Chapter Twenty-One #2
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sterling,” Ottersock snapped.
Then his facial expression shifted. “I don’t suppose Sir Nigel had any explosive medieval antiques…
?” When Amelia and Caleb shook their heads, he sighed with regret.
Leaning back, he closed his eyes and puffed malodorous smoke into a silence that haunted the carriage as they drove on through the night.
—
Stopping in Oxenholme to change the horses, they ate dinner at a plump, whitewashed coaching inn that had survived the railway network’s dominance by offering a hearty stew, a cozy atmosphere, and several bedrooms possessing only one bed.
Ottersock considered resting here until morning, since it was a safe distance from Dummersby, but the place was so crammed with travelers that people were having to share rooms. (Luckily, they all just happened to be married.) Alas, a glass of whiskey to ease the discomforts of the journey was deemed impossible, since the university’s reputation would be jeopardized by them taking alcohol, even in moderation, and despite the fact that they were two hundred miles from Oxford with nothing but Ottersock’s pipe to suggest they were professors.
Tea was the only decent thing under the circumstances.
Caleb loaded his cup with sugar just to feel alive.
As soon as their carriage was ready, they continued southward.
Ottersock fell asleep, his snores gusting like a breeze through his whiskers and the odor of mutton stew wafting from him every now and again.
Amelia and Caleb could neither converse nor relax against each other, however, for fear of him waking at any moment and catching them at it.
Consequently, Caleb’s back began to ache with a vile intensity for which he could find no relief; ditto his heart.
Stopping again in Burton-in-Kendal sometime near midnight, they used the bathroom facilities at the Kings Arms coaching inn; then Caleb and Amelia stood together on the footpath outside, waiting for the carriage to arrive with its new horses.
Ottersock lingered indoors, reversing the meal he’d had during their last stop.
The village was brightly moonlit, its skies a marvel of cloudlessness that Caleb could not quite believe.
The stone buildings lining each side of the street held a restful silence that dragged on his exhausted body until he yearned to simply lie down right where he was and sleep.
Remaining upright felt heroic, and the fact that Amelia was more interested in their surroundings than in him was grievous.
He stretched his back, rubbed his face wearily, and sighed with such fervor that she finally looked at him.
At once, he forgot all his aches. She was a moon goddess, all pearly white and haunting dark, with eyes that were ancient shadow-seas.
She was beauty exemplified. She was also frowning, and Caleb winced both anxiously and apologetically—offering her two options, since he had no idea what he’d done wrong.
Usually he could tell from the angle of her mouth, or the way she held her smallest finger.
But increasingly these days she was a mystery to him.
He could sense her feeling things she didn’t tell him about, and it worried him—enthralled him—made him want to unwrap her and find the secret inside.
At least one thing he knew for sure: “Ottersock is an ass.” Saying this, he took her nearest hand and chafed it gently between both of his to warm her fingers and console her spirit if he could. “But even given that, he won’t fire you, no matter how often he threatens and blusters.”
“I know,” Amelia answered calmly.
Ah. Caleb had become an expert in her calm over the years, and this particular gradient of it communicated quite clearly that she was pissed off.
Or, as Amelia herself would no doubt put it, a little vexed, but not to the extent that anyone need concern themselves.
When she was in this mood, Caleb absolutely did concern himself with it.
Kissing her hand, he tucked it into her skirt pocket, alongside the little book that was in there, then took the other hand to begin warming that one too.
“Everything will be all right,” he told her, smiling. “We’ve obviously been getting a little too much into the spirit of fake hating. We’ll tone it down to mild annoyance instead, and Ottersock is sure to leave us alone.”
Amelia abruptly snatched her hand from his and looked away, staring so intently at a chimney that Caleb was amazed it did not topple.
Moonlight limned her profile, and the cold air became a ghost within her breath.
Gazing at her, Caleb had to quite honestly admit that he was amazed he didn’t topple.
She wasn’t just a moon goddess; she was a whole pantheon in single form.
Indeed, she reminded him of the marble bust of Aphrodite he’d seen in the V he knew her so well. He bent his head so that the universe shrank to the heated little space between them.
“And then faster,” he whispered. “And faster, my beautiful moon, my darling friend, until I bring you to such pleasure, you scream my name, not caring who might hear you.”
“Oh God,” she breathed.
“You can just call me Caleb.”
They were so close now that their smiles felt like the same smile reflected back and forth; like kisses without quite touching.
Caleb no longer remembered the name of the village they stood in.
It could have been a wilderness for all he knew.
It could have been a windowless, hidden room deep inside Ravenscroft Manor, and the whole journey south with Ottersock just a fever dream.
Nowhere mattered, nothing in the world mattered, except this woman.
“Amelia Victoria Tarrant,” he said. “I lov—”
“You cannot be serious!”
Ottersock’s appalled shout struck them like a shock wave, pushing them apart with such speed that Amelia almost fell.
Caleb reached out to steady her, but she avoided his hand, frowning so darkly he had to choke back a wounded sound, even knowing that she was faking.
Girding everything that could possibly be girded, he turned to face the faculty head.
But Ottersock was not even looking their way. He stood by the door of the coaching inn, arguing with the proprietor.
“It’s not my fault your plumbing system is inadequate!”
Caleb dared not glance at Amelia, for fear he’d start laughing or possibly crying. But he nudged her with the back of his hand, and she tapped her fingers against his in reply, and it was as much a conversation as words would have been. I love you. I love you. It’s us, always.
Just then, the rented carriage arrived, its driver yawning widely.
Caleb held Amelia’s hand as she climbed in, and she brushed his thigh as he sat beside her.
The air trembled. The silence between them was so lush with secret understanding that even Ottersock, dropping onto the seat opposite them, fanned himself with his gloved hand.
“Whew, is it hot in here, or is it just me?” he asked.
“It’s not you,” Caleb said. And setting his bag atop his lap for safety’s sake, he leaned back, closed his eyes, and dreamed his way through the long, aching night in the hope of a new day to come.