“You’re making progress.”
She didn’t look up. “If my hands are occupied, it keeps me from wringing your neck.”
He flung his head back and laughed. Damn, but she was wonderful. He enjoyed her conversation almost as much as he enjoyed kissing her.
Richard’s unfettered hilarity attracted attention. Objecting to the noise, Hecuba sprang to the floor. The vicar jumped as if someone had poked him with a sharp stick. Mrs. Warren appeared delighted, while Fairbrother looked like he contemplated murder. Richard plastered on a cool smile and stared down the odious lordling.
“So glad that I amuse you, Mr. Evans.” Miss Barrett placed another stitch into the elephant’s rump. Try as he might, he still couldn’t make out any deuced peonies.
“I am too, Miss Barrett.” He meant it.
“People are listening,” she muttered, head bent over the embroidery.
“Don’t worry. I’m careful of your reputation.” He paused. “More than you are, given what I caught you doing three nights ago.”
She frowned as she looked up. “You have no right to censure my behavior, Mr. Evans. You’re neither my father, brother, nor husband. You’re a chance-met stranger.”
“Who would like to be more,” he responded smoothly.
She arched her eyebrows and her tone turned scathing. “My clandestine lover? I swoon with excitement.”
“Careful, Miss Barrett. As you pointed out, we’re not alone.”
Color surged into her cheeks and she glanced around the room. Mrs. Warren and Fairbrother still watched intently. The vicar returned to his reading. “You make me forget myself.”
“I’d certainly like to,” he murmured, then exhaled with audible irritation. “Hell, I can’t talk to you here.”
Her smile hinted at triumph. “That’s the general idea.”
“So where can I talk to you?”
“Nowhere,” she snapped. “You don’t seem to understand, which is odd because you’re not completely stupid.”
This time he didn’t contain his response. “Ouch.”
She plowed on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I don’t want to see you alone. Given a choice, I’d rather not see you at all. Despite the other night’s unfortunate encounter, I don’t like you, Mr. Evans. I’d prefer that you devoted your attentions to your studies. And if you take yourself off to wherever you originated, be assured that I’ll experience no pang upon your departure.” She paused for breath. “I hope I make myself clear.”
“Bravo.” Fairbrother planted himself at her other side. Good God, the cat would be among the pigeons if his lordship had heard the more revealing parts of Genevieve’s set-down. Richard struggled to smile through the burning need to plant his fist in the man’s face.
“My lord—” Clearly Genevieve too had missed Lord Neville’s approach.
“Glad to hear you put this upstart in his place.” He extended his arm. “I’d like a private word, if I may. Your father has said we may use the library.”
“We’re in the middle of a conversation,” Richard said in a silky tone, noticing how Genevieve paled.
Fairbrother regarded him as he’d regard a slug that crawled out from the salad. “You outstay your welcome, Evans.”
“That’s hardly for you to say, is it?” he asked lazily.
“Stop it, both of you.” Genevieve slapped her embroidery onto the seat. “My lord, I’m sure Mr. Evans will grant us privacy here.”
Fairbrother smirked. “Your father was most insistent that we speak alone.”
“Very well.” Her visible reluctance as she rose heartened Richard.
She disregarded the older man’s arm and strode toward the door with the free, hip-swaying walk that Richard so admired. With a smug glance at his rival, his lordship followed. Left behind on the window seat, Richard pondered the significance of Fairbrother’s gloating.
Genevieve resented how Mr. Evans transformed her into a woman she didn’t recognize and wasn’t sure she liked. She resented how he made her blood fizz. She resented how he made her feel alive, as though she’d spent the last twenty-five years buried in her books like some sleeping princess from a fairy-tale. A princess waiting for the handsome prince to ride up on his white steed and kiss her awake.