Page 10 of Black and Silver

“Of course, of course,” Lord Lawrence said. “We couldn’t have that. I shall endeavor to keep all mirth well away from you.”

“Good,” Minnie said with a nod.

She had to turn her head away to hide the smile that would not be denied.

It angered her in frustrating ways, though. She was not supposed to enjoy Lord Lawrence’s, or any man’s, company. She was supposed to avail herself of Lord Lawrence’s assistance in getting her as far as Bristol, and then she would execute her plan and flee to Sweden.

She still intended to do just that, but now she wondered if Owen were the only man she needed to be wary of ruining her vision for her future life.

Chapter Four

Lawrence had never been so satisfied with the rain slowing down a journey in his life. He knew from consulting with Silas that they were merely inching across the sodden landscape of Wessex instead of making anything close to good time. The horses needed to stop more frequently because of the strain of pulling the carriage through mud, and they’d lost an entire day of travel when one of the carriage wheels suddenly needed replacing.

But the journey could last all winter, as far as Lawrence was concerned, as long as he could continue to keep company with the clever and enigmatic Lady Minerva.

“I consider myself extraordinarily fortunate that the last inn contained a book exchange,” Lady Minerva said shortly after they’d departed a particularly well-kept inn just past Camberley, where they’d paused to have a bite to eat. “I was glad to surrender a few of the books I have already read and had no further use for in exchange for these gems.”

Lawrence smiled at the way she eagerly ran her hands over the books, drawing her finger down their spines, each in turn, then flipping through the pages to see what they contained. He’d never seen anyone so excited about the pulp of trees before, but as he understood it, one of the volumes in question was a collection of poetry by a Mercian woman, and the other was a gothic novel of the sort she’d told him three times now that she adored.

“This one should have a great deal of blood in it, since it is about a vampire set loose in the German countryside,” she said, setting the poetry book on the seat beside her faithful skull companion, Clarence.

“I know how you love your blood and horror,” he told her with a smile.

Lady Minerva raised her eyes slowly from the page in front of her, one eyebrow arched, as if she were demanding he explain his comment.

“And I can imagine it’s all very thrilling,” he added, intending to leave her questioning whether he was teasing her or not.

In fact, hewasteasing her, but he did not feel as though there were anything malicious in his teasing. Lady Minerva took herself and her hobbies quite seriously, but underneath all that gothic grace, Lawrence was certain he could sense a woman who wanted to let herself go and laugh. Whatever had inspired her to cloak herself in a protective shell of gloom, it was not a permanent part of her. It was the shell that covered the rich and vibrant egg inside.

“Perhaps you could learn something about the depths of emotion if you were to read Miss Banbury’s poetry, my lord,” she said, holding onto her vampire book with one hand and handing the book of poetry across to Lawrence.

Lawrence’s humor faltered as he stared at the book for a moment. His pulse sped up and his throat felt like it might closeup on him. There was nothing for it but to take the book from Lady Minerva, though. To do otherwise would have been rude.

“Enjoy your exploration,” Lady Minerva told him, then happily opened her book once more, turned to the first page, and settled in to read the tale.

Lawrence glanced from her to the book he now held, uneasiness rippling through him. He took a deep breath and mirrored Lady Minerva’s pose of literary contentment as he nestled back into the seat. Then, with a deep breath and a prayer for patience, he opened the book.

As he’d expected, the words on the page in front of him danced and shifted, refusing to give up their secrets to him. At least he could manage the printing better than handwriting.

It wasn’t that Lawrence did not know the letters or how they worked together to form words. He’d had an unusual and accomplished tutor at one point in his childhood who had explained to him that he was one of a small number of people who had great difficulty perceiving letters printed on a page, but that it did not mean he was an imbecile, or that he could not read. It simply took him longer to make sense of what he saw where letters were concerned. Much longer.

He put one finger on the page, hoping Lady Minerva didn’t notice the action, and squinted slightly as he attempted to make out the first line of the first poem in the volume. It was something about May, possibly buds on trees, although it might have been bugs. The trouble was, every technique he knew for deciphering his enemy, letters, was hopeless and pointless in a jostling carriage.

“I wonder that you can read at all with the carriage jostling about so much,” Lawrence said after a solid ten minutes of attempting to read past the first few stanzas of his poem. “I dare say the roads between here and Wiltshire have been completely destroyed by the rains we’ve been having.”

Lady Minerva glanced wryly up from her book, arching one eyebrow at Lawrence. “My lord, do you not see that I am deeply engaged in the world of Black Forest vampires at this particular moment.”

“I beg your pardon,” Lawrence said, matching her solemnity. “I was merely concerned for the condition of your eyes, and perhaps your stomach, while trying to read in a jostling carriage.”

“My eyes are perfectly well, my lord,” she replied. “And my stomach is still digesting the magnificent repast we were just treated to.”

“Yes, there is something so warm and comforting about luncheon at a coaching inn along a heavily traversed road,” Lawrence pressed on, despite her hint that she did not wish to be disturbed.

For the last several days, Lawrence had vigilantly guarded Lady Minerva’s privacy and her reading time. He was loath to interrupt her at a pastime she clearly enjoyed. The trouble was, there were only two of them in the carriage, and after so many days of keeping himself to himself, he was beginning to consider it cruel that his only companion would withhold conversation from him. Clarence certainly was not much of a conversationalist.

Which was why he did not feel at all bad about asking, “What do the vampires of the Black Forest of Germany have to say about traveling across muddy roads?”

Lady Minerva glanced up from her book once more. “They do not travel across muddy roads,” she said. “They transform into bats and fly over them.”

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