The Last Night by Christina Dodd

Author:Christina Dodd [Dodd, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

“It’s not right, Miss Laurel. It’s not proper, that’s all I know, and your mother would be horrified if she knew.” Grace fired her parting shot before she shuffled down the road toward the village. She’d stalled until long after serving them dinner, trying every tactic imaginable to dislodge Max.

Naturally, nothing had worked on him.

But Laurel knew Grace was right; her mother would be horrified if she knew.

Kenneth leered at the couple standing in the doorway. “Don’t pay any attention to the old besom. You two just spend the evening doing what young people do.” He headed down the road, too, then turned and added, “Might as well. Everyone in the village is gossiping about it.”

Laurel stabbed her elbow into Max’s side to dislodge him. As his arm dropped from her shoulders, she said, “Great. I’ve always wanted to be the whore of Babylon.”

Max sounded patient. Overly patient, to Laurel's intolerant ears. “No one thinks you’re the whore of Babylon.”

“Grace does.”

“Well … yes. But all the other ladies in the village think you’ve done very well for yourself.”

She faced him. The setting sun gilded his tawny hair and turned his green eyes to a beautiful moss, and sculpted his face with the sheen of a precious metal. He was smiling, a whimsical smile that put a cleft in his cheek and, no doubt, charmed women for miles. “That’s what I like about you. You don’t suffer from a lack of conceit.”

“A man should know his worth.” He slipped his arm over her shoulders again and hugged her to him. “Women like a man who can unstop a toilet.”

“Yes, and run a bank, too.”

“That, too.”

She debated jabbing him with her elbow again. He was leading her down the corridor, and she rather resentfully noted how often and well he guided her wherever he wanted her to go. He was like a stallion herding his chosen mare. “What are we doing?” she asked.

His raised his brows at her truculent tone. “Going to the library. Isn’t that where you spend your evenings?”

Of course he was right, and that didn't make her any happier. She’d spent the day sorting through the Masterson papers, making lists, trying to decide which of the diaries and accounts would be most important to her thesis. She was ready to relax — but how could she relax with Max in the house?

Oh, and the smugglers on the prowl, too. How could she have forgotten the smugglers?

Then, as Laurel stepped through the door of the library, she felt the room embrace her. Going to the lamps that stood in every corner and by every chair, she turned them on and, as night deepened outside, warm highlights shone off the light oak shelves that rose from floor to ceiling. So many of these dusty volumes had yielded their knowledge to her. Thousands of books filled the shelves, some so old she handled them only when wearing soft cotton gloves and with the care of a child for her beloved grandmother. Others were brand-new, kick-your-heels-back adult fiction, made for whiling away an evening.

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