Page 45 of Kiss Me Lady One More Time
“Thank you. And Mr. Bast?” Whiddon asked.
“He should be along directly, sir. He had to obtain permission to leave his post.”
“We’ll have breakfast while we wait.” Tensford told him. “Thank you.”
But Sterne couldn’t muster any enthusiasm for food. His knee jigged while he watched every face that entered, both member and staff.
This could be it—the clue they needed to find Stillwater and the fossil. He longed to have it found, to have the search be over and the burden lifted from him. And yet, he hated the idea, suddenly, as well. It would mean the end of his close association with Penelope.
Part of him felt wary around her, still. She was so lovely, so perfect. He kept waiting for it—for the inevitable cooling, the retreat, or sudden hostility—the price one paid for intimacy. But she remained so evenly and constantly kind and funny and interested. It was damnably alluring, and nerve wracking at the same time. He’d revealed so much more of himself than was likely safe, but she’d met him measure for measure and the thought of more was intoxicating.
It was why he’d spent hours last night, tossing and turning and plotting, trying to find a way to make it work. Perhaps if he finished his latest article quickly and submitted . . . getting it published would help him to gain some traction.
But after a few minutes of glorious imaginings, he’d forced himself to face the truth. His other papers had been rejected from a number of journals. It was an uphill battle just to convince other scientists that the study of humans and their connections was a valid and worthwhile field. He had forged some valuable relationships this year, though, and together with two university scholars, he hoped to start their own journal to advance their interests and theories. The thought was exhilarating. They could be at the forefront of creating an entire new branch of the natural sciences. But he knew he was putting himself in the position of a massive amount of work and that it would be quite some time before he reached anything that counted as success.
He couldn’t ask her to wait so long for him. Neither could he expect her to move into poky bachelor’s rooms and gamble on his not-guaranteed accomplishments or his father’s far-off demise to provide better.
He must put aside his dreams of her—which meant he must avoid being alone with her. She was too damned tempting—and funny and quick and interesting and perfect for him in every way.
But knowing all of that hadn’t prevented him from leaving her a journal article he’d thought she’d enjoy, when he stopped to pick up Tensford this morning.
“Damn it all to hell and back,” he muttered into his eggs.
“Patience, Sterne,” chided Whiddon.
“This must be the fellow,” murmured Tensford.
“Mr. Bast?” Whiddon stood. “Were you the one who summoned me?”
The man nodded. His fingers wrung the edge of his apron, covered in oil and powder stains. “It was me, sir. Sorry to take so long, but I’d been set to polishing the silver.”
“No matter. You heard I was looking for Mr. Stillwater?”
“I did. And I think I saw him here, just yesterday.”
“Older, balding, a little querulous?” Tensford asked.
The servant nodded, but kept his expression bland. “Sounds like the same fellow, sir.”
“Who was he with?” Sterne said harshly. “Who brought him in as a guest?”
“’Twas Lord Sheffield, sir. The pair of them seemed quite well acquainted.” He shuffled a step. “But please don’t tell milord that you heard it from me.”
“We won’t. On our honor.” Whiddon tossed him a coin.
Sterne was already on his feet. “To hell with breakfast.” He could see the end of this, at last. “Let’s go.”
* * *
“We are just two ladies,enjoying a nice morning in the garden square,” Hope insisted. She looked around. “Or do we call this the garden round?” she quipped. “In any case, who could object?”
“No one,” answered Penelope. “All I must do is walk around the shrubbery and I am able to see your doorstep.”
“Exactly,” Hope said with satisfaction. “And if we happen to find ourselves with the ability to keep an eye on Lord Sheffield’s door, and perhaps note who comes and goes, then so much the better.”
“Even better if we could find an excuse to call.”
“That might be more than we can manage. I’ve met Lord Sheffield in passing, but I don’t believe I’ve ever encountered his wife.”
