Chapter Three #3
He did stop, and he smiled at her fondly.
He’d noticed her turmoil and had made her laugh on purpose, as a diversion, just as he had that very first day.
Goodness, how she adored him. He resided at the very center of her heart, alongside her brother Gabriel, her cousin Devon, and Aunt Mary’s triple chocolate cake.
Romantic attraction would imperil their friendship (since of course he wouldn’t feel the same), and Amelia could not bear that.
There existed only one safe conclusion: she was wrong, this wasn’t attraction, it was something far less frightening, such as a brain derangement.
There, fixed.
While Amelia exhaled in relief, Caleb leaned forward in his chair, elbows on the table and cheek resting against his linked hands.
The window beside them glimmered with rain.
The fields beyond were a turbulence of shadows, as if remembering ancient battles.
But Amelia saw only Caleb. And he in turn regarded her with a contemplative steadiness that almost set her fluttering again.
“Don’t be upset about what Miss Tunnicliffe said,” he told her. “It was nonsense.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Amelia replied. “I absolutely reserve the right to be upset about having to play icebreaker games.”
Caleb grinned. “Oh, Meely, you do inspire me.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow, instinctively suspicious. And sure enough: “We should get some ice from the train’s kitchen,” he went on, “and something with which to break it…”
All her emotional tumult forgotten, Amelia gave him a teacherish look. “You shouldn’t say such things in public. There are no doubt students and faculty members on this train. What if they heard you being so irreverent?”
“Then they’d know for certain it was me,” he answered easily.
“But I wouldn’t want to worry you, love.
” Reaching into his coat pocket, he brought out a small cone-shaped candle snuffer.
Placing it on the table, he tapped it with a finger.
Thaumaturgic blue light emerged, expanding until it enclosed them in a faint glow that took on the shape of the snuffer before fading to translucence.
Now, even had someone walked right up to the table, they would hear nothing, the magic having created, as it were, a cone of silence.
Caleb leaned back in his chair. “We smash up the ice and ‘accidentally’ spill it all over Miss Tunnicliffe’s lap,” he said. “What do you think?”
Amelia shook her head, exasperated. “That’s the Walsingham candle snuffer from the Ashmolean, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You stole it.” (As an antiquarian, Amelia had been taught that stealing was not automatically a crime—it all depended on whether the theft was against one person [bad!
] or an entire culture [please do present your stolen items at an international conference!
], but she personally did not approve of it either way.)
Caleb waved a hand, unconcerned. “I covertly borrowed it for an undefined period of time. So you think we need a better plan than showering the girl with ice?”
“Why do we need a plan at all?” Amelia asked.
“So we’re prepared if Miss Tunnicliffe suggests charades or tries sharing stupid gossip again.”
Amelia went abruptly still, for she suddenly understood what all this was about, and her heart felt like—well, shattered ice, actually. After a long moment of taut silence, Caleb sighed.
“Talk to me, Amelia.”
“I am,” she answered, frowning. “We’re having intercourse right now.”
“Hm. If that were true, I think I’d have noticed. Miss Tunnicliffe is—”
“Excitable, that’s all. She means no harm.”
“She harmed me,” Caleb argued, abruptly serious. “I was offended on your behalf.”
Suddenly Amelia became alert to the vital fact that the gloves were not lying exactly straight.
As she remedied this, she felt Caleb watching her with exasperation.
“You’re not a harridan, Meely,” he said.
“No doubt Miss Tunnicliffe has been talking to that feebleminded sleaze Dummersby at the museum.”
“No doubt,” she agreed steadily, although she dared not look up from the gloves. “Now, what variety of coffee do—”
“Your students love you,” Caleb talked over her.
“The people who manage the soup kitchen where you volunteer love you. And I”—he paused for the merest fraction of a second, really no time at all; in fact, Amelia decided she’d imagined it—“think you’re all right enough, I suppose. Not as amazing as me, but not too bad.”
“Goodness, such high praise,” Amelia drawled. The gloves were now aligned to exactitude, one atop the other, so she began smoothing their fur trim.
Caleb shrugged. “I had to say something nice or you’d bully me until I did.”
“Ha ha.”
He leaned forward again, pulling the gloves away from her. Amelia scowled at him, he grinned back, and the air sparkled with magic—which was, of course, due to the cone of silence and nothing else whatsoever.
A waiter approached their table, and Caleb hastily pocketed the candle snuffer. They ordered tea and coffee to be brought to their compartment, along with cake (at Caleb’s request) and fruit (at Amelia’s).
“Right,” he said, pushing his chair back. “Are you ready to face the excitable girl again, bella luna?”
Amelia frowned. “I do wish you would address me correctly in public.”
Caleb’s expression became wounded, although his eyes continued to twinkle. “Surely I’ve earned the privilege of calling you by an endearment? After all, we’ve kissed—”
“We were eleven!” Amelia retorted, aghast. She could still recall the moment vividly.
She’d been hiding behind a curtain during a game of catch-and-kiss at Fortuna Andrews’s birthday party…
Caleb had found her and asked if he could claim his kiss…
She’d snootily agreed since it was after all the rule.
The sensation of his quick peck on her mouth lingered these many years later, like a stubborn ghost.
She rose, as much to escape the memory as anything. At once, Caleb was on his feet. Irreverent and lazy he might be, but he’d also been drilled in essential good manners over the years by teachers determined to show school benefactors that their pet Disadvantaged Child was worth the investment.
“One more thing,” Amelia said. “On this assignment we’ll be representing Oxford University, so we ought to behave properly.” She cast him a glance that made it clear she meant he alone.
“Sure, love,” Caleb agreed.
“And you should stop with the ‘love,’ ” she added severely.
He gave her a long look. Then, stepping toward her, he leaned in so as to speak in a low, warm voice that, like his manners, had been polished over the years but still occasionally glided through slum strength and educated softness.
It rounded vowels here and there, doing Things to Amelia’s nerve endings.
“I’m never giving up my ‘love,’ ” he said. Then he walked on, the backs of his fingers deliberately brushing against her skirt as he went.
Well, really! Amelia stiffened with titillation outrage! But she had to quickly unstiffen and follow him or else she’d be forced to run to catch up.
They arrived back at the carriage in time to hear Vanity say, “Heavens, Sergeant Sheffield, I’m sure you can guess what I spy with my little eye!” The sergeant made no reply, but his silence spoke volumes. Indeed, it was practically a thousand-page Russian novel.
“Miss Tunnicliffe,” Caleb said with a cheerful smile as he sat down, “would you like to see my antique candle snuffer?”
Vanity’s eyes widened. “Ooh, yes, please!”
Caleb took the snuffer from his coat pocket, tapping its side as he did so, and…
“Oops!” he said as he dropped it. His foot jerked, kicking the snuffer beneath one of the bench seats. A faint blue glow drifted across the floor.
And thus they were able to enjoy the next few hours in blessed silence.