Page 33 of To Treasure an Heiress
Beth pursed her lips, but her eyes flashed. “The cold water was good for his nose. Could even save him from black eyes.”
Not from the glimpse Senara had gotten of him. “Moreover, because you had quite a hand in mangling his pride. First you were flirting with another man—a rival, if not an outright enemy—under his very nose, and then you accused him of being no better than said man after he lost a fight.”
The storm clouds in Beth’s eyes had darkened more and more with every word she spoke. “His pride can stand a bit of mangling. And why should he care if I flirt with someone?”
Senara laughed, then realized Beth was serious. “Oh, sweetheart. You haven’t noticed? Why, when I peeked in the library window on my way past again yesterday, he was sitting at your feet like a puppy. He’s sweet on you.”
“That’s absurd. We’ve only just met a week ago, and we’ve been arguing incessantly since.”
As if either of those negated the other. But Senara held up her hands, palms out. “All right. Even if I misread it ... when have you ever known a man who wasn’t embarrassed and in need of a bit of coddling after losing a brawl? Yet you dumped him in the sea for his trouble, when all he was doing was trying to rush to your rescue. Like a proper knight when he saw a scoundrel near the princess.”
Beth huffed and gathered her locks behind her head, twisting them into a coil. “He wasn’t trying to rescue me. He was just sorebecause Scofield lined up another buyer for the antiquities he’s determined to have for his own.”
Senara tilted her head, swiveling it to follow Beth when she rose and marched to the dressing table to jab a few pins at her hair. “Why do you dislike this one so much? From what you said, it’s that Scofield fellow you ought to despise.”
“Because.” Hair in a tidy chignon, Beth spun to face her again. “This is all his fault. If he hadn’t told them he’d purchase any artifacts dealing with Mucknell and Rupert—”
“Beth.” Senara stood. Calmly, slowly. Met her eyes. “This is me. What is it really?”
Her young friend huffed and pointed at an empty shelf. “Lord Scofield sold him Mother’s trinket box when I sent it to him to see if it was Prince Rupert’s crest on the lid. And he refuses to give it back.”
“Oh.” That certainly put it more in perspective. “And it wasScofieldwho gave him the black eyes, not you?”
She hadn’t solved any of her friend’s troubles nor answered any of her own questions. But at least she brought a fresh smile to her lips.
“I’m glad you’re here, Senara,” Beth said softly. “I’ve missed you.”
Senara smiled back. “I’m glad I’m here too.” And perhaps it didn’t need to be wasted time just waiting for Rory to come. Perhaps she really could help. “Ainsley suggested I may be of some assistance to everyone with my organizing skills. If you think...?”
“Oh.” Surprise flickered through Beth’s eyes, chased by relief. “You know, that could be just the thing. It seems our group can’t ever agree on what to do next.”
“Not surprising, given how many of you there are, and all strong-willed.” But shedidhave ample practice bending strong wills toward the best path. She smiled. “Brief me on absolutely everything. And we’ll see what I can do.”
9
Sheridan had scarcely emerged from his bedroom in the last thirty hours, but it wasn’t because he was sulking—despite what Ainsley said. He’d been half frozen from the unplanned dip—never mind that tourists were frolicking in the same water in their bathing costumes on the beaches nearby. He’d been lying low because he’d been contemplating their next move regarding Scofield—never mind that he always did his best thinking aloud, and preferably with Telford.
And he’d had the worst blighted headache of his life, because his nose was most assuredly broken. And he had two streaks of bruising under his eyes.
If that didn’t give him the right to isolate himself in his room for a day or so, what the devil did?
But by teatime on Friday, his mood was only growing surlier and Ainsley was threatening to shove him forcibly into the corridor, so he shrugged into his jacket, cast only one scowling look at his battered reflection in the mirror, and trudged to the drawing room.
Which was empty, despite the growling of his stomach saying itwasteatime.
The back garden, then.
Though he didn’t know why he was bothering. He could havefood delivered to him, like he’d insisted upon for luncheon yesterday. He’d felt too pained and ill to stomach anything for tea and had barely touched his supper, so obviously he’d made a sound call in skipping those meals in the dining room. Requesting a tray for breakfast rather than risk trying to take it with others and embarrass himself by getting ill in front of everyone had been purely sensible.
Embarrassing himselfmore, that is.
It wasn’t as though Mrs. Dawe resented the requests. She’d delivered his food this morning herself and fawned over him, insisting on another dose of aspirin, even though his headache was only a dull thud now.
He ought to have ignored Ainsley’s prodding. Because as he drew near to the back garden door and heard the happy voices of Beth and Mamm-wynn and Telford and Oliver, he was quite certain that joining them was the absolute worst idea he’d had since the one that had sent him down the hill on Gugh yesterday, convinced he needed to rush to Beth’s aid.
Idiot. She certainly hadn’t looked the least bit upset to be in Nigel Scofield’s company. Which just went to show how foolish she was.
He stepped into the sunlight, which immediately pounded a stake into his skull. Blast it.
