Chapter 4 #3
She turned back to her study of the goings on going on out there in that collection of potential criminals, so Sam took the opportunity to study her.
He could actually imagine her in any number of situations and eras, planning battles, navigating Regency ballrooms, following along after his aunt Amanda at court taking notes of people, places, and things for his aunt to use later—
He only managed to keep his eye from exiting its moorings thanks to a pencil coming toward it because he had years of practice in getting out of harm’s way. His companion looked over her shoulder at him.
“Sorry,” she said, wide-eyed. “Someone was coming our way and I backed up.” She smiled faintly. “I forgot you were there.”
Obviously he was too far in the shadows for her to properly appreciate his—in the immortal words of Samantha Cameron—Greek-godlike appearance, which he assumed extended to chiseled cheekbones and jawlines and the physique of—
“You mutter a lot.”
He put his hand over his mouth, had a faint smile in return, and decided abruptly that he was in trouble.
He wondered if she might be interested in a first date.
He found himself caught off guard by just how seriously he wanted her to say aye to that, then reminded himself that taking even a single step down that sort of path was absolute madness.
He was the seventh—or eighth, depending on the day and who was asked—son of a very powerful medieval lord.
He needed a girl who would not only understand that, but wouldn’t mind the vagaries of his past, present, and future.
He absolutely couldn’t allow himself to be bamboozled by a delicate, elfin faery with hair that he simply couldn’t stop looking at and a face that left him shrugging aside the announcement that the partaking of nibbles at the buffet would soon commence.
He grasped desperately for any useful reason why he absolutely couldn’t look at her twice, but found himself distracted by the fact that she’d just waved her pen at him again.
“What?” he asked reluctantly.
“You were talking about the golden hues of your hair,” she whispered. “I was afraid you would summon half the ballroom to come have a look.”
“Sorry,” he managed. “I’m delirious from missing lunch.”
“I understand,” she said. She hesitated, then held out her hand. “I’m Harriet, by the way.”
“I’m S—so happy to meet you,” he said, kicking himself mentally to get himself back on track. He did, however, quite happily shake her hand.
“Is he hiring you?”
He frowned. “Who?”
“TD Piaget, of course. You know, you won’t get a cover-model job from him if you can’t remember that much. Then again, maybe you won’t even see him. He’s very reclusive, you know.”
Sam knew he likely should have dropped a few kind things about his brother into the conversation, but he was too distracted by one of his thighs cramping ferociously whilst he wasn’t sure his other knee wasn’t about to burst through his jeans.
“My cousin MacKenzie and I think he’s probably as old as Methuselah and sits on his front porch with his Selectric, shouting at people to get off his lawn after every page he finishes.” She paused and smiled at him. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re likely onto something there,” Sam said, nodding. “Old, crotchety, and, again, pungent.” He straightened a little, heard something in his back pop, then gave up and squatted down instead of crouching. He looked up at his maiden in shining armor. “Any other details?”
“Nothing but that he’s a wonderful writer regardless of how he looks. It makes me wonder how many of these mysterious things he’s actually seen. Besides the paranormal things, of course. Those are just made up.”
“Of course,” he agreed, because what else was he going to say?
“Then again, we’re in England, so who knows what really goes on—”
“Did someone come over here?” a different voice asked briskly.
“Haven’t seen a thing,” Harriet said, turning to face the new menace. “Oh, please don’t come any closer. I’m practicing my pitch for my agent interview in a couple of days—are any of you agents? I have my manuscript right here—”
Sam suspected from what he could tell thanks to peering through leaves that such was anathema to both agent and author alike.
He remained propped up against the wall, though, because he’d just been rescued and when a man was rescued by a faery, he likely should remain where he was and contemplate the miracle that had become his life.
His tum, however, absolutely did not agree. His companion glanced at him.
“The buffet is a long way from here.”
“But the chocolate fountain calls.” He pushed himself up and leaned over to stretch out his back. If he hadn’t damaged something somewhere, he was going to be very surprised. He looked up at his companion. “We might manage to be first line if we make a dash for it. Shall I lead the charge?”
“That would be the chivalrous thing to do.”
“Then let me past you, fair maiden, and I shall—”
“You!”
Sam straightened and found the long, bony pointer finger of one Mistress Francine Collins mere inches from his face.
“Ah,” he began, but apparently there was no need for conversation.
“You promised me you’d do this,” she said, taking his arm in a grip his father couldn’t have matched on his best day and dragging him out from behind Harriet. “Don’t make me pull out the big guns.”
The saints preserve him, he had no idea what those might be and he didn’t dare speculate.
“And who is this?” the illustrious Miss Collins demanded, pointing at Harriet.
“No one,” Harriet said without hesitation. “I’m just checking on the health of the tree here.”
“Good,” Francine said shortly. “I would hate to think you were taking advantage of TD Piaget and robbing the rest of the conference of his scintillating presence and vast stores of charm.”
Sam would have tried to thank his erstwhile companion for her tender care of his person, but he didn’t have a chance. The best he could do was hope that the next time they met, she wouldn’t stab him for being less than forthcoming about his identity.
He settled for a little wave to the rumpled faery who was watching him with wide eyes, then turned to assess the field in front of him.
He reminded himself that he was supposed to be Theo. It shouldn’t have been hard. He’d done it off and on his whole life. And any suggestions to the contrary, he had actually read all his brother’s books more than once. That, and he was a reasonably decent actor.
He set aside the thought that he would much rather have been loitering behind a tree with a woman who looked as if she made a habit of that sort of thing, put on his best Theo smile, and prepared to march into the fray.