Chapter 16 #2
“What is it?” he asked.
“Far be it from me to give advice,” she began slowly.
“Ha,” he said with a snort. “Why this new reticence? You’ve never been shy about expressing your opinions before.”
“That’s because you were dating bimbos and I was worried about you in a very maternal sort of way. Now I’m worried about both you and my sister and I’m again trying not to get obliterated by the cross fire.”
“Your sister and I are very calm, rational, coolheaded individuals—and you may certainly stop laughing now,” he said stiffly.
She was still laughing when she hung up on him. He pursed his lips and shoved his mobile into his pocket. He walked into his den, poked at his first-edition Joyce that was still feeding a cheery blaze, then sat down in the chair in front of the hearth and contemplated his life.
Humphreys had deserted him, of course, having taken Peaches to the station.
He was all alone with his thoughts and the last vestiges of Victoria’s cloying perfume.
He was tempted to dig in his desk for that enormous box of cigars someone he couldn’t remember had given him an indeterminate number of years ago, but he didn’t smoke and it seemed a shame to break the seal.
He stalked into the kitchen, fetched his pan of eggs from the sink, and went back to his study to wave it around a bit and leave a more healthful smell in the place. He put the pan down on the floor and began to pace in front of his fire.
He could, he supposed, go on as he always did, dating expensive, titled women and shunning his responsibility to wed and produce an heir.
He could do the other thing he always did, which was trot over to the college and bury himself in the library.
He could, if he was feeling particularly fanciful, give Peaches a call in a fortnight and see if she might be willing to go on a casual, noncommittal date or two with him.
Or he could snatch up his keys, hop in his Mercedes, and see if he couldn’t beat the bloody train to Sedgwick at which point he would drop to his knees right there on the platform and beg her to be his, heirs and titles and money be damned.
He banked the fire and was halfway out the front door when he ran bodily into Humphreys.
“Is she off?” he demanded.
Humphreys smoothed his hand over his hair. “Yes, my lord, I saw her on the train myself—”
“Move. I’ve business with her before she drops the portcullis.”
He ran into Humphreys’s hand.
“Not, my lord, before you’ve seen to your ten o’clock.”
Stephen frowned fiercely. “My what?”
“Your lecture, my lord. At ten o’clock. I believe you’ll still arrive on time if you allow me to hand you your portfolio.”
Stephen clapped a hand to his forehead. “That bloody class.”
“I wouldn’t presume to pass judgment on what sort of class, my lord, but a class it indeed is. Shall I have the car ready and your suitcase packed for a journey afterward?”
“Definitely.”
“She is quite charming, if I might venture an opinion.”
“You might, and you might also remind yourself the next time a fresh-faced Yank talks you into using my automobile to take her out of my reach that you are in my employ, not hers.”
Humphreys only lifted an eyebrow. “As you say, my lord.”
Stephen pursed his lips. At least there was no need to prepare for his class. Fortunately he was teaching on medieval life in general and since he’d just had a big helping of that, he felt capable of going on ahead without notes.
Going on ahead with his life was a different tale entirely, but he would see to that as soon as he was finished at school.
He accepted an overcoat and his portfolio from his butler, then checked to make sure he was wearing trousers and not jeans—it spoke eloquently to his long weekend that he wasn’t sure which it was—then started off toward the lecture hall.
He pulled his mobile back out of his pocket and tried the main number at Sedgwick.
No sense in not alerting them to his intentions so he wouldn’t be forced to sleep in the stables.
“Sedgwick Castle,” a male voice drawled, “tours and lectures for those so inclined, swords and supper for those who already know too much about the time period, and proper beatings for those tampering with the hearts of sisters-in-law.”
Stephen pursed his lips. “Do you have any useful things down there in that mediocre pile of stones you call home?”
“Why don’t you bring your soft-handed self down here and find out?”
“I have class. You know, that working thing that keeps food on the table and petrol in my Mercedes.”
John de Piaget made a sound of derision. “Spare me your pitiful mewlings about your bank account. I understand you were off without supervision in the wilds over the weekend.”
“Yes, and that was just at Kenneworth. You’d be surprised what we found in medieval England.”
“I imagine I wouldn’t,” John said.
Stephen was amazed how clearly a smirk could float over a wireless connection. “I’ll tell you about my pleasant conversation with your brother Nicholas later, when it’s convenient for me.”
John was silent for a long moment. “Very well, you win this round. What do you need?”
“Hospitality.”
“I think you need more than that,” John said dryly. “Perhaps a wooing idea or two, since it’s obvious you’re unschooled in the ways of women. Have you ever had your nose out of a book, Stephen?”
“I’m not sure I’ve been dating women,” Stephen said with a sigh. “Harpies, perhaps, which has led me to more bouts of reading than you’d care to hear about.”
“Then perhaps you should come for a visit.”
“I was hoping for an invitation.”
“Bring a sword.”
“I will.” He hesitated. “I should say that I’m fairly sure she doesn’t like me.”
“She wasn’t using your name preceded by curses when she called. I’d say that’s promising.”
“She’s numb from our recent journey.”
“I would suggest, then, that you take advantage of that and woo her whilst she’s almost senseless.”
“You wouldn’t do that,” Stephen said with a smile.
“Nay, but I’m not you, am I? My charms are adequate to the task whilst yours …” He sighed heavily. “I think your only hope is to wear her down from the sheer obnoxiousness of your presence. Whilst she’s off having a lie-down to recover from the nausea, we can work out something else.”
Stephen pursed his lips. “Are we related?”
John laughed. “To my continued surprise.”
“I don’t need any more points on my license,” Stephen continued, “so it may be this afternoon before I can manage to get there.”
John paused. “And the rest of your week?”
“Nothing until Friday.”
“Then take my advice and come tomorrow morning.”
“Are you daft?” Stephen said incredulously. “The next thing I know, she’ll have driven herself to the airport!”
“She is a runner,” John agreed, “but chasing her will only drive her farther away. Come tomorrow—and still bring your sword. Perhaps you can hope for a bit of sympathy from her after I’ve left you on the ground, writhing in pain.”
Stephen could only hope he would make a better showing than that, but he knew where John had come from. He sighed deeply. “She’s had a difficult weekend,” he said. “Take care of her, would you?”
“Why, Stephen my lad, I think you might be fond of the gel.”
Stephen swore at him, then hung up before he said something he would be repaid for in what served as Sedgwick’s lists.
He would teach his class, take care of whatever else he needed to see to for the next handful of days whilst he was still awake, then lock his door and put himself to bed early so he could get an even earlier start.
And if John de Piaget was willing to give him a wooing idea or two, he wasn’t going to shun them.
They couldn’t be any worse than what he would come up with himself.