The Sins of Lord Lockwood (Rules for the Reckless #6)(13)

He nodded. “Professor Arbuthnot had told me so, but only now do I perceive it was a warning.”

She blinked. “Professor . . .” She could not have heard right. Professor Arbuthnot would waste no time on book burners. “I beg your pardon,” she said coolly. “A warning?”

“A warning to buffle-headed young men. I will have to use my brain in this conversation, and I confess, I may be out of practice at it.”

She stared, uncertain if she had been complimented or insulted. “How do you know Professor Arbuthnot?”

“I studied with him at Oxford.”

“Before or after you burned down the library?”

“A dozen books,” he said evenly. “But the professor was quite disappointed in me. And I, in turn, was distraught to have lost his confidence. You’ll understand, then, when I tell you what a compliment it was to be entrusted with your manuscript.”

Her breath caught. “What?”

“He has reviewed it quite thoroughly, he says, and scribbled all through the margins. I did not read it,” he added quickly, again lifting his hands in a sign of truce. She noticed calluses on his palms, not a typical sight in an English gentleman. “But I did promise to ferry it to you, since he knew my path led me north for the spring.”

A queer buzzing filled her ears as she compassed how deeply she had misjudged this situation. “I see.” She cleared her throat, then, to her horror, felt her lips twitch. “I . . .” She needed to apologize. But suddenly, with him marveling at her, it struck her as absurdly amusing. “I’m sorry,” she managed through a sudden irrepressible giggle. “How dreadfully rude of me—but I thought—”

“You thought a penniless English earl saw an opportunity.” Before she could deny it, he flashed a lopsided grin, boyish, which somehow mocked himself and her, too. “Yes, well, don’t think it didn’t cross my mind. We penniless earls must look for love in high places, particularly with all those crumbling castles to pay for. But that was before I knew your opinion of wenching.”

Her face felt afire now. He had overheard that? On a deep breath, she brazened through it. “I see. I hope this doesn’t mean that you disregard whether the wenches are willing.”

“Oh no,” he said, then leaned forward, close enough that his breath warmed her cheek as he murmured, “The wenches are always willing. But I could never court a lady who doubted it.”

As he drew back, her heart skipped a beat. She rather believed he was right about the wenches.

But she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing so. “It must be your vanity that impresses them.”

“It is very large,” he said solemnly, “but I’ve not yet had complaints.”

She sputtered on a scandalized laugh. Good heavens. Surely he didn’t mean . . . ?

He dimpled as though in answer, and she felt herself blush. “You’re a rogue,” she said.

“Entirely.”

“And unashamed of it, too.”

He laughed, an easy and relaxed sound. “You would be surprised at how far roguery can take a man. Behold: I’ve had you to myself for five minutes now. Can any other man here claim such good fortune?”

It was not like her to fall for flattery. But she felt the odd urge to preen.

In the space of her hesitation, he continued in a more formal tone. “I did not bring the manuscript with me tonight. But I’ll have it sent over tomorrow, if that suits you.”

“Yes.” A smile bloomed on her lips as she fathomed the implications of his errand. “He read it, you say?”

“He did.”

“And he liked it?”

“The professor would not waste his opinions on me. But judging by his manner when he handed me the manuscript, I would guess he liked it very much.”

Now she felt purely dizzy, as though the floor were floating away. “How marvelous,” she murmured. And then, catching his gaze on her, she felt herself flush again. The light in his eye left no doubt that he was admiring her.

Well, at the least, he was a man of fine judgment, then.

She smiled at him, deliberately this time, and did not miss how his breath caught. Her smile was her greatest beauty; everyone always said it.

“Do send it,” she said. “Or better yet, bring it yourself, but only if you’re in the mood for a walk.”

“Delightful.” He bowed and turned away. But before he stepped out of view, she called after him.

“You’ll need to arrive before daylight if you want to join us.”

She caught his glance toward the nearby grandfather clock. It was already half past midnight. “Ambitious,” he said.

“Quite. And if you arrive too late, I’ll be forced to conclude that you’re afraid of heights, and looked for an excuse not to come.”

The interest on his face was unmistakable. “I’ve no fear of heights. But which heights, exactly, do you mean?”

“The highest one,” she said. “We are climbing Ben Nevis. Don’t be late.”

? ? ?

Liam had anticipated a pastoral frolic. The proof of his misjudgment was now plain in his own ragged breath as he labored up the woodland path. In college, he’d conquered the cricket fields. At university, no rower could outpace him. But Anna Winterslow Wallace, Countess of Forth, was built of some strange mettle, the same no doubt as steam trains, so steadily she chugged along.