Page 5 of Savannah Royals
“You’re not rude.” I almost laugh at him. Almost. “You’re tired, I’m tired. We can just sit together.”Quietly.
“Why are you tired?”
“I don’t know, Mr. DaMolin.” I slip the tiniest bit of suggestion into my tone, just enough to, hopefully, do the trick. “Why are you?”
“Because I worked last night at the hospital. I’m a physician. So for the record, it’s either Matthew or Dr. DaMolin. Preferably Matthew, but you may take your pick.”
“Oh.” That clams me right up.
Being a physician is a good job, but it’s notoriously brutal. Not only do you have to be smart, but the hours are long. Sometimes excruciatingly so. They do decently well for their families, but it’s hard work. And it’s certainly not the usual position men who visit the Academy strive for. The majority label themselves as businessmen, entrepreneurs, or for the truly elite, philanthropists. All of which is code for “my family is rich, and I am too.”
Well, noteveryone. Perhaps I’m being harsh. Plenty of middle-class gentlemen mingle with us, but they aren’t big fish. Not like this guy.
“I told you mine, now let’s hear yours.” He smiles faintly, waiting.
“I suppose you won’t believe me if I say I was training to be a nurse and also worked the night shift?”
“Mmm, not quite. My mother makes sure I know which women apprentice at the hospital. Just in case I magically decide to show interest.”
I can’t help myself. “If you’re not interested,” I say, taking a demure sip of coffee, “what are you doing here?”
“I make an effort to attend events when I can because it’s important to my mother.”
“I see.” I narrow my eyes at him, trying to ascertain his real motive.
“You don’t believe me?” He laughs and leans closer, like a confidant. “Just watch. In approximately five seconds, her eyes are going to slip over here, tracking me down.”
I wait, shifting discreetly to look at Lady Genevieve.
“Three…two…”
Her gaze lands on us. It flickers between Matthew and me, close together in our private corner. She offers her son a hopeful little smile, then a tiny wave.
I let out a sound halfway between “oh” and “aw” at the naked optimism in her eyes.
“You think that’s good, shall we give her the thrill of the century? Take a turn outside with me.” He pushes back from the table and offers me his arm.
He’s been a nice distraction, quite unexpected, but Florence is still watching. Not only her scornful eyes but also the hopeful ones of Headmistress Helena and Lady Genevieve are on me. I hesitate, weighing my options.
I don’t make a habit of poking the bear that is Florence Vanderbilt—I understand the game, and I’m far from stupid—but I’ve been disappointing the headmistress every other day lately. And relationships are all about currency exchange.
Without further ado, I grace him with a sparkling smile and slide my arm through his. “Lead the way.”
IfIthoughtthesunlight streaming through the tearoom windows had been abusive, I’m wholly unprepared for the onslaught of the real thing as we promenade outside. I close my eyes momentarily. My free hand strays to my twinging head.
Matthew guides me to the edge of the brick terrace. “I’ve always loved the gardens at the Academy.”
“Yes, they’rebeautiful,” I murmur.
When we reach the wrought iron railing, he releases my arm and leans forward. We’re quiet for a few moments, gazing over the sunken courtyard. It’s ringed by blue and purple hydrangea bushes and shaded beneath a cluster of ageless oaks, dripping with Spanish moss.
My muscles unkink as we listen to the bubbling fountain, a trinity of dancing cherubs with water spouting from their mouths and fingers. Sunshine warms my face. Impulsively, I lean on the railing next to Matthew, sagging into the bones of my corset.
He glances at me but doesn’t say anything.
“The sun feels good,” I admit, extending my hands over the open air, stretching and letting light leach into my pores.
His gaze lingers, taking stock of my many rings.
