"Shall I announce you?"
"No need, Graves. His Grace is expecting me." It was only half a lie because Adrian might not have known she'd come today specifically, but he'd certainly been expecting her response to his offer.
The library doors stood open, afternoon sunlight streaming through tall windows to paint golden stripes across the floor she'd once catalogued with such care. Adrian stood with his back to them, apparently absorbed in a volume, though something in the tension of his shoulders suggested he'd heard their approach.
"Herodotus again?" Eveline asked, proud that her voice remained steady. "You really must diversify in your ancient historians."
He turned, and the look on his face made her breath catch. Not the controlled duke or the passionate man who'd kissed her in stairwells, but something in between; uncertain, hopeful, trying so hard not to presume.
"Thucydides, actually. I thought I should prepare for the inevitable debate about historical methodology you'll insist on having once you're officially installed here."
"Confident, aren't you?"
"Hopeful." He set the book aside, nodding to Harriet. "Miss Fairweather, a pleasure. Would you care for tea while Eveline destroys my generous offers with logic and principle?"
"I shall explore the collection, if I may," Harriet said with the air of someone providing tactical retreat. "I've been curious about your novel section since Eveline described it."
She drifted away toward the fiction shelves, maintaining the polite pretense that she couldn't overhear every word in the echoing space. Adrian gestured to the chairs by the fire—the same chairs where they'd once discussed Latin pronunciation with barely concealed attraction.
"You've been to the museum," he said, not quite a question. "Thornbury sent word that you'd accepted the consultancy."
"With modifications to the terms."
His eyebrows rose. "Oh?"
"Publication rights needed clarification. I won't have my work absorbed into institutional anonymity, not after fighting so hard to publish under my own name." She withdrew Thornbury's letter. "He was quite accommodating, actually. More so than I expected."
Adrian read through the terms, his expression thoughtful. "This is good. Fair, even. Though thirty pounds per annum for that level of expertise..."
"Is what they can afford. Thornbury was refreshingly honest about institutional limitations." She paused, gathering courage. "I also confirmed the details with Cadwell. The Ovid translation will take approximately six months, with potential for additional projects after."
"All excellent news. Which brings us to my offer."
"Your absurdly generous offer."
"My entirely appropriate offer." He pulled out the contracts Harwick had prepared, setting them on the small table between their chairs. "Read them again. Without prejudice this time."
She wanted to argue, but something in his expression stopped her. This wasn't the duke making pronouncements or the man trying to save her. This was Adrian asking her to see his offer as he did; not charity but genuine valuation.
The terms remained as generous as she remembered. Two hundred pounds per annum, rising with successful publications. Complete autonomy over the library organization. Budget for acquisitions. Most importantly, intellectual freedom to pursue whatever scholarly interests caught her attention.
"This is a fortune," she said quietly.
"This is what the position is worth. Less than what it's worth, actually, but I didn't want to seem..." He paused, searching for words. "I didn't want you to think I was trying to buy you."
"Aren't you?"
"No." The simple denial carried weight. "I'm trying to ensure that one of the finest minds I've encountered has the resources to flourish. If you were a man with your qualifications, no one would blink at this compensation."
"But I'm not a man."
"Thank Heavens for that." The words slipped out with feeling, and color rose in his cheeks. "That is, I mean..."
"I know what you mean." She set down the contracts, meeting his gaze directly. "But Adrian, if we do this, if I accept this position, it has to be real. Not a convenient fiction to keep me in London, not a duke's folly, but genuine employment with genuine expectations."
"Of course."
"I mean it. I won't be a kept woman with scholarly pretensions. If my work isn't meeting standards, you tell me. If the arrangement isn't serving its purpose,we modify it. No special treatment because of... whatever this is between us."
