Page 79 of Tempting the Reclusive Duke
"Harriet, that's wonderful!" Eveline reached across to squeeze her friend's hand.
Harriet's expression grew serious. "I wanted to thank you. If I hadn't watched you fight for your independence, refuse to settle for less than you deserve... I might have accepted Malbrooke. I might have convinced myself thatsecurity was worth more than happiness."
"You'd have realised the truth eventually. You're far too intelligent to settle for a mercantile marriage."
"Perhaps. But watching you navigate these past weeks, seeing you insist on recognition for your work even when it would be easier to accept protection... it gave me courage." She paused. "Though I do think you're being unnecessarily rigid about the marriage question."
"Harriet..."
"I know, I know. Independent woman, scholarly recognition, can't be seen as trading on your husband's name. But Eveline, what if you're looking at it wrong? What if marriage to Adrian wouldn't diminish your work but enhance it? What if having a partner who understands and values your scholarship would make you stronger, not weaker?"
Eveline wanted to argue, but Harriet's words echoed uncomfortably in her mind for the rest of the weekend. By Monday morning, she'd resolved to maintain stricter boundaries, to prove that she could work alongside Adrian without surrendering to the attraction between them.
The resolution lasted approximately ten minutes.
She arrived to find him in the library, of course, but he wasn't alone. A young man sat at her worktable, sandy-haired and earnest-looking, surrounded by her carefully organized Byzantine notes.
"Ah, Miss Whitcombe." Adrian's tone was perfectly professional, though she caught the tension in his shoulders. "May I introduce Mr. James Morrison? He's a recent Oxford graduate with an interest in Byzantine studies. I thought he might assist with your research."
"Assist?" She moved into the room slowly, trying to process this development. "I wasn't aware I needed assistance."
"Everyone needs assistance sometimes," Adrian said smoothly. "Mr. Morrison comes highly recommended. First in Classics, particular interest in medieval manuscript transmission. I thought an extra pair of eyes might help with your cataloguing work."
Mr. Morrison rose, bowing correctly. "Miss Whitcombe, it's an honour. I've heard about your Byzantine discoveries from Professor Thornbury. Your theory about regional variations is brilliant."
She should have been pleased. Here was recognition of her work, practical assistance that would speed her research, a young scholar eager to learn from her expertise. Instead, all she could feel was a hot surge of something that felt dangerously like jealousy as Mr. Morrison returned to her worktable, her notes, her carefully organized system.
"How thoughtful," she managed, though the words tasted like ash. "Mr. Morrison, perhaps you could tell me about your particular areas of expertise?"
The young man launched into an enthusiastic account of his studies, clearly eager to impress. He was knowledgeable, she had to admit, his observations about manuscript transmission showing real insight. Any other time, she would have beendelighted to have such an able assistant.
But not today. Not when Adrian stood carefully apart, maintaining professional distance with the help of a human barrier between them. Not when she could see through his stratagem as clearly as if he'd announced it; if they couldn't trust themselves alone, he'd ensure they weren't alone.
"Fascinating," she said when Morrison paused for breath. "Your insights on some practices are particularly interesting. However, I wonder if we might adjust the arrangement slightly?"
"Adjust?" Adrian's voice was carefully neutral.
"Mr. Morrison's expertise would be wasted on simple cataloguing. Perhaps he could work on his own project, examining the French manuscript collection, for instance, while being available for consultation on Byzantine matters when needed?"
Morrison's face lit up. "The French collection? Truly? There are some extraordinary thirteenth-century texts I've been longing to examine..."
"Then it's settled." She smiled at the young man, ignoring Adrian's slight frown. "Why don't you take the morning to familiarize yourself with the collection? We can discuss collaboration this afternoon."
Morrison practically bounced from the room, leaving them alone. The silence stretched, filled with everything they weren't saying.
"That was neatly done," Adrian said finally. "Though it rather defeats the purpose of having an assistant."
"The purpose being to keep us from repeating Friday's lapse?" She moved to her worktable, trying not to notice how Morrison had disturbed her carefully ordered notes. "I appreciate the thought, but I don't need a chaperone."
"Don't you?" He moved closer, and she could smell his cologne, that subtle expensive scent that had haunted her weekend. "Because I'm not certain I can trust myself alone with you. Not after..."
"Then we'll have to trust our better natures." She forced herself to meet his eyes, to ignore the heat that flared at the memory of Friday's kisses. "I need this position, Adrian. I need the work, the recognition, the future it offers. And you need a Classical Scholar, not a... whatever we become when we forget ourselves."
"What we become," he repeated softly. "Is that how you think of it? As forgetting ourselves rather than remembering who we truly are beneath all the careful boundaries?"
"Yes," she said firmly, though her heart disagreed. "Now, shall we discuss the military history cataloguing, or would you prefer to continue this circular conversation about control and desire?"
For a moment, she thought he might push further, might breach the careful distance she was trying to maintain. Then he stepped back, the duke's mask sliding into place.
