“I just had a phone call from home,” she lied, “and we need to dash. I very much want to meet your colleague, but perhaps another time?”
Terry only nodded, his eyes as wide as saucers.
Tess looked at John. “Peaches called and said the hall is on fire. I think we’d better get back.”
He blinked, as if he couldn’t wrap his mind around what she was saying. She smiled again at Terry, then pulled John away from the group without delay. That he was willing to come along perhaps said much about his discomfort. She hazarded a glance at his face and had no trouble reading there exactly what he was thinking.
He was kicking himself. Hard.
She couldn’t blame him. He’d started out exercising a bit of chivalry and wound up revealing much more about himself than he ever would have if he’d been thinking clearly. She was fairly sure no one but she herself would have possibly thought him anything but a very dedicated living historian, but she also wasn’t going to stick around to see if that was the case.
She also wasn’t about to say anything about it to him or ask him any questions. He looked like he was going to bolt as it was, and she didn’t want to get left behind.
In fact, to guarantee that, she pried his keys out of his hand and kept them herself.
He didn’t seem adverse to leaving the celebration entirely, which she thought was a very wise decision on his part. She walked briskly but without running to the car park, then paused with him in front of his car. She looked up at him.
“I could drive.”
“Well,” he managed, “you do have the keys.”
She looked at his car, then frowned. “How do I get in?”
“The saints preserve me,” he muttered under his breath, in French. He took the keys, hit the unlock button, then opened the door for her. He paused. “Is your hall on fire?”
“Nope,” she said cheerfully.
“Then you lied?”
She took the keys from his hand and sat down in the driver’s seat. “I thought you might be mobbed by reenactment nutters if I didn’t get you out of there posthaste.” She smiled. “Go get in the other side, sport. I’ll get you home in one piece.”
“Sport,” he repeated in disbelief.
She pulled the door shut and looked for her lock to keep him from pulling her back out. It wasn’t necessary. John seemed quite willing to let her have control. It was a first, so she fully intended to enjoy it while it lasted.
She looked over all the bells and whistles until he put himself into the passenger seat. He sat back and let out a long, slow breath.
“Thank you.”
“No problem. Where’s the ignition?”
He made a noise that was something between a laugh and a groan. He apparently settled for something that sounded remarkably like a prayer before he reached around the steering wheel and pointed.
“Thanks,” Tess said brightly. “I’ll bet this thing goes really fast.”
He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “The saints preserve me.”
“You already said that before we got in.”
“I meant it twice.”
She decided again that silence was golden at the moment, so she kept her mouth shut and concentrated on getting his car out of the car park without scratching it. She was extremely grateful that she’d driven in the UK long enough to not have to think about what side of the road to drive on. Trying to keep a half million dollars of machine going without killing it or speeding was going to take everything she had.
It did indeed go very fast, and there were a few dodgy moments at first when she wasn’t altogether certain she hadn’t made a grave mistake considering how touchy the gas was and how well it zipped along in just first gear. She glanced over at John while waiting at a roundabout light. His eyes were closed and he looked peaceful enough, but his left hand was clenched where it rested on his thigh.
She supposed she could predict how the rest of the afternoon would go. Despite how chummy he’d been over the past few days, he would draw silence around him like a cloak, drop her off at her castle, then tell her that they shouldn’t see each other again for at least a week—though she imagined that now he might up the ante to at least a fortnight.
She honestly couldn’t blame him.
She spent a good half hour dividing her time between making sure she didn’t wreck his car and considering potential conversational topics. If she’d asked him where he’d learned that quite effective swordplay, he probably would ignore her. Then again, if she didn’t ask him where he’d learned that skill, he would probably wonder why she wasn’t asking him any questions and that might lead to all sorts of speculation about things she absolutely didn’t want to discuss yet.
Then again, if she opted for the first and then kept her mouth shut when he ignored her, he might actually not run away, which she was finding she didn’t particularly want him to do.
She finally decided that it was entirely possible she thought too much.
“You gave up your meeting,” he said, finally.
“I’ll reschedule,” she said, keeping her eyes glued to the road.
He took a careful breath. “You can ask now.”
“Ask what—”
“Watch the road,” he said in a rather calm tone considering that she almost sent his car skidding by braking a little too hard. “You can ask whatever you want to ask me. You were thinking so loudly it was keeping me awake.”
She shrugged. “I was just wondering where you learned to do that.”
“Do what?”
“That thing with the sword.”
He was very still. “My father taught me.”
“Why?”
“To keep me out of trouble, I imagine.”
She imagined Rhys de Piaget had taught John swordplay not only just to keep him out of trouble. She also suspected John had had a sword in his hands from the time he could walk. She had to concentrate for another few minutes to get them on the motorway, then she let out her breath slowly. “Who taught your father?”
“Not his father, surely,” John said with a sigh. “Actually, it is a long, convoluted tale that isn’t very interesting.” He paused. “I actually never thought to ask him where he’d learned such an obscure and useless skill.”
“I think it’s an interesting thing to know how to do,” she offered.
“Hmmm.”
“I think that little guy was about to kiss you,” she added, “or at least kidnap you and take you to dinner in thanks for his life.”
“I had other plans.”
“Did you?” she asked. “Football on the telly tonight?”
“Spoons and saucepans in your kitchen—bloody hell, Tess,” he blurted out, “watch the road!”
“Sorry.” She didn’t even dare look at him. “You’re the one who wanted me to drive.”
“What was I thinking?”
“I don’t know,” she said weakly. “What were you thinking?”
“That I was too keyed up to do it properly,” he said, “but now I’m beginning to wonder if I’d be less keyed up if I were behind the wheel.”
“I could pull over.”
He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, as if he were deliberately calming himself down. He shifted a bit in his seat. “But if you do, then how could I admire you so freely?”
She shot him a look. “Stop that.”
He smiled.
“Stop that,” she said, with feeling, “or I really will plow your car into something. Growl at me until we get back to less busy roads.”
He put his hand on her leg. “I don’t want to growl at you.”
She put his hand back on his leg. “You will, when I wreck your car. Keep your hands to yourself, buster, and your eyes on the road. I’ve got enough to do over here without any distractions from you.”
He sighed deeply. “Very well. Wake me when we’re home.”
She looked at him quickly to find that he had indeed closed his eyes
. And his left hand wasn’t clenched any more.
A very good sign.
Her hands were not in such good shape. She wasn’t too proud to admit her hands were sweating. Actually, she was sweating. She was very glad she had her hair up, but it wasn’t comfortable to lean her head back against the seat. She finally pulled the clip out. Better sweaty than trying to drive with a kink in her neck.
“I’ll take that,” John said, holding out his hand. “Just know I’m not likely to give it back.”
“I have others.”
“I imagined you did.”
She wiped her hands one by one on her jeans, then concentrated on the road. By the time they were half an hour away from the village, she thought she might have gotten the hang of things. She glanced at John to find him simply watching her. That gorgeous, valiant, impossible man was just watching her with a very small smile playing around the corners of his mouth.
“Frightened?” she asked.
He only shook his head slowly.
She wished she had his confidence. She turned off onto an A road, then looked behind her. She frowned. The same little brown Ford was behind her that had been behind her since they’d left Warewick Castle.
“What is it?” John asked.
“Nothing,” she said. She frowned, then continued on. “I don’t suppose you’d want to hum something to keep me awake, would you?”
“I don’t suppose I would,” he said, sounding startled.
She smiled. “Then turn on the radio and sing along. A little Puccini to pass the time.”
He snorted, but turned on the radio anyway. It only took three tries at various stations before he popped in a CD. Vocal jazz with a lovely guitar accompaniment filled the car. She listened for a minute or two, then smiled at him.
“You?”
“Aye, braggart that I am.”
She enjoyed his music for a good ten minutes before she looked behind her. She ignored the car behind them, then turned off onto their own little B road.
The brown Ford followed.
“Enough hedging,” John said, pausing the track. “What is it?”
“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she began slowly, “but there’s someone following us.”
He shifted to look in the rearview mirror, then pursed his lips. “How long has that lad been behind us?”
“I think since Warewick, and you’re assuming it’s a man,” she said. “It could be a woman, trying to figure out where you live so she can stalk you.”
“Then I suppose you’ll just have to hoist a sword in my defense,” he said. He shifted back in his seat. “I don’t suppose you could lose them, could you?”
“Are you crazy?” she gasped. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Then pull in for some petrol, up the way there. We’ll see what they do.”
“Then you believe me?”
“I’m not attributing villainous motives to the poor fool, but I’ve no reason to doubt what you’ve seen. For all we know, some burly lad with a sword has decided that the lady of Sedgwick is greatly to his liking.”
“Heaven help me,” she said, pulling into the gas station. She pulled up to the pump, shut the car off, then leaned back against the seat and allowed herself to shake. “I’m not sure I want to drive this thing again.”
“You did a splendid job of not crunching it.”
She turned her head to look at him. “And you did a splendid job of rescuing that poor man this afternoon.”
He rubbed his hands over his face suddenly, then shook his head, as if he tried to free himself from thoughts he didn’t want to think. “Luck,” he said apparently striving for a light tone, “and an intense desire to impress a beautiful woman.”
“I didn’t see her in the crowd.”
He unbuckled himself, undid her seat belt, then turned to her and looked at her purposefully. She held out her hand to hold him off.
“This isn’t a dark corner,” she managed.
“But you are a very beautiful woman,” he said, “and one I seem to be overcome with a desire to impress.”
“And kissing me in your car is going to do it?” she squeaked.
He smiled, leaned over, and paused. “I was thinking to give it a go.”
“Heaven help me,” she managed.
He put his finger under her chin, turned her face slightly away from him, and kissed her cheek.
“I’ll come get your door,” he said, pulling back. “And see to our little brown Ford.” He got out of the car, then leaned back down and looked at her. “What do you think?”
What she thought was that if he came that close to kissing her again and didn’t, she was going to deck him.
“I think,” she managed, “that I’m in trouble where you’re concerned.”
He smiled, a quick little smile that showed off his dimple to its best advantage, then straightened and shut the door. Tess leaned her head back against the seat and concentrated on not hyperventilating.
Five minutes later she was sitting in the other seat, watching John watch the road in front of and behind them with equal intensity. She didn’t say anything. Either she was imagining things or she wasn’t. She didn’t like being in the middle of it, though. She much preferred studying things from the sidelines.
“Is he there?” she asked when they neared their village.
“Yes,” John said simply. He glanced in the mirror once more, then whipped down a side street so quickly, she lost her breath.
The tires didn’t squeal, though, not that time, nor the next time.
“You’ve been watching too many movies,” she said breathlessly.
“A good driving school,” he corrected dryly, then pulled the car over and waited.
She realized they were now facing the way they’d come. The little brown Ford seemed to realize the jig was up because it executed a rather poor three-point turn in the middle of the street and sped back off the other way.
“Told you,” she managed. “Babes in bodices trying to figure out where you live so they can come ogle you.”
He only tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the steering wheel, then looked at her. “I should have looked in your car park the night of that large party.”
“It could have been Bill the Brainless.”
“I don’t think he could have fit under the wheel of that thing,” John said. He studied the road for another minute or two. “How many more events do you have this week?
“A family reunion tonight,” she said, “but nothing for the rest of the weekend, but that’s on purpose.” She paused. “I have plans.”
He stopped tapping. “Plans?”
“A non-date with Lord Haulton,” she said. “There is, if you can believe it, a Regency-style house party at Payneswick. Stephen has been dragging me to it for five years now. I think he enjoys doing a Mr. Darcy impression.”
He looked at her, then. “And you?”
“I enjoy trying to get into Lord Payneswick’s library.”
John smiled briefly. “A priceless medieval text?”
“More than one, actually.” She hesitated. “I don’t suppose you would want to come along.”
He studied her. “You couldn’t possibly be asking me out on a date, Dr. Alexander, could you?”
“What would you say if I were?”
He considered. She could see the wheels turning and imagined all that turning had a great deal to do with Stephen de Piaget. To be cooped up in close quarters with the man for an extended period of time might be just more than he could take.
He finally just frowned, put the car in gear, and drove on. She didn’t press him. He was probably figuring out a good way to tell her no, which she supposed was for the best. They had seen more of each other over the past week than he’d wanted to or was good for her heart. A little break might be just the thing.
He was silent as he drove her home, silent as he fetched her out of the car, and still silent as he walked her across the drawbridge and up the steps to her fro
nt door. He opened it for her, looked inside, then stood aside to let her pass by.
She turned to look at him. “Well?”
He dragged his hand through his hair, then sighed. “I think it best I don’t go.”
“All right.” She honestly would have been more surprised if he’d said yes. And after all, the world wasn’t going to end before she saw him again the following week. “I’ll see you when I get back.”
“Nay, you won’t,” he said, “because I don’t want you to go, either.”
She blinked. “What?”
He chewed on his words for a minute. “That car was following us.”
“It was following you.”
“I don’t know that’s the case and until I’m sure, I want you tucked inside your castle with the doors locked where I know you’re safe.”
She would have smiled in disbelief, but she knew he wasn’t kidding. And she was also absolutely sure that he wasn’t telling her everything he knew and until he did, she was under no obligation to be not only herded but penned. Besides, she had the feeling this was her year to get into Lord Payneswick’s private books. Stephen had been sucking up to the man all year long with that end in sight. She wasn’t about to pass on the opportunity to be there.
“I appreciate the concern,” she said honestly, “but Stephen has already paid for my ticket, as well as one for Peaches. We’ll both be fine.”
John was not a happy camper, that much she could say. She wondered, absently, what Montgomery would have done in his place. Probably drawn his sword and prodded Pippa back inside the hall with it. Poor John only had frowns to use, which he did without hesitation.
“Is Haulton coming to fetch you?” he asked curtly.
“What difference does that make?”
“It makes a great deal of difference,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Now, is he coming to fetch you, or must I call him and insist that he does?”
“I think he’s been at Artane this week,” she said, finding that it wasn’t all that difficult all of a sudden to dredge up a brisk tone of her own, “digging through artifacts for a paper he’s working on. Peaches and I are driving north to meet him, and no, you absolutely can’t call him and order him around like you do me.”
He folded his arms over his chest, apparently the ultimate de Piaget pose of intimidation. “I don’t like this.”