Part 17 (1/2)

”Such as?”

Good G.o.d, did he have to think of everything himself? ”I can give her my pocket watch.”

”There's nothing romantic about that,” Ravenscroft scoffed.

Chambers cleared his throat. ”I happen to have a gold neck chain I was takin' to me sweetheart. I could let you have it, my lord. Fer a price, of course.”

”Done,” Gregor said.

Chambers rose immediately to fetch a small packet from his bags and handed a velvet sack to Gregor in exchange for some coins.

Gregor pocketed the sack. ”What else?”

”Poetry,” Ravenscroft said. ”I have a book.” He fumbled in his pockets, then came out with a small leather-bound volume. ”Here.”

Gregor winced. ”It's that Sh.e.l.ley fellow, who writes such horrible drivel.”

”Women love his horrible drivel, I promise you.”

”Do you have anything else?”

”No. It's Sh.e.l.ley or nothing. I marked some pa.s.sages, though. You can read any of those, and she'll swoon for it.”

Gregor slid it into his pocket. ”Very well. I am now armed with poetry and a gift. I will go begin this silliness and then report back to-”

”Waaaait a minute,” Ravenscroft said, eyeing Gregor narrowly. ”You can't just say you read poetry to Miss Oglivie and give her a gift. We have to see you do it.”

”I am not going to read love poetry in front of you two fools.”

”Of course not,” Ravenscroft said in a lofty tone. ”We will watch from outside the window.”

Gregor scowled. Perhaps it would have been simpler to just challenge Ravenscroft to a duel and be done with it. ”I am going to feel like an idiot.”

”You're going to look like one, too,” Chambers said. At Gregor's dark look, the groom added hastily, ”But you'll be the richer by a hundred pounds. That'll take some of the sting out of it.”

Being right would take a lot of the sting out of everything.

”Well?” Ravenscroft asked. ”Are we agreed?”

”h.e.l.l, yes.” Gregor straightened his cravat and ran his fingers through his hair. ”I will prove to you both that Venetia Oglivie is not like other women. And when I'm done, pup, prepare to pay.”

Chapter 12.

Oft times, love comes t' visit whilst ye are sleepin'. It creeps in on wee fairy feet and nestles in the quiet of yer heart. Ye might not even know 'tis there 'til someone wakes ye.

OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING.

V enetia was blissfully alone in the common room. Mrs. Bloom had whisked Miss Platt off to work on some sewing, while Elizabeth had decided to go upstairs to read a novel.

Venetia stayed downstairs with her own book, an improving work detailing the fall of the Roman Empire. With a sense of purpose, she settled into a chair and opened her tome.

She hadn't seen Gregor since he'd left in such high dudgeon, and Ravenscroft had been conspicuously absent since breakfast. She wasn't certain where the squire was, though she could hear his voice in the distance; perhaps he was in the wine cellars with Mr. Treadwell. The squire had commented several times on the quality of brandy kept at the inn.

Venetia turned a page and found a print of two women beside a marble pool. The rather supercilious matron reclining on a sofa reminded Venetia of Mrs. Bloom, which made Venetia frown. Just this morning, on hearing Miss Higganbotham complain yet again of the cold, the older woman had gone to her room and retrieved for Elizabeth a sumptuous cloak trimmed in fur. The girl had squealed in delight and impulsively hugged Mrs. Bloom, who had looked quite uncomfortable at being thanked. Venetia had been shocked at the older woman's generosity, though surprisingly Miss Platt took it in stride, commenting that it was Mrs. Bloom's way.

Venetia stretched out her feet toward the fire, letting the welcome heat soak into her gown and slippers. She found herself wondering where Gregor might be, then resolutely pulled her mind from that tantalizing question.

It was a pity she didn't care for Ravenscroft. Though he wasn't the ideal man, one always knew how he felt. He wore his emotions on his sleeve for the entire world to see, which was a refres.h.i.+ng change from some men she could name.

Gregor was a man of secrets, capable of great emotion yet never showing the slightest hint. Oh, he got angry, though never so much as he had this past week.

Venetia frowned. Would they ever smile at each other again without wondering if that smile meant something else?

Her hands tightened on her book. How could he suggest they explore their pa.s.sion, as if it were a meaningless experiment of some sort? The thought made her blood boil. It was a good thing she didn't cause the weather to gather when she lost her temper, or it would be storming like mad now.

She glanced out the window. The skies were clearing, with large, fluffy clouds breaking apart to reveal snow-washed blue skies, and a faint breeze stirred the trees. It made her think of their walk in the woods, of the kiss that still made her lips tingle. One moment, they had been snarling at each other, and the next, they were in a pa.s.sionate embrace. It had been heavenly. And confusing, too.

Venetia took a calming breath and shut and opened her eyes, the book forgotten. She had to maintain her sanity, despite the feelings that burned through her every time he was near. The thought of her wanton response in the woods made her press her hands to her face. Her body ached with an odd restlessness. Blast it, everything was different now! She couldn't just- ”Venetia.” A voice as deep as the sea, flavored with a smoky Scottish accent, ran over her like two warm hands.

She stood and whirled, her skirts flaring, her heart in her throat.

Gregor filled the doorway, one hand in his pocket, a small book in the other. His black hair, slightly damp from the melted snow, curled around his neck, and a sensual smile rested on his lips.

Venetia sucked in a breath, aware that something about him was different.

Whatever it was, it didn't make him any less appealing. She had to press her fingers into her palms against the desire to touch those errant curls.

I have to keep my wits about me, and-oh, heavens, have his eyes always been such a deep green?

Venetia forced a polite smile. ”Good afternoon, Gregor.” She cast about desperately for something to say, her gaze lighting on the book he held in his hands. ”What do you have there?”

Gregor looked at the small book, an expression of distaste in his gaze. ”Sh.e.l.ley.”

She blinked. ”The poet?”

”Is there another?” he asked in a scoffing tone, a bit put out at her disbelieving tone. ”I do read, you know.”

”Yes, but...Sh.e.l.ley?”

Gregor straightened from where he leaned against the doorframe. For an instant, the room tilted to one side, making him suddenly aware of how much rum he'd had. Until he'd entered the warmth of the inn, he hadn't realized he'd finished most of that blasted mixture by himself.

If he didn't have the doorframe within easy reach, he might actually stumble, which would be deadly to his wager. And this was an important wager, a true wager of honor, his hundred pounds to prove that Venetia was not an ordinary woman but an extraordinary one.

He glanced past Venetia to the window. The curtains weren't open all the way; someone in the innyard would be able to see only the front of the room. He'd have to throw the curtains wide, or Ravenscroft and Chambers wouldn't witness how wrong they were about Venetia.

It would take a master's touch to reach the window without giving away his condition, though. Venetia would not appreciate his coming to visit her while bosky.