Page 8 of No One's Bride
Not until today.
He was still trying to determine what had happened. The merest brush of her hand had made his heart lurch. Perhaps his reaction stemmed from confusion. A lady with firm opinions should not have dainty fingers and a gentle grip. A confirmed bachelor should not consider it his duty to protect her.
The whole thing proved confounding.
The Daventrys were not waiting on the landing.
Before reaching the stairs, Sebastian brought Miss MacTavish to an abrupt halt, the brittle silence forcing him to say, “Might I have a moment of your time?” They often locked horns but never chastised each other publicly. “I spoke out of turn earlier.”
“I swear, I knew nothing about the written bid,” she said.
Sebastian focused on the only logical explanation. “Perhaps your father failed to mention it because he knew you would object. I know you like to think of yourself as independent, but—”
“It’s nae my father’s doing. Now my friends are married he wants me to abandon my hobby and focus on finding a husband.”
Based on their wager, Lord MacTavish had a long wait.
Based on her outspoken manner, it would take ten years to find a man willing to tolerate such strong views.
The lady leaned closer. “That’s the only reason he agreed to let me remain in London. He doesnae care about books but thinks I have a better chance of making a match here. ’Tis why yer sister agreed to play escort, why the Daventrys accompanied me today.”
Knowing they battled like bears over a scrap of meat, Helen had quickly informed him Miss MacTavish would be their companion at Lady Winfield’s ball.
“Your benefactor will make himself known at some point.” He sighed to release a wave of disappointment. “I would rather you have More’sUtopiathan see it go to a buffoon who lacks a basic knowledge of the text.”
She jerked in surprise.
They never exchanged compliments.
Seeing the grimoire had muddled his mind.
Evidently, the same spell had taken control of her senses because she said, “If it means that much to you, you may have the book.”
Sebastian froze.
The kind gesture threw him off kilter.
“Have it? Have More’sUtopia?” He braced himself while battling a storm of emotions. Perhaps he’d nodded off during the auction, and this was all an absurd dream.
Miss MacTavish frowned. “What’s wrong? Ye look like ye’ve missed the last rowboat to Skye and been forced to make camp on the shore.”
He was floundering and needed to find safe ground. “Madam, I pride myself on being a fair man. I don’t steal sticks from children, and I don’t browbeat women into submission.”
Relief coursed through him upon witnessing a flash of thunder in her eyes. “Trust me. I’ve my own mind. Ye couldnae bend me to yer will nae matter how hard ye tried.”
No, and he wondered if that’s why he liked her.
He was safe with Miss MacTavish.
They could argue, debate most subjects and she wanted nothing in return. Not his wealth or title. Not his undivided attention. Not to writhe rampantly in bed.
Still, suspicion flared.
“What would you want in return? Not marriage, surely?”
In marrying him, she would please her father and get to keep her precious books. Is that why she had been so keen to make the wager?
Miss MacTavish laughed. “Marriage? Good heavens! We’d kill each other within a week. And dinnae take this as an insult, but I’d need a passionate man. One who lights an inner fire, nae one who gives me cold shivers.”
