Startled, she threw the arrow at his head.
He caught before it pierced his eyeball like a fork in a bowl of fish-eye stew. A horrified giggle escaped Persephone before she could stop it. Really, what else was a girl to do when she kept making such an utter cake of herself?
Conall blinked carefully, as if making sure he was still able. “I see I shall have to keep on my toes with you.”
“I promise I am not doing it on purpose,” she squeaked between horrified giggles.
“I can scarcely imagine the destruction if you were.”
“It would be biblical, I assure you.”
He set the arrow down on the table. His sleeves were rolled up, displaying strong forearms. She tried not to stare at the play of muscles under his skin. She tried even harder not to remember how those arms had felt around her, or his lips on hers.
“I admire your sense of humour, Persephone.” She hadn’t given him permission to use her name. Something about the way he said it sent a delicious shiver through her. “Many a lady would take to their beds after a tumble over a balcony railing.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I’d never get anything done if I had the vapours every time something untoward happened.” And it was the least surprising thing that had happened to her that night. This is what came of being surrounded with live people rather than dead ones. She really ought to consider staying home from now on.
At least he hadn’t mentioned the kiss.
Why hadn’t he mentioned the kiss?
Conall half-smiled, but there was something untrusting about it. As if he knew her secrets, if she’d bothered to have any. She hadn’t before Henry. Surely, he wouldn’t know anything about Henry’s predicament? It would be too risky to ask. Wouldn’t it? “I’m almost afraid to ask what you are doing down here at such an hour. Some harrowing antiquarian ritual with the leg bone of a dead man?”
“Hardly,” she admitted. “I’m looking for a book to read.”
“How disappointing.”
“Maybe I’ll find something suitably gothic.”
“That would be a start.”
“Are you feeling better?” Now why had she gone and asked that? She could see that he was fine. And now the memory of their kiss burned between them. She swayed closer, feeling an unnatural pull.
“You are as reviving as tonic water.”
The lovely swaying feeling stopped abruptly. She was earth and stone and mud again. “Oh. Good.” She turned back to the bookshelves. What did that even mean? Had she forgotten how to kiss? It wasn’t as if she’d had that much practice to begin with.
He watched her trail her fingers lovingly over the spines of history books. “What drew you to antiquarian pursuits? I’ve never asked you.”
Of course, he hadn’t. He’d spent most of his time playing the violin and hiding from the Cinderellas when they were younger. Well, they had teased him rather mercilessly. One couldn’t fault him an expedient retreat.
“Aside from the duke, you mean?” she asked. Most of the Cinderellas had a penchant for history nurtured by ducal birthday presents. Also, it had to be said, parents who encouraged any common interests their offspring might have with a duke. It wasn’t the only reason for Persephone’s studies though. She was raised in Little Barrow after all. Such pursuits were practically grown in the soil.
“My father was obsessed,” she admitted. “I suspect I inherited it, like the shape of my nose or my dislike of jellies.” She didn’t mention she’d also learned early that it was the best way to get his attention. Watercolors or walks in the woods had never stood a chance.
“And have you travelled much since? To Egypt perhaps?”
“During the war?” She scoffed. “My father was not that obsessed, Northwyck.”
“He must have wanted to see it. It’s positively swarming with antiquarians and treasure hunters.”
“I suppose it must be.” Just ask Henry.
He was watching her closely, in that way people did when they thought they were being subtle. She’d spent too many hours at the edges of ballrooms watching those same people to be fooled. She lifted a hand to her hair, wondering if it was falling out of its braid. “Anyway, he and Maman died long before the war ended. And everyone wants to go to Egypt, surely. Have you seen this house? Even Lady Culpepper is au courant.”
“I suppose it’s become the fashionable thing to do, hasn’t it?” His tone hardened. “Almost as fashionable as visiting the battlefields at Waterloo.”
Persephone wrinkled her nose. “I admit I am not keen for that kind of exploration; it seems rather ghoulish to me.”