Chapter 20
Stephen walked quickly back to his office.
He had to admit the one thing he truly loathed about the profession of academia was the meetings.
There was nothing worse than sitting in a room full of thinkers who had nothing more pressing to do than endlessly chew on details he couldn’t have cared less about.
Well, he might have cared at a different time, only now he’d recently had a brief taste of history, he had continual access to living fountains of authentic details, and at present he had a woman sitting in one of his chairs that he wanted to see more of before she dashed off to lunch with a man he was truly beginning to loathe.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t disliked David Preston before.
Sitting with the man on a pair of charity boards had given him ample opportunity to observe the depths of the good duke’s lack of principles.
Distaste had blossomed into a healthy disgust after a particularly egregious display of dishonesty at a gala put on for the benefit of a hospital.
The true dislike hadn’t actually begun until a recent weekend party at Payneswick where David had turned his roving eye on Peaches.
Perhaps she hadn’t noticed, but Stephen had.
Kenneworth had been ridiculously indiscreet about broadcasting his interest in a new potential conquest. Stephen supposed the only reason Peaches hadn’t paid for that socially was that she was the sister of the Countess of Sedgwick, a fact that he had nosed about quite loudly.
He hadn’t heard anyone say anything to Kenneworth, but there were few who crossed that unscrupulous duke who didn’t come away scarred.
Stephen could safely say he had never found himself in that group, but that was likely because he had no skeletons in his past. He could thank his mother that he’d never done anything so stupid morally that it could be used against him in the court of public opinion and his father that he had been scrupulously honest in his business dealings.
David might loudly call him a bastard, but he wouldn’t be the first to do so.
They were just words, and Stephen didn’t pay heed to foolish words.
He reached his office to find the door locked. That alarmed him until he got the door open and realized Peaches was halfway out of her chair. He walked inside and shut the door behind him, sighing in relief. She looked at him solemnly.
“You’re dressed for success.”
He managed to nod.
“I thought you didn’t have any classes today.”
He shrugged out of his overcoat and set his portfolio on the chair by the door. “I don’t.”
“Then what’s your hurry to get here, Mr. Verbose?”
He smiled in spite of himself as he cast himself down in the chair opposite her. “I was eager to see if you had found any Regency-era delights to share with me.”
She studied him in silence for a long moment, long enough that he had to remind himself that he never squirmed. She was just so lovely, sitting there with the light from his fire caressing her flawless skin and—
He frowned. “You put your hair up.”
“It matched the conservative skirt and sweater.” She smiled, then her smile faded. “I have to go soon.”
“Lunch with the charming and debonair Duke of Kenneworth?” Stephen asked with a lightness he most certainly didn’t feel.
“It would seem so.”
“You’ll have a lovely time. No need to rush. It will all be here when you get back.”
She smoothed her hands down her skirt. “I’m a little embarrassed.”
He maintained a neutral expression. “Do the clothes not suit you?”
“Well, of course they suit me,” she said crossly. “But I still think it’s a little impolite to go out to lunch with one man while wearing the clothes another man bought for you.”
“I wouldn’t know,” he murmured.
She glared at him, then rose and went to fetch her purse—a very lovely thing Humphreys had done a fine job selecting. Stephen rose only to find himself standing nose to nose with her.
“You can’t possibly …” She took a deep breath. “Well, you know.”
He clasped his hands behind his back. It was the only thing—the only thing—that kept him from clasping them around her instead. He took a very careful breath.
“I bought you a thing or two because I didn’t want you to go back to Sedgwick,” he said honestly.
“Because you needed me to work for you?”
“That, too.”
She looked up at him miserably. “Aren’t you taking Irene to lunch?”
“Cad that I am, I’m not,” he said mildly. “Too much to do here.”
She closed her eyes briefly, then turned and fled.
He watched the door close behind her, then sat down in his chair and swore.
He swore for quite a while, actually, and the Duke of Kenneworth figured prominently in his slander.
It made him feel warm and happy inside to eviscerate the man so thoroughly, but that didn’t change the fact that David was enjoying Peaches’s company for lunch whilst he was not.
He rose and began to pace. Perhaps Peaches was right and he needed a brief trip to Scotland. Perhaps she would come with him, so he might enjoy the pleasure of her company in one of his favorite places.
He didn’t admit that to many, that he loved Scotland. His father would have been appalled that anything north of Hadrian’s Wall held any fascination for him at all. But he loved the lochs and the mountains and the feeling of having stepped back centuries in time …
It was a perfect waste of an afternoon. He tried to work on half a dozen things that didn’t hold his interest for more than a moment or two, considered a run, then finally found himself at the nearest juice bar, drinking sludge and beginning to acquire a taste for it.
That necessitated a nip into a shop on the way back to school for a steak-and-kidney pie to counteract the adverse effects of too many greens.
All those diversions enjoyed, he returned to his office and tried to work.
He looked up as the door opened suddenly. Peaches came in quietly, then shut the door behind her. She looked very serious.
He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing, then across the room before he thought better of it.
He had pulled her into his arms before his good sense could scream he was moving too fast with her.
After all, he’d already moved too quickly in Bath, hadn’t he?
And his lack of patience had driven her into David Preston’s arms for lunch.
He started to pull away when he realized her arms were around him and she wasn’t letting go.
“Did he hurt you?” He realized as the words were hanging there in the air that he’d said them with an anger he hadn’t realized he was feeling.
She pulled back and looked up at him in surprise. “Of course not. It was a public place, after all. And I know self-defense.”
“I would feel better about that if you spent a few days with Patrick MacLeod,” he said grimly. “Was he unkind to you?”
She looked at him evenly. “This is shaping up to be a very weird conversation.”
“And no hope of anything else anytime soon. And whilst I suppose I should worry about your physical state, I was more concerned about your heart.”
She pulled away fully. “David Preston? Are you kidding? The guy’s a total jerk. I never thought he was anything else.”
He caught her before she walked away and gently turned her to him. He searched her face and saw that she had perhaps indeed entertained thoughts that she now found rather less than sensible.
“I have been deceived before as well,” he offered.
“Were you in love with the ones who deceived you?”
He ignored the question. “Are you in love with David Preston?”
“That’s pretty touchy-feely of you, Lord Haulton,” she said sternly. “And appallingly personal.”
He rubbed his hands over his face. “I think I need to run.”
“I’ll just bet you do. Put on your trainers, and let’s go.”
“And have you leave me unable to get out of bed tomorrow?” he asked with a snort. “I think not.”
“Let’s go do the track. I’ll get bored after a few miles.” She started to turn away, then looked at him. “The question still stands.”
“You first.”
She hesitated, then sighed deeply. “I was initially flattered by the attention and thought that it might result in the whole fairy tale.” She shrugged, though he could tell she was feeling less than casual about the whole affair.
“That’s the absolute truth of it, and I can’t believe I’m being that honest with you.
It must be the stockings cutting off the circulation to my brain. ”
He smiled. “No, it’s the thought of running me into the ground. A little pity beforehand is not uncalled for.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “I believe, Lord Haulton, that you owe me an answer to my question.”
“Run it out of me, wench.”
“Don’t think I can’t.”
He had absolutely no doubt of it. And she proved it to him quite handily not an hour later on the track where apparently she was indeed determined to run him into the ground. He finally begged her to stop, then walked until he had to lean over with his hands on his thighs and catch his breath.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he wheezed.
“You don’t have to run with me.”
“That would leave me chasing you, which would be much worse, I assure you.” He straightened, promised himself more time in trainers in the future, then looked at her. He pursed his lips. At least she was breathing hard for a change. “Once.”
She blinked. “Once, what?”
“Love,” he said succinctly. “Once.”
She put her hands on her hips. “How did it turn out?”
He dragged his forearm across his forehead and prayed for good sense to return. He looked at her, finally. “Let’s go.”
Her mouth fell open. “That’s all I get?”
“That’s all you get.”
“You—you—” She spluttered for a minute, then glared at him. “I bared my soul to you and this is what I get?”
He shrugged. “I’m a man.”
“If we weren’t in a public place, I would punch you right now.”
He smiled, because he doubted it. “What would you like to do tonight?”
“Are you asking me out on a date, you perfidious rat?”