Chapter Two #3
He came up alongside her, having paused to greet a random cat.
His hands were in the pockets of his black plaid trousers, an improper habit from his childhood that no one had been able to break in him.
A breeze tousled his hair into a state of uncontrived gorgeousness.
Any passersby glancing at him would see only casual ease, but Amelia recognized the shadow in his eyes as he stared across the Quad, where cold sunlight gleamed on the rustling autumnal trees and immaculate lawns.
She knew what he was thinking: that this represented the exact amount of nature he wanted in his life, thank you.
Her own thoughts turned to a pair of new students loitering on the path.
They were holding maps but nevertheless looking around with helpless bewilderment, and Amelia had to hold herself back from going to direct them.
Getting lost at the start of term was essential to ultimately finding oneself by the end.
“Cumbria,” Caleb grumbled. “This whole situation is—”
“Infuriating,” she chorused with him in an identical tone of aggravation.
They began walking side by side toward the Library Passage.
As they went, Amelia felt inordinately conscious of Caleb’s masculine presence beside her, and of the way students glanced at them—perhaps wondering if they were a couple?
(Or perhaps, judging from the wary looks, aware of their explosive reputation.) Indeed, she had to press her hand against her stomach, for the flutters had commenced again.
So ridiculous! She’d walked beside Caleb a thousand times before.
She’d stood beside him as head girl and head boy in secondary school, and shared a stage to present joint lectures.
He’d been this much taller than her for years.
This much stronger. There existed no good reason for her to suddenly realize he was strong enough to toss a woman over his shoulder and carry her away…
Hm, her body murmured.
“Ottersock is being completely unfair,” Caleb said. “You do realize that it’s autumn, yes? There’s going to be mud. And rain.”
“This is England,” Amelia reminded him. “There’s always rain. Make sure you pack the mackintosh I bought you last winter.”
“And breezes,” he went on. “I’ll get bronchitis or—oh God—a red nose.”
Amelia rolled her eyes at this whining. “You ought to have considered the possible consequences before behaving so atrociously at the Minervaeum Club.”
Caleb shot her an aggrieved look. “Come on, bella luna, you know everyone behaves atrociously at the Min. That’s the third time this year the library ceiling has been broken.”
She sighed. “True.” In glum silence they crossed the Front Quad and, nodding to the porter, exited onto Broad Street. A chill breeze swept past them, musky with the smell of decaying leaves. Beyond the dreaming spires and solemn stone rooftops of the city, dark clouds were gathering.
“Well at least we’re leaving before that storm gets here,” Caleb said.
Amelia smiled at him. “I know you need your sunshine.”
“That’s what you’re for,” he answered frivolously.
Amelia felt a throb of emotion. Caleb was always saying such things, and yet it made a different impression on her heart this time. He was different, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on how.
Something in her must have taken that to be a literal instruction, for she found herself touching a finger against Caleb’s forearm, as if that would solve the mystery.
Alas, however, it only left her with a great deal more questions.
Questions that Caleb turned into an outright interrogation by reaching out to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
Amelia suddenly felt as if she’d been strapped to a vibrating machine and electrified.
At precisely that moment, a group of sophomores emerged from a bookstore across the street.
Amelia took a hasty step back. “Mind your manners, Professor Sterling,” she scolded, lest anyone had noticed their intimacy.
Wait, no! she thought, blushing. Not intimacy, proximity!
Just proximity. There was nothing intimate about him fixing her hair, his fingers stroking the sensitive, delicate shell of her ear, making her feel—
“I must go,” she said abruptly, turning away so Caleb did not see her red face. “I’ll meet you at the train station in forty-five minutes.”
Without another word, she strode off in a fine display of dignified nonchalance for all of three seconds before Caleb called out.
“Your house is in the other direction.”
Damn. “I am taking a stroll,” she lied.
“Don’t be silly.” Following her, he grasped her wrist.
Amelia repressed a gasp as an electric sensation shot right through her.
Immediately, Caleb let go, as if he’d experienced it too.
They stared at each other like she was English, he French, and the space between them a vast battlefield in Agincourt.
The air felt affrighted, and Amelia realized she was breathing too fast when Caleb’s gaze dropped to watch the effect of it on her bosom.
Half a second later he caught himself and looked up again, his eyes silvery beneath their lashes, his own breath stilled.
Amelia opened her mouth to say something—anything—
Then she turned and fled.