Page 49 of Counting on Love

“You were looking for me?” His expression darkened.

“Oh! No. I mean, not at first. I was looking…well, for the library. I asked him where I might find it and he said you might already be here.”

“Ah.” His posture seemed to lose some of its tension.

“But I came anyway. Because I was agitated. And libraries calm me.”

“Yes. I remember. They put you to sleep.”

She dropped her chin, mortified.

He said, “And you worried I might be behind the curtain again, waiting to jump out and startle you?”

“Oh, do stop teasing!” she begged. She hated that he was so peeved. But what should she expect when he caught her practically rummaging through his things? Things he had taken care to hide behind a curtain. “Let me explain. Crispin said—”

“Crispin?”

“Lieutenant Taverston.”

Laughing roughly, he said, “Yes, I know who Crispin is. What has he done now?”

“He says, well, first, he accidentally called me ‘Georgiana.’ Then he apologized for it and, to tell it quickly, we agreed to use Christian names. Except…” She blushed again. “Except not to tell Lord Taverston. But to tell you. Am I making sense?”

“Yes.” He rubbed his nose. He looked embarrassed. “It is the sort of thing we do. Annoy each other. It must seem rather childish.”

“No,” she protested. Silly, yes, but not childish. “I think it’s lovely how you rally one another.”

“Well.” He reddened, as though touched by her words. “Then my name is Reginald. Or Reg.”

“I think Reginald. Good Heavens. My poor mother.”

A smile flickered across his face. “And is Miss Fogbotham in on the game, Georgiana?”

“She will be.” Now she relaxed. She knew how to explain her odd behavior. “There is something else.”

“Is there?”

“Crispin told me to ask you what you were sitting upon. He wouldn’t say why.” She bit her cheek and pointed to the stool. “I’m afraid curiosity got the better of me. Why are you sitting on that?”

“On what?” he stepped forward and looked around her. Then he snickered. “Well, I always hated that table.”

She looked at him questioningly, but he merely shook his head.

“It’s too involved to explain.” His fingers flexed. “More childishness.”

“More rallying,” she said gently. “This must be so difficult for you all. And then to have to entertain us as well.” She bit her tongue. How was he supposed to respond to that except with bland reassurances?

He sighed. “Yes, you are a pestilence.”

She started. Then laughed. He would not have said it if he meant it.

“Is it teatime yet, Reginald? I’m famished.”

He offered his arm. As he led her out, skirting the kissing chair, he glanced at the bookshelf, then away. He cleared his throat. “You’re welcome, naturally, to borrow anything you like.”

How nonchalant. Ha! And what would he make of it if his Analytical Calculation went missing? He wouldn’t catch her out that way. But he was onto her. To misdirect him, she was going to have to take one of those awful novels back to her room.

She smiled and said, “Thank you. I may.”