A Dangerous Collaboration (Veronica Speedwell #4)(68)

I inclined my head towards a still-dozing Stoker. “I am certain he would appreciate a tour of your garden. It is most interesting.” She blushed a little—in pleasure, I thought. She was a curious soul, Mertensia, I reflected. I would be sorely disappointed if she turned out to be a murderess.

Stoker roused himself with a start. “My apologies,” he said through a tremendous yawn. “I must beg your indulgence for my bad manners.”

Mertensia smiled and I saw the smallest shadow of a dimple at the corner of her mouth. “It is no matter. Island air takes most incomers that way.” She dipped her head shyly. “By way of a forfeit, you should come to pay morning calls and carry my basket.”

Stoker leapt to his feet but before he could respond, I stepped forward. “What a delightful idea! I should love to see more of the island. How clever of you to suggest it, Mertensia.”

She darted a glance from me to Stoker and back again. “Of course. Let me go and get what I need. I will be back shortly and we can go.” She vanished from the poison garden and Stoker gave me a level look.

“That was cruelly done,” he said in a soft voice.

“Cruel! I think it more cruel to encourage her,” I replied shortly.

He reared back on his heels. “I am doing no such thing.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes heavenwards. “Stoker, you are an exceedingly handsome man, unlike anyone she has likely ever met in the whole of her sheltered existence. You share her interests and you are courteous. I am no mathematician, but that particular equation adds up to a na?ve young woman being halfway to falling in love with you.”

He flushed scarlet to his ears and muttered something inaudible before clearing his throat. “Do you really think so?” he asked, his expression frankly appalled. “I was only attempting to be kind.”

“I know you were,” I said, a trifle more gently. “I am not certain if you are aware, but you have an effect upon women.”

“Not all women,” he corrected.

I could not rise to the bait, I told myself fiercely. If I were to admit the depth of my feelings for him, I risked the ruination of the dearest thing in the world to me—his friendship. It was a small and pale shadow of what I wanted from him, but it would have to suffice. Having made a point of refusing anything more, I could not now demand it as my due. I had made this particularly cold bed and it was my lot to lie in it. Alone.

Instead I primmed my mouth, taking a schoolmistressy tone. “Mind that you do not attract her more than you can possibly help,” I instructed.

He seemed sincerely puzzled by the direction. “How in the name of seven hells do I do that?”

“Let her carry her own basket,” I told him impatiently. “And for the love of almighty Jesus, button your shirt!”

His hands went guiltily to his collar, which—never tidy at the best of times—had come undone, baring a long column of beautifully muscled throat. “I had trouble this morning,” he confessed. “My arm has stiffened and doesn’t want to reach that high.”

“Oh, let me,” I ordered. I wrenched the collar tight and pinned it with ruthless efficiency. “There, at least you are decent for the company of respectable women,” I pronounced.

I made the mistake of glancing up into his face then. A smile played about his lips, and his eyes were bright with amusement. “Veronica,” he murmured.

I stepped back so sharply I nearly lost my balance. “She is coming,” I told him. “Try to be less adorable.”

To his credit, he did try. He could not leave off his gentlemanly instincts long enough to let her carry her own basket, but he worked neatly around this.

“I am afraid the injury in my arm is playing up,” he said smoothly, “but Veronica is hale as a horse. She will be only too happy to carry your basket.” He thrust the object into my arms and set off with Mertensia, leaving me to come behind, laden like a donkey. The basket clinked ominously and Mertensia looked around in some irritation.

“Mind you are careful with that,” she warned. “Some of the bottles contain remedies that are quite out of season.”

I pulled a face and set myself to keeping up with them, not an easy task given that Stoker was determined to make quick work of the outing. He was destined to be thwarted by his hostess’s strategy of keeping him at her side for the whole of the excursion. Mertensia attempted to dally at every possible landmark, pointing out every shrub and outcropping along the path, to which Stoker made artful replies. Unable to bring himself to be rude to her by means of short responses, he instead took the opportunity to give her lengthy lectures of such catastrophic dullness that only a saint could have possibly endured them with patience. I caught snatches of phrases here and there as I caught them up, bits of impenetrable Latin delivered with the somber air of a Welsh parson.

Mertensia’s eyes glazed over as he extolled the virtues of the rock formations beneath our feet. “Really?” I heard her ask. “I had no idea. I am afraid I do not know much at all about rocks,” she said somewhat desperately.

“Oh, are you talking of rocks?” I asked, widening my eyes and setting down the basket for a moment. “I do enjoy a good discussion of rocks.”

“Pity we’ve just finished it, then,” Stoker told me. He eyed the basket with an unholy sort of enjoyment. “Come on, then, Veronica. Don’t dally. Miss Mertensia has calls to pay.” He turned and strode off and only the rocks heard the names that I called him as I trotted after.