Clementine’s demeanour softened. “That would be a good idea. While I appreciate Olive’s steadfastness, I know she would give her favorite dress right now for a plate of ham.”
“We are agreed, then. We shall make the arrangements tomorrow morning, then set out for the woods.” He was unaccountably excited. One of his favorite people in one of his favorite places. It had been too long. “And the next day, I will join you at all your meals.” Oddly, he was equally excited about that day.
He wanted to ask one more thing, but he feared that to do so would strengthen her hand in this hunting dispute they seemed to be having. But he couldn’t help himself. “Clem, may I make a request?”
“Certainly.”
“Can we have those roasted pears again the day after tomorrow?” He couldn’t stop thinking about them.
“Pardon me? Was that yourequestinga dish that does not involve dead animals? I must have misheard.” There was laughter, and triumph, in her tone.
He decided to compound her sense of victory, though he had no idea why he would do that. “You heard correctly. Those pears were wonderful.”
“Of course we shall have the pears again, if you like.” Her voice had gone soft and, he dared say, fond. It was a great relief to know that whatever discord had arisen between them earlier this evening had been smoothed over. He yawned. He would be able to sleep now.
Clementine got up and went to the window. “The rain has picked up. I should hate to have to miss my inaugural hunting trip because you fell to your death off this pile of rocks. Might I suggest you leave through the door? You’re only in the next room, after all. Who is going to see you? And if they did, what would it matter? Neither Olive nor their lordships would ever suspect there was anything besides friendship between us.”
“Of course they wouldn’t.” Therewasnothing besides friendship between them. Unless one considered this persistent need, beating like a drum in his veins, that she should understand him, and think well of him.
He didn’t have that with Effie and Simon.
While he was pondering the nature of friendship, she made her way to the door. He followed, and just as he opened it and was preparing to bid her good night, the door across the hall began to open, too. Instinctively, he moved to close Clementine’s door. He hadn’t quite gotten it all the way shut when he heard Effie speak.
His first thought was, what the hell was Effie doing in Olive’s room in the middle of the night? His second, that there was no way anything untoward could be happening between Effie and Olive. Archie had never heard Effie express any carnal or romantic feelings. Part of him wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Effie reserved all such sentiment for his poetry. Regardless, he was too good a man to take advantage of Olive.
And after all, one might ask the same question of Archie: What the hell was he doing in Clementine’s room in the middle of the night?
He was asking her to go hunting with him, and no doubt there was an equally bizarre-yet-innocent explanation for whatever was happening across the hall.
“Thank you for showing me your work, Miss Olive.”
There it was. While Archie’s faith in Effie was ratified, he was now wildly curious as to what “work” Olive was doing, and why she would be showing it to Effie at such a late hour.
“Thank you for appreciating it,” Olive said.
“It would take an imbecile not to. It really is extraordinary.”
Archie sent an inquiring look at Clementine, who used the hand that wasn’t holding the candle to turn her palm up to signal that she had no special sisterly insight. Unsure what to do, he took another step backward, deeper into Clementine’s room, but she must have had the opposite impulse. They collided, her front to his back, and he hissed involuntarily, almost as if she’d shot him again. It was the same sensation he’d had the other night on the roof, when she’d touched his hand, but . . . more. It was as if he’d been violently shaken to life after a decade of slumber.
She pushed him out of the way, which wasn’t hard as he was still reeling, set down her candle, and put her ear to the cracked door.
Well, if she was going to eavesdrop, so was he. He went to stand behind her, his height sufficient to allow him to slot his head in above hers. That this put them in contact again, this time in a reverse position—her back to his front—did not help with his discombobulation. This contact was less of a shock since he had initiated it, but it was still unsettling. Her nightdress was thin. He could feel the pointiness of her shoulder blades, and the softness of her arse. She was sharp and soft at the same time, and if that didn’t perfectly sum up Clementine Morgan, he didn’t know whatdid.
She shifted against him, making him realize he was half hard. How mortifying. Hoping she had been too distracted by the conversation in the hallway to notice, he took a step back, severing the contact between them, and ordered himself to concentrate on the espionage at hand.
He didn’t have to try very hard because Olive’s next words were blurted with vehemence. She wasn’t yelling exactly, but her urgently whispered cry of “Lord Featherfinch, I beg you, hold up a moment!” pierced the silence of the night. As did the clicking sound that followed. Effie was in a phase of wearing elaborate, old-fashioned court shoes. The clicking drew nearer until it stopped. After a beat, Olive said, “There is something I’ve been wanting to tell you, but I haven’t known how to say it. Or, in fact,whetherto say it.”
“Ofttimes in these situations it’s best to simply speak, don’t you find? It’s usually such an enormous relief. If you—”
“I have developed a tendre for you!”
Olive had spoken so quickly, it took a moment for Archie to register her words. In fact, he sensed Clementine, who had always been smarter than he was, stiffen before Olive’s declaration fully penetrated his mind. He lifted a hand to Clementine’s shoulder, and she batted it away—batted him away from the door entirely, as if she thought he was going to go charging out into the corridor. He’d only meant to soothe, to offer his presence as a kind of ballast. It was all he knew to do.
Keeping one palm facing him, she returned her ear to the small crack in the door. Once again, he joined her, though he took pains that there should be no contact between their lower bodies. Clementine did not object as Archie arrived again behind her, but she held a finger to her lips to signal quiet. He nodded.
The corridor was silent. Archie could imagine Effie cycling through confusion, comprehension, shock, dismay. He was marshaling his words to deliver a response that would let Olive down gently. He would do a good job. If one had to have one’s heart broken, Effie was the man to do it.
“Well, say something!” Olive cried.
