexley. It is improper for you to address me by my first name."

"Oh, but I didn't really address you by your first name. 'Tis just a little name I choose to call you when it is just the two of us."

"You will give me your word not to use it in the presence of others?"