Chapter 2 #2
“Roman architecture,” she declared promptly.
“I— What?”
“Earlier, I was trying to decide what would be the best topics of conversation, and I made a mental note of Roman architecture. Since you seemed to know something of— Oh dear. Am I blabbering?”
This last was said in response to the expression on his face, which Phin was certain was one of incredulousness. What a remarkable young woman. She thought things through so thoroughly and even made mental lists of things as simple as topics of conversation at meals.
How rather like him.
“Not at all, Miss L’arbre,” he assured her; his voice a little hoarse, until he swallowed a bit more wine. “I find myself intrigued. I am fond of Roman architecture and would love to hear your opinions as well.”
It wasn’t a lie, and when he asked her thoughts on the ruins on the Dumpkins estate, he was utterly charmed at how animated she became. No longer the blushing young wallflower; Olive was a veritable scholar of Roman antiquities and wasn’t shy about sharing her knowledge.
I think I’m in love.
As the conversation continued on, Phin realized he’d completely monopolized her thus far during the meal, and although Lysander would be shocked, he decided he just didn’t care.
The guests around them seemed content in their own conversations, and Phin was enjoying himself too much to relinquish her attention to someone else.
“Ye ken, I’m something of a collector of antiquities.”
“Oh, really?” Her eyes were shining with interest. “Do you buy them from catalogs?”
“Nay. I prefer to get them from the sites themselves.” This much was true, although not the complete story.
Still, it was the correct thing to say, judging by her reaction. Her fork hung, suspended, as she stared at him.
“You have…traveled, you said?” Her voice sounded strained as she slowly replaced her fork and shifted.
He realized she’d shifted closer to him, nearer to the edge of her seat. When he slowly nodded, she gave a little bounce—of excitement he thought—and nibbled on her lower lip.
Steady, laddie. Ye havenae been out of polite company long enough to forget cockstands at the dinner table are still considered rude.
“Will you—” Her voice was breathless. “Will you tell me about your travels? Tell me about some of the pieces you have collected?”
Ah. Well, she wouldn’t be the first woman he’d charmed with tales of his adventures. Chuckling lightly, he offered her a smile. “Certainly.”
Which would be the least offensive but still sound exciting to someone as inexperienced as she? The time a maharajah had him eat a live snake to prove his sincerity? The way he learned giant metal gongs were bullet-proof? The vaquero who taught him to use the bullwhip?
Ah…he knew just the one. Exciting, but inoffensive, assuming he left out the nastier bits.
“Once, I was on site in southeast Asia. There was a temple there I’d been researching, and the locals had tried to warn me away from it, claiming it was cursed.
” He stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles, settling into story-telling mode and appreciating the way her eyes flashed with excitement.
“I acquired a guide at great expense, and we made our way up the mountain to a small cave opening. Once inside, I was surprised to discover the temple took up much of the interior. It must have been carved over hundreds of years!”
“Oh, I have always adored Khmer Empire art. They were so talented.”
Surprised, although he suspected he shouldn’t be, Phin raised a brow, impressed.
“Indeed! The artifact I was after, a small golden idol, was well-guarded. As it should be.” Sitting forward suddenly, he held his hands out in front of him, still remembering the way it felt to hold the idol for the first time.
“It rested on a pressure plate, which I was able to determine in time. I filled a leather bag with sand from the floor of the temple, and it was a nerve-wracking few moments as I tipped the idol into my hands and replaced it with the sand, so as not to trigger the defense mechanisms!”
Instead of awe, or fright as most women reacted when he told of his adventures, Olive’s expression softened to something he didn’t recognize.
“It was an anxious time, but nothing as bad as the booby traps on the way out,” he assured her.
But instead of smiling once more, her expression turned to suspicion.
“Booby traps,” she repeated flatly, and he hurried to explain.
“My guide had triggered one of the pressure plates, and there were flying darts and giant stakes which flew out of the wall at chest height.” He demonstrated with his hands.
By now, she was frowning, and Phin scrambled to think of something to impress upon her the danger he’d endured for that artifact for the Society’s collection. “My guide wasn’t lucky enough to make it out, but I was.”
As he recalled, this was the point in the story where his enthralled female audience would blanch or sigh sympathetically. But not Olive.
Her voice was cool, her lips still tugging downward, when she said, “I suppose next you will tell me you triggered the mechanism which released a giant ball, which tumbled down an incline toward you as you ran for your life toward the entrance, managing to slip out of the cave before it crashed through, sealing the cave and the temple forever?”
Phineas blinked, knowing he’d never been more surprised in his life than he was now.
“Well…aye.”
A range of emotions flashed across her face: first anger, then disappointment, then sadness. Without another word to him, she settled herself back in her seat, turned to the matron on the other side of her, and struck up a conversation about the lamb being served.
Good lord, what had he done wrong? It wasn’t that he’d scared her off; she’d been interested at first. Whatever it was, he had to make it up to her.
He’d spent his time at Dumpkins Manor admiring her quiet good looks and loved how she was just at home in the library as she was tromping around the manor’s grounds.
He’d had the thought, within the first week of watching her practice archery with his sister, —how did Athena manage to keep avoiding these Friday night entertainments?
—that Olive L’arbre would make an excellent adventure partner.
Not just on his upcoming journey to the Mediterranean, but in the adventure of life.
But how could he convince her of that? Especially now when he’d apparently alienated her so thoroughly?
What a miserable dinner.
Olive had had such high hopes for her time with Phineas Oliphant, only to discover Athena’s brother was nothing but a—a—a fraud!
How dare he think he could tell her such a story? He likely expected her to be impressed or titillated by such a tale of adventure, little realizing she was one of the few in England who would recognize its origins!
Swallowing down her irritation and the bone-deep disappointment that such an intriguing man had turned out to be a liar, Olive spent the remainder of the meal pretending interest in the opinions of the older woman beside her.
It was nearly impossible to care about, “styles girls these days are wearing,” when Phineas—and his kilt—were sitting near enough on her other side that the man’s bare leg occasionally brushed against her skirts.
The fact he kept trying to gain her attention again with conversational sallies or offers of more food—when her appetite had completely disappeared—didn’t help.
It was agony to wait until their hostess signaled the end of the meal, but Olive somehow managed.
Instead of taking Phineas’s arm and allowing him to escort her to the informal dancing the countess had arranged for the evening’s entertainment, Olive snubbed him—terribly rudely too—and hurried out of the room.
When her brother caught her eye, she gestured upward, and he nodded, obviously thinking she was going to her room to repair her gown before the dancing or some such excuse.
In reality, she had every intention of hiding there with her journal for the remainder of the night.
The remainder of the summer.
Drat the man for getting her hopes up.
He’d seemed so interesting, and interested in her and what she had to say, which rarely happened outside of her close friends and parents.
His love of his family was commendable, and he laughed at himself.
He had shared opinions and asked for her own on topics she enjoyed speaking about, and when he’d claimed to have traveled, her heart had skipped a beat.
A handsome and admirable man, who adventured and was interested in the same things she was? Be still, my heart.
And then…he’d lied. He’d looked her right in the eyes and had lied to her.
Muttering quietly to herself, Olive gathered her skirts in her hands and prepared to stomp her way upstairs where she could spend the rest of the evening ensconced in something much more comfortable while reading her journal.
Reading the real adventures of Aberdeen Jones, by Zeus!
But her name was called, and she swallowed down her irritation and slapped a false smile on her lips just as Lady Dumpkins latched onto her elbow.
“There you are, Olive, dear! I was just speaking your praises to the duke—the Duke of Cashard. You know, our honored guest?” The older woman’s voice grew sharper.
“He is expecting to share the first dance with you.”
“Do forgive me, Countess—”
“Call me Millicent, dear. When the Duke agreed to grace my humble house party with his presence, I did my best to bring together as many eligible young women.” The older woman was practically dragging Olive away from the stairs.
“He refuses to participate in our daytime activities—estate business must be so draining—but he does join us to dance with a different lady each night. Tonight is your turn.”
“Such a shame.” Olive made a show of rubbing her forehead. “I fear I am not quite feeling well and—”