A mocking smile that did not reach his eyes curled his lip. “We’ve met, but perhaps you do not remember. It was during a rowing competition on the River Cam some years ago.” His expression grew arctic. “You toppled me into the river.”
Dismayed, I stared at him, wondering what would havepossessed Ansel to do such a thing but leaving my expression blank. Those nearest us stared in rapt attention. “Did you deserve it?”
“You certainly seemed to think so.”
I snorted. “Well, then, perhaps the act was justified. Shall we be gentlemen and let bygones be bygones?” I stood and stuck out a palm, tilting my neck to hold his gaze, considering he was several inches taller than me. “Mr…. ?”
“St. Clair,” he said, his smile growing teeth as his hand grasped mine hard, nearly causing me to wince as the name fully registered. “Your tutor for this term.”
Chapter Three
To every action there is always opposed an equal reaction: or the mutual actions of two bodies upon each other are always equal, and directed to contrary parts.
—Isaac Newton
The dining hall was crowded, the long tables laden with dishes and almost every chair occupied by students, but thankfully, Will had saved me a seat at one end. As I threaded my way toward him, I scanned the seats for the boy who I was certain hated me with the fire of a thousand suns, but Tarik St. Clair was not in sight. My fluttering pulse calmed a smidge as I sucked a gulp of air into tight lungs.
No matter how many times I told myself,Think like Ansel—I could not control the way my very female heart responded to the boy. It’d been a week, and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. His intensity and his obvious intelligence combined with his striking looks turned my normally unflappable self to suet pudding. Was this what it was like to fancy someone? To be hit with the swooning stick? All fluttery and weightless and unable to draw a full breath?
I’d played the game for so long in thetonof the smittengirl without understanding what being calf-eyed over someone even meant. Not knowing what it was actually like for Ela with Keston or Zia with Rafi. That hopeful, blissed-out look that young lovers wore when their hearts were upon their sleeves had eluded me.
Until now.
This strange fancy felt like I had been struck in the chest by a runaway carriage.
With those lush lips set in a sharp-edged angular face, he was uncommonly handsome—the resulting mix of European and likely Indian ancestry. My beautiful friend Ela was of Indian descent, and though Tarik’s complexion was a shade lighter than hers, they shared the same thick hair, defined brows, and obscenely long eyelashes.
Those mesmerizing lapis lazuli eyes tortured me in a storm of my own imagination, boring into my soul and finding me lacking in every possible way. Until they hadn’t…until they’d burned with something else other than contempt.
He doesn’t like you, silly girl, no matter what your fantasies conjure up. You are Lord Ansel Chen,I reminded myself.You cannot be pining over your tutor, for heaven’s sake! Especially when he thinks you’re a terribly spoiled, indolent peer who shoved him into a river.
As much as I loved my cousin, I begrudged him for being such a colossal cad. It came with the territory—his set were the crème de la crème of high society—and though I couldn’t possibly condone or understand what might have possessed him to treat Mr.St. Clair with such callousness, I wished it had beenanyoneelse. On top of our awful start, their previous history would make the next few months even more of a challenge for me.
I wanted to learn. I did not want to be ignored or, worse, opposed at every turn because of some absurd feud that I had no part of.
Though I was grateful Mr. St. Clair seemed to be avoiding me at the moment.
“You almost missed dinner, Roz,” Will said, his round face lighting up when I plonked down beside him at the very far end of the table and proceeded to fill my plate with enough twice-boiled potatoes, chunky stew, and crusty bread to feed an army. My stomach growled with approval. I was ravenous!
“Thanks for saving me a seat,” I told him before tucking in.
Maintaining a disguise and studying complex subjects while hiding from handsome tutors certainly worked up an appetite—and I wasn’t a demure lady now who had to mind her manners. I could be as feral as I wanted, within reason, of course. Manners were still important, obviously, but I didn’t have to eat like a bird in public. I wolfed down a few mouthfuls, groaning as the rich stew hit my taste buds. It certainly wasn’t our family chef’s cooking, but it was exactly what I needed.
“Slow down, or you’ll make yourself ill,” Will said with a chuckle, though he ate as heartily as me.
“Famished,” I said, and wiped my plate with a piece of bread before reaching for a second helping. I’d skipped lunch in favor of finishing my reading, hoping to astound St. Clair if and whenwe next met, and now I was paying the price. I felt curious eyes flicking to me from around the table, but I was too focused on filling my growly belly to pay them any attention.
Will cleared his throat when I glanced pointedly at him. “Roz, may I present Mr. Harold Jennings, by way of America, and Sir James Lowry of Essex. Harold is a second-year like me, though James already took the Mathematical Tripos. He got Third Wrangler, which is a huge accomplishment, and he’s pursuing his master’s. And those two next to them are Mr. Klaus and Kristof Blendel from Norway. They’re third-years, bound for the clergy.”
I recognized the first two from the combination room—Harold was a short, dark-skinned boy with a sparse mustache that looked like it was a spider clinging on for dear life, and the vaguely older James was a stocky, freckle-faced redhead with a shy smile showing charmingly crooked teeth and penetrating green eyes.
The last two were identical twins with corkscrew blond-brown curls in the same hairstyle, who were mirror images of each other. They didnot, however, embody potential vicars. I had no idea what made me think that, only that the mischievous glint in their light blue eyes reminded me of Blake. It would be impossible to say who was who. Given how much Ansel and I looked alike, so much so that I was pretending to be him, I nearly laughed at the irony of becoming friends with a real-life pair of twins.
After dabbing my mouth with my napkin, I stuck out my palm and shook each of their hands. “Lord Ansel Chen,” Ireplied. “But you can call me Roz.” I glanced at the twins. “So, who’s Klaus, and who’s Kristof? How do people tell you apart?”
The one on my side of the table—Klaus?—grinned. “They don’t, and we like it that way. Keeps everyone on their toes.”
With a smirk, the other twin tapped his chin. “There is one way to tell, but well, you’d have to get to know us better. Alotbetter.”
