Love In The Library (17 page)

At first, she'd wondered if he would even remember her aversion to traveling at night on the posting roads, but she was confident with his exceptional memory, he would. Would he be willing to stop the journey so the woman who was no long his ally could assuage her silly fears?

How different this night would be than the night at the Duke's Arms. Then she and Mr. Steffington had enjoyed an easy camaraderie. They had even acted as if they were exceedingly fond of each other.

Now they acted like complete strangers.

All the gallantry she had once attributed to him had been in error. Obviously a man who could read his bloody Euripides for ten straight hours and say nary a word to his traveling companion was an insensitive lout. Like the rest of his gender.

Then, conceive that this . . . this lout rudely reads his Euripides knowing full well the woman with whom he's traveling is not possessed of the ability to read in a moving carriage. A gentleman would have put aside his own selfish pursuits in order to make himself agreeable to the lady with the unfortunate affliction.

But not Mr. Steffington.

Never mind that Catherine herself had precipitated this estrangement by severing their relationship in her momentary rage.

When dawn had arrived, her anger had abated, but she was too proud to apologize, and he had communicated to her only a few words and only when they related to their journey from Granfield Manor. His chilly demeanor precipitated their estrangement. He was likely thrilled now to be relieved of the onerous task he'd never wanted to undertake in the first place.

It saddened her to remember how intent he'd been when he was her greatest champion. He had seemed more worried about the Coutts deadline than she.

She thought too about the severe hardships he'd put upon himself when he traveled to Cheddar on her behalf. And she could not forget how worried she had been about him. When she'd thought him gallant.

The pity of it was she
had
come to rely upon him. She would miss that. But it was only right that a woman who planned to live on her own henceforth should not depend upon a man.

Except for her dear departed Papa, she'd never known a man upon whom one could rely. She
had
thought Mr. Steffington was one of that rare breed. Before he revealed his superiority. Just because he was so blasted smart did not mean everyone around him was stupid.

She kept watching as the sun sank further behind the distant hills, waiting for him to suggest they stop for the night. He must be the one to show his concern for her wishes; she would not impose them on an unwilling man. She was through with manipulating males. Or trying to manipulate males.

When it was obviously too dark to continue reading, he finally closed the book and eyed her. It wasn't so dark that she  only barely saw his impatient demeanor when he faced her. "I suppose you'll be wanting to stop for the night." Those were the first words he'd said since early that morning.
Odious man
!

"I would."

"I conveyed those wishes to the driver this morning. I said as soon as it became dark he was to begin looking for posting inns."

"Oh." Mr. Steffington at least could have told her. But, then, he could have at least been civil to her. Severing their relationship
had
been his idea initially.
Odious man
. "Do you have any idea if we're near one?" she asked.

"I've been trying to remember each of the towns in reverse order from our outward journey, and if memory serves me correctly, we should be coming to Chipping Campden."

If she were a wagering person, she'd wager his memory was correct. "When?"

He shrugged. "Within the next half hour." With that comment, he turned his attention to peering from his window as if there were something to see as darkness set on the rolling countryside.

He had no intentions of speaking to her.
Odious man
.

* * *

It was all for the best. Truly. She could bloody well get that damned fiancé of hers to help find the
Canterbury Tales
. The bloody bore was rich enough to buy it for her.

Which begged the question: why had she even cared about the manuscript if she were going to marry one of the richest men in the kingdom? Melvin had always assumed she was desperate to find the Chaucer so she wouldn’t
have
to marry Maxwell Longford, the most insufferable man in all of Bath. If not in all of England.

Every time Melvin thought of her consenting to wed Long
mouth
, it lessened his opinion of her. Of course, women entered into loveless alliances all the time. The richer the man, the more attractive his matrimonial prospects became.

But why did the threat from Coutts hurt her so deeply if she were on the brink of marrying that intolerable braggart? The only explanation was that she did not want to marry Longford. Just like Melvin, she must want to be independent. Relying on others was abhorrent.

Soon the rolling hills of the Cotswold countryside yielded to a village where buttery squares of light glowed in the windows of the cream-colored cottages they passed. Their carriage slowed just as Melvin observed a hanging sign for the Black Lion Inn. The coach turned and passed beneath an old brick arch into an inn yard which was surrounded by two-story buildings on all sides. A lantern illuminated a second sign for the Black Lion. One arrow pointed to a door where humans could take respite; the other pointed to the stable block.

When their coach came to a complete stop, he turned to Mrs. Bexley. "You might wish to stay in the carriage whilst I go make arrangements for our chambers."

A fleeting look of some kind of emotion—was it fright?—reminded him of the woman's other request from two nights previously. He cleared his throat. "Does madam once more wish to ensure that I procure the room adjacent to you?"

"I would." Her scratchy voice sounded like that of a young girl.

He didn't wait for the coachman but opened the coach door and went into the inn. Because night had just fallen, there were no other patrons yet in the cozy, fire-lit chamber. Melvin easily procured adjacent rooms from a gray-haired proprietor who stood behind the tavern's bar. Melvin also requested dinner before returning to the carriage.

"There was no problem in securing adjacent chambers for Mr. Smith and his sister."

She faintly smiled at him as he assisted her from the coach. When they entered the tavern entrance, he was pleased to see the innkeeper had now lighted the wall sconce at the bottom of the narrow, dark stairs that would carry them to their rooms. "We have Rooms 1 and 2," he told her.

"You requested food?"

"I did. I assumed you'd be hungry." He certainly was.

"I'm feel as if I'm starving."

When they reached the relatively spacious Room 1, a youthful chambermaid was just finishing lighting the fire. "I'll carry on to Room 2 and see that it gets nice and warm too," she said as she left.

After a quick, unconscious glance at the curtained bed, Melvin turned toward the corridor just as the man from whom he'd requested their bed and bread came to the top of the stairs, lugging their valises. Though he was winded, the man managed to get the bags in the corresponding chambers and announce that his wife would be delivering the dinner in half an hour.

* * *

She had barely changed to her evening dress when there was a knock upon her door. She took a quick glance into the looking glass to make sure she looked presentable before opening the door to a plump matron who was balancing a tray crowded with their dinner offerings.

Mr. Steffington was behind the woman, offering to help her set up their food. He moved a refectory-style table from beside the window and placed it in front of the fire. The kidney pie, steaming turnips, cold mutton, bread and butter, and plum pudding were all placed on the small wooden table. "I'll be back with yer ale and 'ot tea in a moment," she said.

Mr. Steffington tucked two chairs under the table, then pulled out Catherine's without saying a word. Without saying a word, she took her seat. He sat across from her and started spooning food onto his plate, then silently passed the serving dishes to her.

"I will just allow myself a little bit of plum pudding first," she said. She couldn't help but to remember that her old nurse wouldn't allow them to have the plum pudding until they had eaten their other foods. Just another reason why she was happy to be grown and not have to answer to anyone. Especially to a man.

They continued on in silence even after their drinks were delivered. Quite naturally, her thoughts turned to that other night when they had taken dinner at the Duke's Arms and how different things were between them then, how easily they conversed. And laughed.

And now they acted as if they were at a wake for a much-loved family member.

In a way, she felt as if there had been a death. A death of what had been a comfortable friendship.

When they
had
been friends, she'd thought Mr. Steffington had only her best interest in mind. It had really been too selfish of her to expect him to put aside his own manly need to dominate in order to appease her.

How could she have believed any man could be so accommodating? Now she would lump Mr. Steffington in the same distasteful category with his rakish brother and the annoying Mr. Longford. He was, after all, a man.

And all men were louts.

Midway through their meal, Mr. Steffington's spine straightened, and he cleared his throat. He was the only man she'd ever known who prefaced his conversations with a short, masculine throat clearing. She gazed up at him, her brows raised in query.

"I say, Mrs. Bexley, just because we're not going to be working toward a mutual goal any longer doesn't mean we can't be civil to one another."

She glared. "Now you say that! Did you have a single thought for me while you read your blasted Euripides? You knew full well my. . . my affliction prevented me from reading, and if you were a proper gentleman you should have known I had to be exceedingly bored."

His dark lashes lowered and he spoke with remorse. "Forgive me. I thought that if you wanted me to talk with you, you might have initiated a conversation."

"You gave the impression Euripides was the most fascinating book ever printed. Far be it from me to disturb a scholar at work."

"I wasn't working. I was merely trying to keep from annoying you."

She didn't believe him for a moment. Had he any gentlemanly instincts he would have known how pitiable it was for her to travel upward of a dozen hours without a single word extended to her.

"I wish I could have read one of my own books, but sadly, that is not a luxury I am able to enjoy while traveling." She effected a martyred look. "I'm completely dependent upon the generosity of my traveling companions to lift my gloom through lively conversation."

Instead of the remorseful look she'd expected from him, he started to laugh.

"Are you laughing at me?" she asked angrily.

Still laughing, he nodded.

"Pray, Mr. Steffington, you must tell me what you find so funny."

"You, madam."

She stiffened. "Why?"

"I'm merely attempting to
lift your gloom
."

He was mimicking her! As much as she wanted to throw another cushion at him, her rigidness bent, and she found herself laughing with him.

Why was it he so easily made her laugh? And vice versa?

After their laughing ceased, she eyed him. "I really was gloomy. Do you know how utterly and completely boring it is to have no person or book to enliven one's existence?"

"If you'd only initiated a conversation, I would have happily closed my book."

She put hands to hips. "But you're the gentleman—though you didn't act like one. You should have exercised your gallantry."

"And you're just a shy woman awaiting someone to amuse you?" He started to laugh again.

She was not amused.

"Forgive me," he said, "but you have never struck me as being a shy female. I believe, Mrs. Bexley, you're far too accustomed to having things your own way. That's really why you're angry at me. You wanted a man who would dance to your tune, no questions asked."

"That's not true!"

He studied her seriously from beneath lowered brows. "I think it is."

He was right, but she would never admit it.

"I've already lied because of you," he said, "and that was something I said I'd never do."

To Lord Seacrest
. "I'm very appreciative that you did so, but I think you and I would both be in prison now if you hadn't."

He cracked a smile. "You're likely right."

She went all stiff again and directed a haughty look at him. "Well, you have no fear of ever again being required to do anything that's so distasteful to you." With that, she lifted the bumper of ale and drank half of its contents down at once.

She had no desire to continue their conversation.

There was no way they could ever rekindle that which they'd found two nights previously at the Duke's Arms.

* * *

Once they settled in their carriage for the last day of their journey, she spoke first. "Pray, Mr. Steffington, would you care to estimate how long it will take before we reach Bath?"

He was rather relieved that she was speaking to him this morning. He would never understand women. First, she'd been angry that he hadn't spoken to her yesterday, then she purposely refused to speak to him as they neared the completion of their dinner. "If the weather stays fair, I believe we'll be in Bath before the sun sets," he answered.

She nodded, then began to peer from her window.

"You must note that I've not brought my Euripides this morning."

Even though she already thought him ungentlemanly, Melvin could not consciously be rude to a woman by reading his Euripides. Now that he knew it was not gentlemanly. He felt beastly that she'd thought him an ill-mannered bore the previous day. His knowledge of women was sadly lacking. He'd foolishly thought if she wished to talk with him she would have done so.