Love In The Library (16 page)

Chapter 12

Elvin had told him he had a propensity to fall asleep within fifteen seconds of closing his eyes. This night it had taken longer. Without his intentions of doing so, once he closed the curtains around Mrs. Bexley's bed he was nearly overcome with images of her removing her clothing.

He was unaccustomed to such unwelcome thoughts foisting themselves upon him, but the more he thought of her smooth, fair body glistening in the firelight, the more welcome the images became. If that weren’t bad enough, the notion of seeing the lovely woman disrobed did the most unwelcome things to his body.

What the devil had gotten into him? He hoped to God the lady never learned the he had such dishonorable thoughts.

He punched his pillow, rolled over, and willed himself to replace those images with architectural renderings of the Parthenon and Andrea Palladio's Italian masterpieces.

Then he fell asleep.

But the muffled sound of a door closing roused him. He leapt up, ready to defend Mrs. Bexley. "Who goes there?" he inquired.

When there was no response, he crossed the chamber, stood before the slit in her curtains, and addressed her. "Terribly sorry to disturb you, but are you all right?"

There was still no response.

He decided to take the liberty of lifting away her curtain. "I say, Mrs. Bexley- - -" What the devil? Her bed was empty!

In that instant, he recalled her insane desire to further search Lord Seacrest's library, and he knew where the stupid woman had gone.

The sound that had awakened him must have been their door closing. He had best hurry if he hoped to prevent her from jeopardizing their mission. Without taking time to put on his shirt, he sped from their bedchamber and as silently as he possibly could, he began to descend the darkened staircase.

He was not alone. Some distance in front of him, there was another footfall. It was much too dark for him to see who it was, but the footsteps were much too heavy to be hers. His heartbeat roared within the walls of his chest.

Melvin was her only hope. His step accelerated.

He came to the foot of the stairs, rounded the next corner and raced to the library, his pulse recklessly fast. A wedge of light spilled from the library’s open door into the corridor. Lord Seacrest, with candle in hand, filled the doorway and was speaking in a most irreverent manner to Mrs. Bexley, er, Mrs. Steffington.

Melvin knew he must think quickly. He sped up to stand beside their host. "Please," he said, his voice low, "Allow me to handle this. Mrs. Steffington is possessed of the most lamentable habit of walking in her sleep. She manages to light candles and embark on the most nonsensical chores. She once put hot coals into the ice house and had no recollection of it the following day."

With that truly lame explanation, he crossed the chamber and scooped the lady into his arms. "It's all right, my darling, I'm taking you back to our bed."

Dr. Melvin Steffington had never in his seven and twenty years referred to a woman as
my darling
. And he’d said
our bed
, both of which were uncharacteristically brazen for a serious-minded bachelor like Melvin,

Surprisingly, his extemporaneous explanation seemed to appease their host. How could a man who so appreciated man’s written word believe such nonsense?

“Terribly sorry to have disturbed your lordship,” Melvin mumbled as he swept past the man, who was dressed in a long nightshirt.

Melvin’s faux wife feigned faux sleep as he mounted the stairs. Though she was not very large, by the time he reached the top step he had some difficulty catching his breath. He would not recommend climbing stairs with a woman in one’s arms.

He also had the devil of time trying not to think of her naked feet and not to think about her undergarments having been removed. Then there was his own state of nakedness. Both of their names would be ruined if anyone ever learned of tonight’s transgressions. It would be difficult, too, to face her in the light of day tomorrow. Or was it already tomorrow? He couldn’t wait until dawn—the earliest they could flee from Granfield. Melvin couldn’t leave Granfield Manor soon enough.

If she were a child, he would spank her for her disobedience.

In their bedchamber (which seemed incredible that he was sharing a bedchamber with a woman to whom he was not married), he dropped her onto the carpet, then shut the door as forcefully as he could without slamming it.

“What the devil did you think you were doing?” He didn’t care that he’d cursed in front of her. She deserved worse than
devil
. He didn’t care that his voice was raised in anger. She deserved that too.

Her gaze traveled from his face down the length of him. He felt deuced awkward. “You were magnificent!”

He forgot that he was standing there half naked. His chest seemed to expand. “I was rather proud at how quickly I reacted, though I’m shocked that Seacrest seemed to believe me.”

“Just because one’s rich enough to buy the most expensive books in the kingdom doesn’t mean one’s smart enough to understand all those books.”

Exactly what Melvin had been thinking about Seacrest. His eyes narrow, he glared at her. “You’re mistaken if you think I can be duped as easily as Seacrest. My temper won’t be assuaged by your flattery.”

“I wasn’t trying to flatter,” she said softly, her gaze sweeping over his upper torso. “I was exercising my unfortunate habit of speaking my mind.”

It was still flattery, unintentional as it may have been, and he wasn’t about to fall for it. “It appears you also exercise your unfortunate habit of rash and illogical reasoning.”

Now she returned his glare with vehemence. “And I thought you a gentleman! I’ll have you know a gentleman would never say such horrible, insulting things to a lady.” Her voice was cracking as it did when she was on the brink of tears—an action he’d observed too many times and would prefer not to see again.

A gentleman would apologize right now, but Melvin could not. If she hoped to continue their quest, he had to know she wasn’t going to do other things as stupid as what she had just done. He refused to enter into an association with someone whose thoughtless actions could seriously jeopardize them.

He felt beastly if his harsh words made her cry, but they had to be said. “I will not be manipulated by your tears this time. You were wrong on so many levels I don’t know where to begin. It should have been obvious to an imbecile that Seacrest does not possess the manuscript. None of those cupboards was either deep enough or secure enough to hold a prized manuscript like the Chaucer.

“If we’re to be in this together, one of us does not stalk off independently. If it’s your desire to investigate this by yourself with no help from me, just say the word, and I’ll be happy to bow out.”

Her eyes brimming with tears she somehow managed not to spill, she peered at him. “Just because I’m a female, you think me stupid.”

“Your gender has nothing to do with your stupidity.”

She started to wail. “You did-did-didn't have to say I was stupid.”

“I didn’t mean you
were
stupid. I’ve never thought you stupid, but your actions tonight indicated a complete disregard for sanity!”

“Make up your mind! Do you find me stupid—or just crazy?”

“Neither, madam. I think you’re an impetuous female who needs the guidance of a man.”

She spun away from him as if she’d been burned, but a second later whirled back around, hurling a chair cushion at his head.

He ducked, deflecting the blow from hitting his face. “Why did you do that?”

“I wanted to demonstrate the actions of an impetuous, helpless female!”

He effected an exaggerated bow. “I rest my case, madam.”

Anger apparently trumped tears. Her tears vanished. “
I rest my case
,” she mimicked to herself as she presented her back to him and marched across the bedchamber, continuing to mimic him with each step. She climbed onto her bed and snapped closed the slender sliver where her bed curtains had parted.

“Good night, Dr. Steffington.”

She had never before addressed him by his academic title. With it, she was erecting an iron barrier between them.

“If you don’t object,” he addressed her bed, “I wish to put Granfield behind us at the first light of dawn. I’ll leave Seacrest a letter professing our profound gratitude for showing us his fine library, what an honor it was, etcetera, and of course, I shall apologize for my wife’s intrusion upon his sleep.”

She was still too angry with him to respond.

* * *

 She was still trembling as she sat squarely upon the bed in total darkness. She had never in her life been so terrified as she was when Lord Seacrest threw open that library door and called her out. She’d stood frozen, incapable of speech but knowing he thought her a thief in the night.

When her then-shining star came to her rescue she could have planted a big, wet kiss upon his mouth. How clever he had been to extricate her from the mischief she’d gotten herself into.

Then he had to go and spoil everything. The memory of the manner in which her Airy had spoken to her upon returning to their bedchamber quite broke her heart. She had thought he was her ally. She had thought perhaps he did not think her an empty-headed female. She had even thought he was so kindly a gentleman (as he always had been previously) that he would never chastise her.

She had not expected the passive Mr. Steffington to so exert his opinions or to so thoroughly belittle her.

Another source of her mortification was her unguarded reaction to seeing the towering Mr. Steffington’s bare torso. It had nearly robbed her of breath as she gawked at him standing just behind Lord Seacrest. Her lashes lowered, a huge lump lodged in her throat, and her gaze lazily swept from his subtly muscled shoulders down the long, lean curve of his manly chest, trailing to his narrow waist where a thin trickle of dark hair plunged beneath his breeches and had her heartbeat galloping even more than it already was.

Then back in their bedchamber, her impetuous tongue betrayed her thoughts when she blurted out that she thought he was magnificent.

How could she have done such a brainless thing? She did not even like men. She had no desire to ever remarry. She had no desire to take a lover. Then why in the whole wide world had she been so mesmerized over his body?

Even as she sat there in the inky black dark, her pulse quickened when she pictured him. She could not help but be aware of his close proximity, be aware of their intimate setting. Could this setting have unconsciously preyed on her traitorous emotions?

So Mr. Steffington would not only think her colossally stupid, he was also apt to think her a harlot!

How could she have gotten herself into this predicament? She had only wanted to recover what was rightfully hers. She’d been just female enough to think Mr. Steffington was her own gallant knight who would do anything to rescue the maiden—or in her case, matron.

Until tonight, she had been able to coax him into any action with the trickle of tears, but tonight he had totally exercised his manliness. He was no longer hers to command. Like other men,
he
wanted to command.

He’d even told her he would not continue their quest unless it was on his terms. Why did he have to act so beastly manly? Why did he have to
look
so magnificently manly?

Even as those thoughts penetrated, she was aware of a soft snore coming from his pallet. How could he just lie down and fall asleep after the angry words that had passed between them? She must have been sadly mistaken when she had thought him sensitive. She should have known a man who was not enamored of poetry could not be sensitive.

Her
Dr.
Steffington was just like other men (except for the part about not wanting to seduce her). She fought the
impetuous
urge to hurl a bed pillow at him.

She could weep at the fruitlessness of their entire investigation. Even a brilliant man like Mr. Steffington was ineffective in helping her reclaim the Chaucer. She was going to have to start resigning herself to the fact she was going to lose everything: the house she adored in the city she liked best; her independence; and even pocket money.

She would have nothing and be forced to live in her brother’s overcrowded house in the wilds of gray Yorkshire where there would be no society other than her brother’s gaggle of boisterous children. Eight of them. Six of them boys. She did adore them, but boys’ interests were about as fascinating as a conversation with Mr. Longford.

At the age of seven and twenty, she felt as if her life was over. A wretched hopelessness stole over her as she lay back into the bed and covered herself. Her trembling had finally stopped, but her thoughts raced so quickly she knew sleep was as out of her reach as that fat volume of
Canterbury Tales
.

After an hour or two had passed, she decided she would watch for the dawn. Leaving Granfield at dawn’s first light was one thing she and Mr. Steffington still perfectly agreed upon. She tugged open the upper right corner of her bed curtains. To her surprise, the darkest of the night had lost its intensity as dawn approached. She sat up and began to assemble the clothing she’d thrown off many hours earlier and started to dress.

By the time she had finished, it was time to awaken Mr. Steffington. She hopped off the bed just as he rose from the pallet.

She wasn’t about to gush about how magnificent he looked sans shirt, but she could not help but to freeze to the spot and stare at the majesty of him.

“You’re already dressed,” he said.

“Yes, I wanted to comply with your wishes. Even though our relationship has come to an end.”

His eyes rounded. “Then you no longer desire my assistance?”

“That’s correct.”

Chapter 13

Because they'd gotten so early a start, they covered much more distance on the return journey than they had coming to Warwickshire, but they would still be required to spend the night at a posting inn. Judging from the view of the waning sun from her coach window, that would not be far off.