“What do you think about positioning the bulls in a long corridor,” Leighton suggested, “one on each end, facing each other.”
Where was Elias going? Would he stew in his room? Return to twist Leighton’s neck?
The whirl of faces and voices surrounding her made her dizzy, so she closed her eyes for some respite. In the dark, she felt it more acutely, the angry heat of his body still smarting on her own skin. He had been bloody furious.
She put down her cutlery. “Excuse me,” she said, and gave a little wave when her father and Leighton scrambled to stand up. “Please, do carry on. I shall only be a moment.”
The dining hall, first quad, second quad, narrow staircase, all passed in washed-out colors. Fateful moments always caused a shift in her material setting, as if a veil had been pulled from her eyes, or perhaps the reverse, her ever-vigilant senses turned inward with a singular focus on what actually mattered.
She was yards from Elias’s flat when the door abruptly opened. Her stomach did a flip, and her hands flew to her middle. Elias stilled upon spotting her, one hand braced against the doorframe, but the force of his momentum still moved over her like a gale. They regarded each other. Both wordless. Both aware of the ragged sound of their breathing filling the shadowed corridor.
Elias gave her a nod. “Ma’am.”
She stood as if nailed to the floor. He felt different. He had cast off his smile, the fine shoes, and the dinner jacket. Instead, he was broody, booted, and cravatless. His shirt fell open below the throat down to the first button, revealing dark hair on tan skin. She glimpsed the glint of a fine gold chain around his neck.
“You’re going out,” she said, attempting a casual tone.
“I am,” he replied.
Now she noticed his binoculars, slung over his right shoulder. “Birding?”
“Yes.”
He walked past her, his arm an inch from brushing her shoulder. The scent of male anger clung to him, sharp and salty. It didn’t deter her, she followed him.
He stopped and turned back, and the set of his mouth was impatient.
“Birding,” she echoed. “Right now?”
His eyes flashed. “It is that,” he said in a low, hard voice, “or returning to the dining hall”—he pointed in the direction of it—“where I would . . .” He bit his lip, keeping the details of Leighton’s demise to himself.
She raised her hands, as if to place them against his chest. “He’s ghastly,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
This made him look at her with renewed interest. “Are you his family?”
She drew back. “Certainly not.”
A shrug. “Then you can’t apologize on his behalf.”
Her heart was racing at the thought of him walking away, angry like this, possibly put out with her.
“May I walk with you,” she blurted.
Elias slanted his head and his gaze traveled over her from top to toe. Something in his eyes sent a delicate shiver shimmying up her spine.
“You should go back,” he said. “You are the hostess.”
“These people are of no importance to me.”
A hawkish expression passed over his face. “What of your reputation?” he asked. “Is that of importance to you?”
“What can you mean?”
He took a step toward her and peered down his nose. “I mean that somehow, we keep ending up alone together—in my bedchamber or poorly lit places.”
Thoughts tumbling, she returned his reproachful look with a defiant silence.
Elias ran a hand over his chin, and the gesture felt more charged than a curse word.
“Madame,” he began, but paused.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs leading up to this particular poorly lit corridor. They saw their thoughts mirrored in each other’s eyes: Was the intruder coming, or going? It could be a college scout. A porter, or a fellow. It could be someone who would gossip about Lady Catriona being alone with the foreign scholar an awful lot . . .
Elias’s hand was on her upper arm, his thumb pressing into the soft flesh beneath the stiff sleeve of her gown as he walked her backward. For a breath, he was thrillingly close, the exposed hollow of his throat right in front of her nose. Then they were inside his flat, and her back was against the door, which shut with a slam.
A stormy-blue gaze bore into hers. He was still holding her by the arm, his grip warm and overwhelming in its easy strength. She held very still, so he would keep holding on.
Outside, the corridor was silent.
Their eyes remained locked.