Harriet motioned toward the bookshelves once again, this time with a lift of her chin. I glanced once again at that empty seat and then turned away. I wasn’t certain what, if anything, I had to say to Harriet and the truth was I had quite a few questions for Miss Blackwell.
I couldn’t ask them, of course. Not unless I wanted to become a more despicable cad than Mr. Howard. But they burned inside me anyway, drawing me toward her with a pull that was impossible to resist.
I approached slowly, pausing after only a few steps to evaluate Miss Blackwell’s demeanor. She made for a pleasant picture standing in front of the bookshelf in her dark blue, striped evening gown. The column of her skirt swept down from the high waist of the dress in such a graceful way, I couldn’t pull my eyes from her. The candles and lanterns in the room were on the walls and tables, leaving this corner of the bookshelf dim compared to the rest of the room, but she had enough light to run her fingers upon each spine, searching the titles until she finally stopped at one and pulled it from the shelf.
I continued my advance silently, uncertain of my welcome, but when I saw the title of the book she’d chosen,A Treatise on the Blood, Inflammation, and Gunshot Wounds,all thoughtsof not wanting to disturb her comely tableau fled. “Are you planning on shooting someone?”
She’d been in the middle of opening the book, but at the sound of my voice she paused. Her fingers curled over the top of the cover. She pulled the book to her chest and turned around.
Blast, but she looked stunning, her wide eyes blinking at me in surprise. She glanced back at the table we had just left, obviously thinking the same thing I had only a moment ago. She’d left me alone with Harriet, so what was I doing here, with her?
She shook her head, only slightly. “I’m not.”
I took a step closer to her, because ... I couldn’t help it. We were magnets, either pulled together or repelled violently apart. There was no safe space between those two options and at the moment it was impossible to keep my distance. “That’s a relief. I assume if you were, your victim would be beyond the help found in those pages.”
Her eyebrow raised. “True enough.” With a soft smile, she turned away from me and replaced the book. “I suppose I don’t need to read that one.”
I laughed softly, and as we stood apart from everyone else, the sound felt intimate. She turned back toward me and I caught her eye. “I shall be certain to stay in your good graces, Miss Blackwell.”
“Stay in them?” She arched an eyebrow, then slipped her hands behind her waist and leaned back against the bookshelf. Something about that posture made me want to tilt toward her.
“Crawl and fight my way into them, if necessary.” And though I’d said the words in jest, I found I meant them. I’d been in her good graces once, and it had been a pleasant place. How strange that she’d trusted me more when we had been half-dressed and alone together than she did now surrounded by her friends and family.
She grinned. “Most men find that wise, considering who my father is.”
I took a step closer to her, again drawn by that magnetism of hers. Our conversation felt like secrets shared, and one needed to be situated in close proximity for that. I pointed to the book she’d just replaced on the shelf behind her. “It isn’t your father I’m intimidated by.”
At that, she snorted. “I know that isn’t true.”
I shook my head, because of course she was right. “It isn’tonlyyour father I’m intimidated by.” I sought her eyes again. “But I find you much more daunting.”
She blinked, and then stopped leaning against the bookshelf and stood straight instead, her eyes darting over to where Harriet and the others still sat. I took a step back. What was I thinking? Had I been flirting? With Miss Blackwell? In front of the woman I’d spent the last six years thinking I would marry?
I cleared my throat. “Harriet asked me to come check on you.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “She did?”
“Not in so many words, but she made it clear that I should. Are you well?”
“Quite well. I don’t know why she is concerned. Nor do I know why she would have sent you.”
“Did ... ” How did I ask this? “Rather ... Mr. Howard was out of line. I’m sorry he put you through that.”
Silence. She wouldn’t even meet my eye.
“It is no business of mine?—”
“No,” she said sharply. “It is not.”
I swallowed, taken aback by her change in tone. Why? Miss Blackwell hadn’t wanted to keep our night together a secret, at least from her family, and she didn’t strike me as someone who would feel so secretive and uneasy about what had just happened.
Was she still attached to the man?
“You are puzzling, Miss Blackwell.” And even though it wasn’t wise, I stepped closer to her once again. Her eyes flew up to mine, wide with ... what? Worry? I refrained from leaning nearer to her. “I don’t understand you. You fought to have me stay at that shepherd’s croft despite the ruin that would have caused to your character had it become known. Why are you so concerned for some of your closest friends to discover you’ve kissed a man?”
She glanced furtively around at my words, something I should have done before asking such an impertinent question. Based on the way she leaned forward, no one was within listening distance. “I never said I kissed someone.”
“You might as well have.”
