The Countess Conspiracy (Brothers Sinister #3)(83)

A steam whistle sounded; the train jerked forward.

“No,” Sebastian said. “You don’t. I’ve heard you deliver your lecture pitch-perfect four times already. Five, six—it doesn’t matter how many more times you do it. All you’re going to do is work yourself up.”

The steam whistle sounded again; the train was gaining momentum, shifting from side to side as it sped down the tracks.

Violet folded her arms. “Easy for you to say. You’ve given a hundred lectures. I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have. Every one I gave, you were there, watching me, knowing each word I said before it would leave my mouth.”

She huffed. “That hardly counts. They weren’t looking at me.”

He bit his lip and looked away. “Very well, then. My motives are entirely selfish. Until this moment, I’ve been the only one who has known what you’re capable of. By the end of tonight, everyone will. Is it so wrong of me to want to spend these last hours with you?”

“Oh.” She paused.

He was giving her his most hopeful look—so innocent and yearning at the same time that even she could not be so hard-hearted as to refuse.

“I suppose,” she started to say grudgingly, but then she caught a triumphant flicker in his eye.

“No! You cad!” She shoved him, but she couldn’t help smiling. “I almost believed you.” She held up two fingers. “This close. You almost had me with that oh, pity me, poor Sebastian routine. You weren’t thinking of anything so maudlin.”

“True,” he admitted. “I just wanted to make you smile. You’re working yourself into a state.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“True. But your mother is collecting your exhibits as we speak. You have nothing to worry about. You’re going to be brilliant.”

She tried to give him a really good glare. “You absconded with me. We’re on a moving train to—where are we going, anyway?”

“King’s Lynn. We’ll catch the early afternoon train to Cambridge and arrive with hours to spare.”

“I don’t have my notes with me,” she offered feebly. “How am I supposed to look over them?”

“If you really want, we’ll be changing trains in Cambridge anyway. You can always get off there and wait for your mother, who should be along half an hour later. You can go and sit in our house and make yourself sick with worry. Or…” He let the pause stretch and then gave her a wink. “Or you can pretend I gave you no choice at all. You can walk along the docks and breathe the sea air and enjoy yourself, muttering the entire time that it’s all my fault.”

Violet gave him a level gaze. “It is all your fault,” she told him severely. “If I so much as crack one smile, the guilt will be on your head.”

He grinned back and then—very suddenly—stopped smiling. He patted his coat pockets, once, twice, then checked his waistcoat pocket, his trousers. His face turned carefully blank.

“Is there some sort of problem?” Violet asked.

“Let’s play a game,” Sebastian said. His voice was a little too calm, his tone too measured. “It’s a guessing game called—did Sebastian remember to bring the return tickets?”

For just one second, Violet almost fell into his trap—running through a swift calculation of how much those tickets must have cost, estimating the meager value of the coins she’d brought with her.

Then she glared at him. “Very droll.”

“You’re no fun.” He frowned at her. “How did you know?”

She shrugged. “You only pretend to be absentminded,” she said, “but it’s obvious that you planned this to the inch. You’d never have made so ridiculous a mistake.”

SEBASTIAN MADE HER LAUGH four times. She smiled every hour—while they climbed to the top of a tower and looked out over the sea, while they clambered down and walked along the docks, watching the masts of the vessels roll up and down with the ocean. Every minute of her happiness felt like a victory that he’d won.

And, as she was the one to institute the no-science rule—he who mentions science must purchase ices for both parties—he suspected that she’d enjoyed herself, too.

The no-science rule was broken twice, both times with deliberate intent. Once had been an argument over whether seagulls inherited begging behaviors or learned them, a debate that became increasingly ridiculous as they walked along the beach and devised potential experiments for the unsuspecting birds. Luckily for the gulls, neither of them had any desire to perform their experiments, so they purchased ices instead.

The second time was when they passed the ice shop again on their way back to the station. Violet eyed the board listing the flavors as they walked past, and then deliberately asked him whether he thought ice was an admixture or an emulsion before it was frozen.

On the return trip, after the ices had been consumed, her smile faded, giving way to furrowed brows and a look of intense concentration. He didn’t disturb her; he didn’t dare. He conveyed her to her home in Cambridge and left for his own house.

His mood grew solemn. He’d not wanted to think of what might happen. But he didn’t know how people would respond to the coming revelation. He hoped for the best; he feared the worst. If the crowd took this revelation badly, who knew what Violet might be exposed to? He wouldn’t be able to protect her from that, and a little trip to the sea wouldn’t cure that harm.