Awakening The Shy Miss. Bronwyn Scott
Читать онлайн книгу.
hauling, while they strained and sweated, the Prince among them. Archaeology was dirty labour. His hair had come loose, his shirt untucked. He didn’t look terribly royal at the moment, just a man. Perhaps that was why he liked his work so much...
‘Evie!’ A shadow fell across her table, startling her. ‘What are you doing here? I would have thought you’d have left by now.’ Andrew moved some papers aside so he could sit on the table’s edge.
‘Careful! The ink isn’t quite dry!’ she squawked, appalled at his thoughtlessness.
Andrew jumped up and stepped back, glancing down at his trousers. ‘Thanks for the warning, I wouldn’t have wanted to stain these trousers. They’re new.’
‘I was thinking about the paintings,’ Evie said crossly, still alarmed at how close she’d come to losing the afternoon’s work to a careless gesture. ‘They took hours to complete.’ His trousers! Hah! The drawings were much more important. Andrew had at least twenty pairs of trousers. The man was a clotheshorse. Usually she admired that.
‘Why, Evie,’ Andrew drawled, looking at her with more careful consideration than he’d given the drawings. ‘I do believe you’re put out with me.’ A boyish grin teased at his mouth and he looked devilishly handsome in his clean, creased buff trousers and coat of blue summer superfine.
He looked immaculate and cool, not a speck of dust on him. Quite the opposite of herself. Suddenly self-conscious, Evie pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, hoping she didn’t look as hot as she felt. Of course Andrew would see her now when she wasn’t looking her best or apparently acting it.
She really had behaved like a shrew and to Andrew of all people. Surely that wasn’t how one got a man’s attention. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that these drawings are one of a kind and they took hours.’ Andrew wasn’t an artist. He couldn’t be expected to appreciate things like wet ink.
Andrew studied the drawings, seeing them for the first time. He held a few of them up, while she cringed and hoped they’d dried sufficiently to be touched without smudging. ‘Evie, these are good, really good.’
‘Thank you.’ She could feel herself blush. When had Andrew ever complimented her? This was a first.
‘We should be thanking you.’ Andrew put the drawings back down on the pile. ‘Dimitri will be pleased. Speaking of which, did he find anything of interest today?’ He gave her a wide smile, his blue eyes twinkling.
‘Nothing from the dining room yet, they’re still working.’
‘That’s too bad. I know he has high hopes for it.’ Andrew reached for the box of catalogued artefacts. ‘What’s in here?’
‘There is a jewelled comb.’ Evie flipped through the pages of her drawings. ‘It was the first one I did today.’ She handed it to Andrew, pleased that his eyes lit up. She’d thought it the best she’d done all day. It had been a challenge to portray the tiny pieces of emerald that were still embedded on the comb’s edge.
‘Lovely. Museums are always interested in pieces like this.’ Andrew considered the drawing thoughtfully. ‘Where’s the comb itself?’
‘It’s already been taken over to the “museum”.’ Evie gestured towards the canvas collection centre, where Dimitri planned to store the artefacts.
‘Hmm.’ Andrew muttered more to himself. ‘Do you think you could make me a copy of the drawing? I’d love to have it for myself, a souvenir of this project.’
‘I’ll do it tomorrow.’ Evie beamed, pleased.
The Prince strode up and Andrew stepped away from the table. ‘Ah, there you are. It’s about time you showed up now that it’s nearly supper,’ the Prince joked, slapping Andrew on the back before turning to more serious business. ‘How did it go today? Were you able to secure the supplies we need?’
‘Yes. Your small army of workers will have food, starting tomorrow. Plenty of vegetables, just how you like,’ Andrew assured him. He winked at Evie and explained. ‘While you have all been playing in the dirt here today, I’ve been in negotiations for food supplies.’ He picked up a drawing. ‘Evie has outdone herself on these.’ He handed one to the Prince and Evie found herself anxious. It was rather disconcerting to have someone look over her work right in front of her. She would have preferred Dimitri look at her work privately once she was home. She hardly dared to breathe while she waited for him to pass judgement.
‘Excellent,’ the Prince declared with a smile. ‘You’ve earned the right to go home.’ He shot a glance at Andrew. ‘Perhaps you might be so good as to escort her home?’ Her heart began to pound. This was almost too good to be true; Andrew had acknowledged her talent and now he was going to drive her home. So why was she spending more time staring at Dimitri, who was hot, dirty and tired from a day’s hard work, when there was immaculate, charming Andrew to stare at?
‘I would like nothing better.’ Andrew offered her his arm, drawing her attention through the effort. ‘I am parked just over here, Evie.’
‘Miss Milham,’ the Prince called after them, ‘we’ll see you in the morning?’ He had the manners to make it a question, not a command.
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ Evie called back, cheerfully. Today had been one of the best days she’d had in a long while and that wasn’t even counting the carriage ride to come.
Which was just as well, Evie reflected, the curricle jolting to a halt outside her house in the summer twilight. The drive wasn’t nearly as exciting as it should have been. It was, in fact, something of a disappointment. Perhaps it was simply that the rest of the day had been far more exciting than it should have been and all else paled by comparison. After all, it wasn’t every day a girl got to catalogue and draw items that were a thousand years old. A few centuries old, that was one thing. She’d done that plenty of times for her father, even for herself when she drew her tapestry patterns. But a thousand? That was incredible and she had the ink stains to prove it. She clenched her hands into fists, hoping Andrew wouldn’t notice, not when he looked like perfection itself handling the reins on the seat beside her, his hair burning gold in the sinking sunlight, his clothes the height of summer fashion, straight from London. He, like most gentlemen of her acquaintance, would find it odd for a girl to get excited about artefacts and ink.
Andrew set the brake and she let herself engage in a moment of fantasy. Would this be what life would be like with Andrew? What if they were pulling up to their house after a day spent engaged in the pursuit of history? Would they go inside and sip cool lemonade before dinner? Would they talk through the finds of the day on a back veranda, a candlelit dinner laid before them? Would they watch the sun sink together before he took her hand and led her up to the bedroom?
It occurred to her that when she’d thought of Andrew in the past, it had never been with an eye to finding any intellectual fulfilment with him. Andrew drew a woman with his looks, with the way he carried himself. Those were always the things she noticed about him first. She wasn’t alone. They were the things every girl in the parish talked about when they talked about handsome Andrew Adair. But now that she knew he loved history too, it seemed more important than ever that she win him. They would have so much in common, so much to build a life on. It proved her instincts had been right all these years of gazing at him from afar. She and Andrew belonged together, no matter what reservations Beatrice might hold.
Andrew came around to her side, reaching to help her down. His hands were at her waist, swinging her to the ground and breaking her out of her daydream. She stumbled a little as he set her down. Andrew laughed as he steadied her. ‘Evie, where are you? You’re miles from here.’ She loved his blue eyes when he laughed, all sparks and lights. Today, they were laughing for her. That should be a victory of sorts. How long had she waited for such a reaction?
‘Just enjoying the scenery.’