Chapter 20 #4
They spent the next few minutes reorganizing Morrison's workspace, and Eveline was struck again by the easy camaraderie that had developed between them. Three scholars united by curiosity, the differences in rank and circumstances fading beneath shared enthusiasm.
Harriet arrived promptly at four, sweeping into the library with her usual energy.
"Show me immediately," she demanded without preamble. "The contract, the terms, everything. And then explain to me how you're not floating several feet above the ground."
Eveline laughed, retrieving the contract for her friend's perusal. Harriet read with intense concentration, occasionally exclaiming at particularly favorable terms.
"This is magnificent," she declared finally. "Also, Adrian clearly had a hand in negotiating. These royalty percentages are unheard of for a first-time translator."
"I may have offered some suggestions," Adrian admitted. "But the work itself earned the terms. Cadwell was genuinely impressed by Eveline's samples."
"Of course he was. Our Evie could make a shopping list sound lyrical in translation.
" Harriet settled into a chair with the satisfied air of a general whose campaign has succeeded.
"Now then, tell me about the museum project.
And Morrison, don't hover by your desk pretending you're not desperately curious. Join us."
The young man looked to Adrian for permission, relaxing when he received an encouraging nod.
Soon all four of them were engaged in animated discussion about Eveline's various projects, the conversation flowing from Byzantine manuscripts to translation theory to the practical challenges of managing multiple commitments.
"You'll need to be careful not to overwhelm yourself," Harriet warned. "Three positions, plus the pressure of publication deadlines would exhaust anyone."
"I'll manage," Eveline assured her. "The work seems to energize me rather than drain me."
"And she has help," Adrian added quietly. "She's not alone in this."
The look that passed between them must have been revealing, because Harriet's eyebrows rose toward her hairline.
"I see," she said, her tone laden with meaning. "Well then. Morrison, tell me more about this palimpsest. It sounds absolutely fascinating."
She skillfully redirected the conversation, but Eveline caught her friend's knowing glances throughout the rest of tea. When it came time to leave, Harriet insisted on a private word.
"Walk me out," she commanded, linking arms with Eveline. "Morrison, Your Grace, lovely to see you both."
Once in the hallway, she turned to Eveline with an expression of mixed delight and concern.
"You're in love with him," she said without preamble. "Really, properly, desperately in love. And he with you."
"Is it that obvious?"
"Only to someone who knows you well. The way you look at each other, move around each other—it's like watching a dance." She squeezed Eveline's arm. "Are you happy?"
"Terrifyingly so," Eveline admitted. "Everything is happening at once; the positions, the publications, Adrian...sometimes I feel I might fly apart from sheer joy."
"And the future?"
"Is complicated and uncertain and probably scandalous." Eveline smiled despite the concerns. "But also full of more possibility than I ever dared imagine."
"Good." Harriet hugged her fiercely. "You deserve every bit of happiness coming your way. Though do try not to work yourself to death in pursuit of scholarly glory."
"Says the woman who just accepted a position with London's most demanding bluestocking."
"Lady Beatrice is a delight. Did I tell you she's working on a treatise about women's intellectual capacity?
She's using me as a research assistant and example simultaneously.
" Harriet's grin turned wicked. "She particularly enjoys my accounts of your achievements.
Living proof, she calls you, that women's minds are equal to any task. "
They parted with promises to meet soon, and Eveline returned to the library to find Adrian and Morrison deep in discussion about the letter to Cambridge.
"All well?" Adrian asked, looking up as she entered.
"Very well. Harriet approves of everything, especially the contract terms."
"Sensible woman." He held her gaze a moment longer than necessary, heat flickering between them despite Morrison's presence.
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Morrison left early, citing dinner with his family, and suddenly they were alone as golden evening light slanted through the windows.
"You could stay again," Adrian said casually, not looking up from his book. "For dinner. To celebrate signing the contract."
"The contract I haven't actually signed yet?"
"A minor detail." He set aside his book, giving her his full attention. "Stay anyway."
She should refuse. They'd been testing boundaries all week, dancing closer to lines that, once crossed, couldn't be uncrossed. But the thought of returning to her empty rooms when she could be here, with him, talking and laughing and pretending this was their everyday life...
"Just dinner," she said.
"Of course." But his smile suggested he knew as well as she did that 'just dinner' was becoming a flimsy fiction.
This time, dinner was served in his private dining room, a more intimate space that spoke of family rather than formality. The table was small enough that their knees brushed beneath it, each accidental touch sending sparks through her.
"Tell me about your childhood," Adrian said as they ate. "What made young Eveline fall in love with dead languages?"
"My father," she said, smiling at the memory. "He was a country vicar with a passion for classics. He used to read me Homer as bedtime stories, translating as he went. I thought all children fell asleep to tales of Odysseus."
"Lucky children if they did. My bedtime stories were usually about duty and proper behaviour." His expression turned rueful. "The weight of the dukedom started early."
"Is that why you hide behind sarcasm? Protection from all that weight?"
"Partially." He took a sip of wine, considering. "Also because I discovered early that if you mock things first, others can't use them to hurt you."
"But it also keeps people at distance."
"Most people deserve to be kept at distance." He reached across the table to take her hand. "You're the exception. You've always been the exception."
"Since that first day in Hatchard's?"
"Since you looked at me like I was personally responsible for the poor organizational principles of the entire British Library.
" His thumb traced patterns on her palm.
"I went home that day and couldn't stop thinking about the fierce young woman who dared lecture a duke about proper cataloguing methods. "
"I didn't know you were a duke then."
"Would it have mattered?"
She considered. "Probably not. The books were still improperly shelved."
He laughed, bringing her hand to his lips. "And that’s why I love you. Books matter more than titles."
"Speaking of books," she said, trying to ignore the way his mouth against her skin made her pulse race, "I should get back to Ovid. If I'm to meet Cadwell's deadlines..."
"Ovid can wait." He stood, drawing her up with him. "Dance with me."
"There's no music."
"We'll improvise." He pulled her into his arms, beginning to sway gently. "Hum that song again."
"Adrian..."
"Please?"
She couldn't refuse him anything when he looked at her like that. Softly, she began to hum, and they moved together in the candlelit room, a slow dance to barely remembered music.
"This is dangerous," she whispered as he pulled her closer.
"Everything about us is dangerous." His hand splayed across her back, warm through the fabric of her dress. "That's what makes it irresistible."
"We should stop."
"We should." But he spun her gently, making her skirts bell out, then drew her back against his chest. "Tell me to stop, Eveline."
She looked up at him, seeing her own desire reflected in his darkened eyes. The rational part of her mind catalogued all the reasons this was a terrible idea, all the ways it could complicate their carefully balanced arrangement.
But stronger than reason was the need that had been building for weeks, the connection that transcended contracts and positions and careful propriety. She rose on her toes, bringing her mouth to his.
"Don't stop," she breathed against his lips.
The kiss exploded between them, weeks of careful control shattering in an instant.
His arms tightened around her, lifting her against him as he deepened the kiss with desperate hunger.
She responded with equal fervor, her hands tangling in his hair, her body molding to his as if they were made to fit together.
He backed her against the wall, his mouth leaving hers to trail fire down her throat. "Eveline," he groaned against her skin, "you're destroying me."
"Mutual destruction," she gasped as his lips found that sensitive spot where neck met shoulder.
His hands framed her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. "If we don't stop now..."
"I know." But she pulled him back down, kissing him with all the pent-up longing of weeks of careful distance.
Time lost meaning, the world narrowing to sensation—his mouth on hers, his hands in her hair, the solid warmth of his body pressing her into the wall. She felt wild, reckless, completely unlike the controlled scholar she'd always been.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, her hair was thoroughly disheveled and his cravat had disappeared entirely.
"This is madness," she said, though she made no move to leave his embrace.
"Beautiful madness." He pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing gradually slowing. "Marry me."
"You already asked that."
"I'll keep asking until you say yes." He kissed her again, softly this time. "Though I promise to space out the proposals. Perhaps monthly? Weekly seems excessive."
Despite everything, she laughed. "You're impossible."