“I thought it was rather wonderful and very kind.” She risked honesty. “You’re an odd man, Mr. Evans. Every time I think I understand you, you confound me.”
“There’s not much to understand,” he muttered.
She’d never seen him blush before. She studied him much as she’d study a historic document. Except Old English or Latin held no mysteries. And this man with his erratic generosity and concealed motives left her flummoxed. “You do yourself an injustice.”
Smiling secretly she turned to watch the scenery. She’d resented the way he’d commandeered her expedition. But the moment she’d realized how he’d taken the trouble to please a small boy and his family, her heart had melted. He might be a liar and a flirt, but there was good in him somewhere. She’d wager the Harmsworth Jewel on it.
Genevieve concluded her meeting with Dr. Partridge more quickly than expected and on an encouraging note. After months of negotiations, he agreed to publish her paper under her name, despite her lack of formal qualifications. She had dates to send material for checking and printing. The whole project became concrete in a way that it hadn’t when she’d worked in her study.
She swung under the museum’s impressive portico with a jaunty step and excitement bubbling in her veins. Life offered possibilities. And justice after years of her father claiming her work. Not even the threats posed by Lord Neville and whoever targeted the vicarage spoiled her mood.
“You’re looking remarkably pleased with yourself.”
Slowly she turned to see Mr. Evans slouching against one of the Ionian columns. For a few marvelous moments, she’d forgotten Mr. Evans. His comment reminded her that just now, her life wasn’t an uncomplicated march to success, but a navigation through dark and complicated influences.
She struggled to cling to the happiness she’d felt when Dr. Partridge had extolled her painstaking scholarship. Soon, Mr. Evans would be gone. Her work was with her always. “Yes. It went well.”
He smiled and straightened to wander closer. His clothes were plain, but cut and worn with a dash that stood out, even here in cosmopolitan Oxford. “I’m glad.”
She sought but found no hidden meaning in his response. “Thank you.”
“Here, let me take that.”
“N—”
Too late. He slid her satchel from her arms with a smooth competence that reminded her how he’d disarmed her in her study. Right now, with the sun shining and Mr. Evans regarding her as if she was the prettiest girl in Oxford, she was surprisingly grateful that she hadn’t shot him.
He cast her a wry glance. “Relax. I promise I won’t run away with the jewel.”
The jewel was safe in her petticoat. She contented herself with a request to be careful with the bag.
He gestured with his gold-topped ebony cane. “It’s a fine day. Shall we walk?”
She frowned. “We should go home. I’ve finished my business.”
He was still smiling. She wished he wouldn’t. That smile played havoc with her common sense. He tucked his stick under his arm and extended an elbow. “Then it’s time for pleasure.”
She regarded him warily. The word “pleasure” summoned heated memories of kissing him. “I don’t trust pleasure.”
His smile intensified. “You mean you don’t trust me.”
“That too.” She glanced around. “Where’s George?”
“At the stable I use for my carriage. They’ll keep an eye on him.”
“He loves horses.”
Mr. Evans shrugged. “He’s a good lad. I’d give him a job on my estate, but if he left Little Derrick, he’d break his mother’s heart.”
Startled, she stared at him, so astonished she didn’t notice when he took her arm and escorted her down the steps to busy Broad Street.
“I’d give him a place with Williams, but we can’t take on further staff right now.”
“Given Williams has extra duties with my horses, perhaps George could come outside school hours.” He paused. “I should have thought of it before.”
She appreciated that he
didn’t point out that if she sold the Harmsworth Jewel, she could cram the vicarage with staff. “You’re being kind.”