His fingers stilled as he reached her penciled notes. Dropping his head, he studied the first page for what felt like forever.
Damnation. Caro wished she could see his eyes. Even then, she suspected that she would see nothing he didn’t want her to see.
He flicked to the second page. And then the third.
When finally she could stand it no longer, she made a small sound in the back of her throat.
Alec responded with a grunt. After a sliver of silence, he asked, “May I borrow your pencil for a moment?”
A hundred—nay, a thousand—questions hovered on her lips, but she handed it over without comment.
For a moment, the only sound between them was the scratch, scratch of the point on the paper.
Snapping the covers shut, Alec placed the book on the ground beside him, carefully aligning the spine with the bent blades of grass.
“I must be going,” he announced as he rose and dusted the seat of his trousers. “If I spot the Muse eating a strawberry tart at one of the teashops on Milsom Street, I shall tell her to return to keep you company.”
Caro wasn’t quite sure she liked his newfound sense of humor.
With that, he gave a small salute and sauntered off.
Dignity demanded that she wait until he was well out of sight before snatching up the notebook. Paging furiously through the blank sheets, Caro quickly skimmed over her notes.
Alec had added a few entries to the list entitled “Intriguingly Poetical Words.” She couldn’t argue with any of them—though the last did make her cheeks flame.
As he had no doubt intended.
Muttering under her breath, Caro was about to tuck the book back in her reticule when she noticed that a string of words had been penciled in at the very end of the section, so lightly as to be nearly illegible. Angling the paper to catch the light, she leaned in for a closer look.
You are very good.
And with experience you may even become great.
She traced a finger over the faint lettering, unsure whether to laugh or gnash her teeth.
“Impossible man,” she huffed. “It’s not so easy for a young lady to experience the sort of Meaningful Things that she needs to know in order to write powerful poetry.”
A smile slowly smoothed away her grimace. “But then again, I’ve never been daunted by a difficult challenge.”
Chapter Seven
The weekly Assembly was even more crowded than the previous gathering. The dowager Duchess of Ainsley had arrived in town to take the waters, accompanied by an assortment of young relatives to keep her amused. Their party had added a welcome number of enthusiastic dancers to the festivities, and for the last hour, Caro had been spinning through every one of the lively reels.
As the Master of Ceremonies signaled the musicians to strike up the next set of dances, she slipped into the shelter of the potted palms, wanting a quiet moment to compose her wayward thoughts.
She shouldn’t be darting glances at the entrance every few moments, wondering if a certain figure with a dark-as-a-stormcloud scowl would make an appearance.
Not that Alec McClellan wasn’t capable of a sly-as-a-devil smile when he so chose.
Caro felt a flutter in her chest on recalling the surprising flashes of humor that had lit up his face yesterday afternoon. Like flashes of lightning, they had left her a bit shaken by their blinding brilliance. Blinking back images of those sinfully attractive lips, she rubbed her palms over her bare arms, hoping the soft kidskin would dispel the sudden prickling of gooseflesh.
Stop mooning over a man who is too difficult, Caro chided to herself.
And perhaps too dangerous.
The meeting with him in Sydney Gardens and the mention of the events that had taken place at Dunbar Castle had compelled her to give serious thought to the disturbing exchange she had overheard in the Abbey churchyard. The Scottish accent had been unmistakable—that, and the reminder of Alec’s past involvement in dangerous political activities, sent a slight shiver down her spine.
Could a man who appreciated the passions of poetry also be a man willing to do whatever it took to accomplish his objectives—even if it called for committing violence?