Guarding the Spoils (The Wild Randalls 3)

His brow creased into a frown and he dropped his gaze to her fingers. She forced herself to still her fidgeting as he shifted closer. “I don’t trust him,” he murmured.

She sighed. “I understand that you might find it difficult to trust after everything that has been done to yourself and your family. It’s quite understandable, really. But Henry is exactly as he presents himself. A little coarse, I concede. I understand that you want to keep your family safe from opportunists, but Henry has asked for nothing from the Randalls.”

He tilted his head. “He’s asked for you and for George.”

Beth laughed to break the mood. “I’m a servant, not a possession of the Randalls.”

“No. You are more than that,” he murmured softly. “You’re a friend.”

Beth shook her head. Oliver was the last person she expected to express sentimentality over her leaving. Very soon he would be going away and she would never see him again. She would never see if some other lady managed to capture his attention in a way she never could. Beth swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Rosemary’s friend,” she whispered.

His gaze burned into her and set her body aflame. “More than that.”

He didn’t move, only continued to watch her silently. Beth struggled for a reply that could turn this discussion to more impersonal subjects. She couldn’t bear to hear Oliver spell out in exact terms where she fitted into his definition of friendship. She didn’t want what was left of her heart broken again.

After a time, he gestured to the discarded book. “Enlightening?”

“Worrying,” she answered honestly.

Oliver reached over her lap for the book, fingers brushing her thigh in the process. The caress jolted her back to the present and her proximity to a man who couldn’t love her.

“Adventure does not have to be frightening,” he argued. “The more you know of a situation the better you will fare.”

He flipped a few pages and began to read aloud. As Oliver spoke, Beth relaxed a bit and shifted until she was comfortable, legs stretched out before her. He had an excellent speaking voice and warmed to his subject easily. Perhaps it was not fatherhood that Oliver would have excelled at, but teaching. That was definitely a profession he could have undertaken with ease.

She closed her eyes, listening with rapt enjoyment and, when Oliver fell silent, she reluctantly opened her eyes again. He watched her, studying her in his own direct way. For a change, she was not unnerved by his unwavering perusal. Not even when his hand covered her ankle quite improperly did she look away. She did stiffen when he caressed her calf, hand disappearing beneath the hem of her gown. She fell into his gaze as he continued the soft touch, only waking from her daze at a sound below. A maid laid a tea tray on a table and then quickly hurried out as if the devil lurked in the library.

Oliver shrugged, but he did not remove his hand. “I’m told I terrify them.”

His warmth seeped into her soul in a way she’d never imagined. Beth wasn’t in the mood for subtlety or lies. “It’s the way you stare at people for so long. We’re not only for your inspection.”

A brief smile twisted his lips. “There are many ways to learn about people.”

His hand slid up her calf again, his touch firm and warm as he traced the band of the garter tied beneath her knee. He reached as far as bare skin before she came to her senses and prevented further access. “You could always try simply talking to people,” she said quickly.

“This is more enjoyable, yes?” The teasing light that lit his eyes took her by surprise. Oliver was flirting? Who would have thought him capable? Not Beth, certainly. “Or is love essential for you to accept pleasure?”

She knocked his hand away and stood, making sure she kept out of range of his wandering hands this time. “What do you know about love?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “However, it did occur to me that your problems with Henry might disappear or be lessened if you remarried.”

“I wouldn’t marry anyone for that reason.” Beth swallowed the hard lump forming in her throat. “But I am fond of talking.”

He sighed. “Talking is not my strong suit.”

He stood too, collected her books, and swiftly descended the spiral. When he returned, without the books, he was even smiling. “Would you care to come down for tea?”

She nodded, uncertain of the man before her. Maybe he was changing, but why now when they were both going in different directions? When she arrived at the top of the stairs, he held out his hand and assisted her down to the library floor without another word, just in time for George’s return.

Before George, Beth could pretend that those kisses and caresses had never happened. He hurried to stand before the fireplace, rubbing his hands together vigorously. “There are kittens in the stables that you can pet, Mama. One is so new she’s barely able to walk.”

Beth ruffled his hair. “Before you ask, no, you may not have one.”

“Because we’re going to America.”

“Maybe your uncle will allow one there.”

George turned his gaze on Oliver. “Do you like kittens?”