Chapter 19 #2
“Miss Lacey,” he said, and the way his voice formed my name sent a pleasant tingle up my spine.
“Mr. Rawlings,” I said overly formal, teasing him.
His eyes swept over me. “How are you feeling?”
I wandered into the room, inspecting the row of bookshelves along the southern wall. “Much better now. Your mother came and apologized, so I expect the end of the world is likely nigh.”
“She did?” There was no hiding the surprise in his voice.
“Yes, this morning.” I turned to face him. “You did not know?”
“No,” he said. “She is prideful to a fault. I thought she would never admit to being wrong.”
“Well, she did.” I bit my lip. “In truth, I think she felt worse about it than she showed to either of us. Though I cannot be sure. She is as difficult to read as you are.”
Alexander’s brows lifted. “You find me difficult to read?”
“Oh, immeasurably,” I said. “You’ve a face like the statues in your water garden.”
“Is that an insult or a compliment?”
“Must it be one or the other?” I seated myself at the chair before his desk. “What are you working on? I’m terribly bored since I’ve been relieved of my companion duties for the day.”
He sat as well and gestured to the pages of scrawled notes and newspaper clippings that littered his desk.
“The London robberies again. I’ve found another two instances that might line up with what we’ve learned, but it’s difficult to be sure without more information.
I’m hoping to receive more from Bow Street in the next day or two, but until then, I can only muddle through newspaper after newspaper. ”
I straightened. “I could help, you know.”
Alexander lowered his brow. “You would wish to?”
I would do nearly anything if it meant I was able to sit across from him, share the same air, feel the press of his gaze. But I reined myself in and managed to answer quite nonchalantly. “If you’d like.”
“It is not interesting work,” he warned.
I smiled. “I don’t mind. I’d like to be useful.”
He watched me a moment longer, as if expecting me to rescind my offer.
When I did not, he stood and went to a stack of newspapers on a nearby table.
“I had these delivered yesterday,” he said, picking up the stack and moving them to the desk in front of me.
“London papers all, dating within the last two months. Look for anything out of the ordinary.”
I saluted him crisply. “Yes, sir.”
He seemed not to know what to do with that, which only made me grin more. Heavens, how I liked discomfiting this man.
He returned to his seat, and I took a paper and began reading. We fell into a comfortable quiet, broken only by the rustle of paper and scratch of his pen.
After a few minutes, I sneaked a glance at him over the edge of my paper. He was reading, an elbow propped on the desk, his head leaning against splayed fingers. He had to be tired. Last night seemed an age ago, with all that had happened this morning.
“You could go sleep,” I said, turning the page of my newspaper. “I can do this.”
“I’m fine,” he said unconcernedly.
“Predictable.” I raised my brows at him.
“One night without sleep will not be the end of me.” He did not even look at me. “Besides, now that we’ve established there is no immediate threat—”
“Debatable with your mother.”
“—I am certain I will sleep perfectly fine tonight,” he finished.
“Oh, very well, I shall stop fussing,” I said.
We settled in to our research again, and this time, I lost myself in the words, the printed stories, the lives and people intertwined on the pages before me.
When at last I looked up, having read upward of half a dozen newspapers front to back, the sun had begun lowering toward the distant horizon, casting long shadows across the study.
I folded my newspaper and set it on the desk, then sat forward and pressed my hands to my lower back, stretching. “Heavens, reading is terrible for one’s posture, is it not?”
I glanced at Alexander. He had been watching me, the pen in his hand poised over a paper, though he did not write. He swallowed, quickly dropping his gaze. “Yes. Quite.”
What had that been about?
“I’m sorry not to have found anything helpful,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” he said briskly as he jotted down a note. “I wasted your afternoon.”
“It wasn’t a waste,” I said. “It was a step forward, no matter how small.”
“Your positivity is almost catching,” he said, setting down his pen and straightening his papers.
“It would not be the worst thing to take a more hopeful view of the world, Alexander.”
His hands paused a moment, then continued forming his pages into a neat stack. “We ought to dress for dinner.” He looked over at me. “If you are coming, that is.”
“I promised your mother I would.” I exhaled.
“But now I find myself quite undecided.” He said nothing, a slight frown on his face.
I watched him, a smile toying with my lips.
I knew very well he’d instructed his mother to ask me.
“If you wanted me to come,” I said pointedly, “then perhaps I might make the effort.”
“Why would I not wish you to come?” He stood and began tidying the rest of his desk.
“I didn’t say that,” I replied.
“What did you say?”
“I said that my decision depended on who was asking.”
“My mother asked you.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You are being purposefully obtuse.”
Alexander released a long breath. “And you are running me in circles, Miss Lacey. Simply tell me what you want me to say.”
“Very well. Repeat after me.” I stood and leaned one hand on his desk, holding the other against my chest. “‘I, Alexander Rawlings, desperately wish for you, Miss Beatrice Lacey, to attend dinner tonight, or I shall be most bereft and likely left sobbing at the table.’”
“I will most certainly not be saying that.”
I sighed. “A shame. I suppose I shall dine in my room.”
He moved around the desk and headed for the door. “A shame indeed. I believe we are having roast beef.”
“Oh, fine, then,” I said, following after him. “Do stop begging; I shall come. You oughtn’t debase yourself so, Alexander.”
“I’ve never done so in my life.”
“Most assuredly,” I replied pertly.
He made a noise that was either amusement, frustration, or—most likely—both, and I grinned widely as I trailed him up the stairs. If he did like me, heaven help this man. He would need all the patience he could muster.