Page 12 of Black and Silver

Lawrence cleared his throat as sweat broke out down his back.

“Heaven knows little beauty as precious as a raven in the rain,” he said, thinking of Lady Minerva and willing the wordsto come to him. “She glistens where others see only gloom and thrills where others know only tragedy.”

He peeked over the top of the book at Lady Minerva, only to find her watching him with breathless intensity.

“Shall I go on?” he asked, part of him hoping she would say no.

But she said, “Yes, yes, by all means!”

Lawrence cleared his throat and stared blankly at the page in front of him again.

“From spire to spire she flies, free to dip and wheel and plunge as she sees fit,” he said, focusing his heart on his impressions of the unique woman watching him. “No simpering dove or chattering sparrow can conquer her. She holds her own amongst the court of goldfinches, shaming their gaudiness with her might. She is bold and proud. She is her own.”

That was all Lawrence thought he was capable of, so he lowered the book and closed it with a snap, lest Lady Minerva took it upon herself to snatch the tome away and see the supposed poem for herself.

“That was remarkable,” she said without reaching for the book. “I did not know Miss Banbury was capable of such metaphors.”

Lawrence’s face flushed hotter. Of course Lady Minerva was familiar with the work of a poetess from Mercia. She had to know that he’d made up the poem himself. He only hoped that she did not guess the reason why.

He liked Lady Minerva. More than he liked most women, including several of the ones he’d sought to court. He did not think he could bear it if she put him off, like so many others had, because she thought him to be an imbecile.

“You should do a reading when we reach tonight’s inn, my lord,” Lady Minerva said instead of rejecting him or demanding to see proof of his poem. “I’m certain the good people ofwhichever village we will pass through later would enjoy being read to by a nobleman of your caliber.”

Lawrence laughed, continuing to feign careless affability when really, the very thought had him quivering in his boots.

“I doubt anyone would want to listen to a tired, old artist attempt to spout poetry,” he said. “If anyone were to gain a crowd of appreciative admirers, I am certain it would be you.”

“I sincerely doubt it,” Lady Minerva said.

Lawrence waited for her to go on, waited for his secret to be revealed, but instead, Lady Minerva raised her book once more.

As disappointed as Lawrence was not to continue conversation with the woman, he very much enjoyed the warm, almost cheeky glance she sent him over the top of her book. It was as if she was flirting with him before returning to the world of her vampires.

Lawrence smiled and settled back into his seat, opening the book of poetry to make another effort at reading it. He couldn’t make out a single word, of course, but he did enjoy staring at the shapes on the page while letting his thoughts drift off to imagine how Lady Minerva might do if she did stand up before an inn filled with travelers to recite poetry.

As wonderful as those thoughts were, between the rocking of the carriage, the coziness he felt, and the monotony of endless movement, Lawrence fell asleep.

He was awakened an indeterminate amount of time later by the feeling of the carriage stopping. As soon as he dragged himself to full wakefulness, he heard the sounds of people talking, animals kicking up a fuss, and dogs barking nearby. That, combined with the scent of chimney smoke, a stable, and supper cooking hinted to him that they’d arrived at the next coaching inn.

Lady Minerva had fallen asleep as well, so Lawrence took the liberty of touching her knee to shake her awake. He had toshake her twice, and when she was slow to pull herself out of slumber, Lawrence saw an opportunity to tease her and reached for Clarence on the seat beside her.

He held the skull in front of his face like a mask, and when Lady Minerva drew in a breath and pushed herself to sit, he said in a low, somber voice, “You have arrived in the land of the dead. Prepare yourself!”

Lady Minerva let out a small squeak, then snatched Clarence back from him, saying, “You wretched man,” in a slightly groggy voice.

Her eyes glittered with mirth, and she had a difficult time keeping a smile off her lips once again.

Lawrence laughed, knowing he was laughing along with her, and shifted to open the carriage door. He stepped down with a groan, stretching his back and shaking his leg before turning and extending a hand to help Lady Minerva down.

Lady Minerva moaned and stretched as well—Lawrence averted his eyes to where Clarence had been left on the carriage seat in order not to let his imagination run wild with the sounds his traveling companion made—and breathed in the air of the crossroads they’d come to.

“It seems we’ll have a bit of choice in where we stay and dine this evening,” Lawrence told her, glancing between the two large, comfortable-looking inns on either side of the road. “Shall we?”

He offered his arm to Lady Minerva and was surprised when she took it.

But when he headed towards the inn closest to where the carriage had stopped, Lady Minerva pulled him back.

“We cannot stay there,” she hissed, eyes wide with alarm as the glanced at the inn.

---