James chuckled.
"Besides," she continued. "Percy thinks I am highly unattractive, morbidly interested in books, and he never ceases to complain that I cannot sit still."
"Well, you can't."
"Sit still?"
"Yes. Just look at your ankle."
"That has nothing to do with-"
"It has everything to do with-"
"My, my," drawled a voice from the doorway. "Aren't we cozy?"
James looked up. "Oh, good day, Ravenscroft."
"And where did you disappear to this morning?"
James held up the posted bill he'd brought back from town. "I went out to investigate our Miss Trent."
"She isn't our Miss Tr-"
"Forgive me," James said with a wicked smile. "Your Miss Trent."
Caroline immediately took offense. "I'm not-"
"This is an exceedingly asinine conversation," Blake cut in.
"My thoughts exactly," Caroline muttered. Then she pointed to the notice about her and said, "Look what the marquis brought back."
"I thought I told you to call me James," James said.
"'The marquis' is just fine," Blake grumbled. "And what the hell is this?"
James handed him the paper.
Blake dismissed it immediately. "This looks nothing like her."
"You don't think so?" James asked, his expression positively angelic.
"No. Any fool could see that the artist put her eyes a bit too close together, and the mouth is all wrong. If the artist really wanted to capture her on paper, he should have shown her smiling."
"Do you think so?" Caroline asked, delighted.
Blake scowled, clearly irritated with himself. "I wouldn't worry that anyone is going to find you based on this. And besides, no one knows you're here, and I'm not expecting any guests."
"True," James murmured.
"And," Blake added, "why would anyone care? There is no mention of a reward."
"No reward?" Caroline exclaimed. "Why that cheap little-"
James laughed out loud, and even Blake, grumpy as he was, had to crack a smile.
"Well, I don't care," she announced. "I just don't care that he isn't offering a reward. In fact, I'm glad. I'm much happier here than I was with any of my guardians."
"I would be, too," Blake said wryly, "if Perriwick and Mrs. Mickle treated me this way."
Caroline turned to him with a wicked smile, the urge to tease him too strong to ignore. "Now, now, don't get snippy because your servants like me best."
Blake started to say something, then just laughed. Caroline felt an instant happy satisfaction spreading within her, as if her heart recognized that she had done something very good in making this man laugh. She needed Blake, and the shelter of his home, but she sensed that maybe he needed her just a little bit, too.
His was a wounded soul, far more so even than her own. She smiled up into his eyes and murmured, "I wish you'd laugh more often."
"Yes," he said gruffly, "you've said as much."
"I'm right about this." On impulse, she patted his hand. "I'll allow that I'm wrong about a great deal, but I'm sure that I'm right about this. A body can't go as long without laughing as you have."
"And how would you know?"
"That a body can't go without laughing, or that you haven't laughed in a long, long while?"
"Both."
She thought about that for a moment, then said, "As for you, well, all I can say is that I can just tell. You always look a bit surprised when you laugh, as if you don't expect to be happy."
Blake's eyes widened imperceptibly, and without thinking, he whispered, "I don't."
"And as for your other question..." Caroline said, a sad, wistful smile crossing her face. There was a long silence, as she tried to think of the right words. "I know what it's like not to laugh. I know how it hurts."
"Do you really?"
"And I know that you have to learn to find your laughter and your peace wherever you can. I find it in-" She blushed. "Never mind."
"No," he said urgently. "Tell me."
Caroline looked around. "What happened to the marquis? He seems to have disappeared again."
Blake ignored her question. James had a talent for disappearing when it was convenient. He would not put it past his friend to play matchmaker. "Tell me," he repeated.
Caroline stared at a spot just to the right of his face, not understanding why she felt so compelled to bare her soul to this man. "I find my peace in the night sky. It's something my mother taught me. Nothing more than a little trick, but-" She shifted her gaze to meet his eyes. "You probably think that is very silly."
"No," Blake said, feeling something very warm and very odd in the vicinity of his heart. "I think that might be the least silly thing I've heard in years."
Chapter 9
e-gre-gious (adjective). Remarkable in a bad sense; gross, flagrant, outrageous.
My mouth often displays an egregious disregard for discretion, circumspection, and good sense of any kind.
-From the personal dictionary of
Caroline Trent
Caroline's ankle was much improved the following day, although she still required a cane to walk. Finishing her work in the library, however, was out of the question; she was clumsy enough without trying to move huge stacks of books while balancing on one foot. There was no telling what sort of mess she might make while still handicapped by a swollen ankle.
At supper the previous night, James had mentioned that she might draw a floor plan of Prewitt Hall. Blake, who had been most uncommunicative throughout the meal, had grunted in the affirmative when she had asked him if he thought that was a good idea. Eager to impress her hosts, she sat down at a desk in the blue room and began her sketch.
Mapping out the floor plan, however, proved to be more difficult than she had supposed, and soon the floor was littered with crumpled-up pieces of paper whose drawings she had deemed unacceptable. After thirty minutes of aborted attempts, she finally declared, out loud and to herself, "I have a new appreciation and respect for architects."
"I beg your pardon?"
Caroline looked up in mortification at having been caught talking to herself. Blake was standing in the doorway, but she couldn't quite tell if his expression was amused or irritated.
"I was just talking to myself," she stammered.
He smiled, and she decided with relief that he was amused. "Yes, that much is clear," he said. "Something about architects, I believe?"
"I am trying to draw a plan of Prewitt Hall for you and the marquis," she explained, "only I cannot get it right."
He walked to the desk and leaned over her shoulder to study her current drawing. "What seems to be the problem?"
"I can't seem to get the sizes of the rooms right. I-I-" She gulped. He was awfully close, and the scent of him brought back powerful memories of their stolen kiss. He smelled of sandalwood and
mint and something else she couldn't identify.
"Yes?" he prodded.
"I... ah... well, you see, it's terribly difficult to get the shapes and the sizes of the rooms right at the same time." She pointed to her diagram. "I started by drawing all of the rooms on the west side of the main hall, and I had thought I'd gotten them right..."