Viviane folded her arms across her chest, feeling suddenly cold. “What has time got to do with anything? Even if I was pregnant right this minute, the baby wouldn’t come for nine whole months!”
But even faced with such ‘good sense’, Niall shoved a hand through his hair and growled in exasperation. For some reason, his gaze fell to Viviane’s moonstone pendant, the sight obviously doing little to improve his mood.
His annoyed gaze flicked back to meet hers once more. “Will you wed me this day or not?”
So much for his persuasive manner! “Well, if you’re going to put it that way, no!”
“Even knowing ’tis the most honorable choice?”
“I don’t care about honor, I told you that!”
“I do!” Niall roared, his eyes flashing. “I care about responsibilities. I care about good sense!”
“I care about love!”
“Feminine whimsy,” Niall said with a dismissive sweep of his hand. “No marriage of value was made on the apparent merit of love.”
“Apparent merit? Love might be whimsy to you, but it’s important to me!” Viviane poked a finger into his chest. “And that counts!”
“Love is a lie, Viviane, a lie concocted by men of dubious character to persuade women to part their thighs and no more.” Niall’s brow was dark, his manner intent. “Love is no foundation for a good match and never will it be.”
“Don’t talk to me about arranged marriages!” Viviane retorted. “Besides, you seem to have found your way between my thighs well enough.”
“Viviane!” Niall’s expression turned appealing and Viviane’s resistance melted. “There is a critical difference, though, for I would stand by my deeds. I would treat you with honor, I would not leave you to bear the burden of what we have done.”
Viviane folded her arms across her chest, holding his gaze. “Do you love me?” She held her breath, but didn’t have to bother for long.
Niall immediately shook his head. “I do not believe in love.”
“Then we have nothing further to say,” Viviane said, disliking the little catch in her voice. She might have turned away, but Niall snared her elbow.
“I say we do,” he insisted.
Viviane froze and waited. She couldn’t look away from him, his manner was so compelling, his attention so completely fixed upon her. Could he really not love her? It was impossible to believe.
Niall considered her for such a long moment Viviane felt like a mouse cornered by a clever cat. Then he smiled, as though that cat had just spied dinner.
He braced his hands on the wall over her shoulders and held her gaze, exuding male confidence. “I shall make you a wager, my Viviane,” he rumbled.
“What kind of wager?” Viviane hated how breathless she sounded. It was all his fault for using her name that way, but even knowing that didn’t help her catch her breath.
Niall’s smile broadened as though he knew exactly his effect upon her. His gaze danced over her, the hue of his eyes a vivid green. “I shall persuade you to put your hand in mine,” he vowed so seriously she shivered.
“You’ll only persuade me with love,” she charged breathlessly.
“Nay.” Niall bent and kissed her earlobe so slowly and sensuously that Viviane trembled. “I shall persuade you with good sense.”
That was so ludicrous Viviane might have laughed, if Niall hadn’t been nuzzling her below her ear in such a distracting way. His tongue traced a beguiling path down her throat and Viviane’s toes curled when he nibbled leisurely on her shoulder.
She was melting away, her bones were dissolving, her knees were weak.
“A man of repute will keep his word, feed his family and defend his own hearth,” Niall breathed. “Be warned, my Viviane, I shall persuade you that I am such a man of merit. I shall prove the truth of it to you.”
Viviane parted her lips to argue she was already persuaded of that, except for one pesky detail, but Niall kissed her lingeringly instead. In fact, he kissed her so thoroughly she almost agreed right then and there to marry him, regardless of his ideas.
But she did know better. Love had to be on the agenda. It mattered to her, which meant it should matter to him.
And she had to be sure first because marriage, in Viviane’s book, was forever.
Niall straightened and pushed one hand through the thickness of her hair, his glowing gaze making her mouth go dry. She wondered if he was going to seduce her again and felt a tingle of anticipation. Niall smiled down at her as though he read her thoughts, and his heavy fingers massaged her nape.
He bent his head toward hers and Viviane knew if he kissed her again, she’d melt like butter in the sun.
So she poked a finger into his chest and took a step sideways. “And I’ll make you a wager,” she said pertly.
Niall arched a fair brow.
“I’ll reconsider your proposal after you do something for me.”
“Aye? Another task?” He smiled ever so slightly, his expression almost teasing. “And what would that be?”
Viviane ducked beneath his arm and darted across the room, picking up her book manuscript and offering it to Niall with a flourish before she could change her mind. “I want you to read this. It’s a book, one that I’ve written, and I want to know what you think of it.”
Viviane held her breath as Niall glanced at the book manuscript, skepticism clear in every line of his being.
“Why?”
Because once he had read this, he would know exactly how Viviane felt about love. And he’d have a good idea how she felt about him, too, she realized, because Niall was clever enough to recognize himself in her work.
Perfect!
But she’d better not tell him that exactly. Barb would say it sounded too ‘mushy’ and Viviane really didn’t want Niall to start playing with the taps again.
Much less stop looking at her the way he was looking right now.
“Well, because. Um, it’s important to me and I’d like to know what you think of it. No one else has read it and I’d like you to be the first.” Viviane offered it with a smile, then caught her lip in her teeth. “You can read, can’t you?”
“Of course, I am lettered!” Niall crossed the room, his eyes lighting with curiosity as he lifted the volume and fanned through it.
Viviane felt a pang of worry now that her work was out of her hands. “So, you see, it would be a really good way for you to get to understand me, to know what I’m thinking, what I want, what I expect from love and marriage and everything.”
Her words faltered when it became apparent Niall wasn’t listening.
Because he was reading.
Her book.
A frown furrowed Niall’s brow as he turned the first page. “This is not the tale of Gawain as I recall it.”
“No, I changed it.” Viviane knotted her hands together nervously. “It’s my story of Gawain. That’s what people do here, they start with a story and make it their own, embellishing it and blending it, making it into something different. They don’t just copy as we had to. People expect each book to be different.”
Niall pinned her to the spot with a glance. “And you would trust me with the first reading of your labor?” he demanded with an intensity that stole her breath away. “Viviane!” he whispered and took a step closer, his eyes gleaming.
Oh, it didn’t help that he knew she was trusting him with something important!
Or that he knew it.
She shook a finger at him and backed away. “Just read it, please! And tell me what you think.”
Niall bowed. “Your wish is my command,” he murmured in a way that made her want to take back the book and do something entirely different. But Niall perched on the edge of the bed, his gaze apparently snared by what she had written, and read.
“I guess I’ll go to work,” Viviane said pointedly.
Niall nodded and made a murmur of assent, turning another page and laying it aside. He pursed his lips and leaned back, bracing one foot against the mattress, clearly unaware of how magnificently masculine he looked.
Viviane took one lingering glance, knew she should be glad he was interested in her work, and trudged down the stairs.
She hoped he liked it.
She hoped, even more, it convinced him of the merit of love.
Niall had a difficult time putting his lady’s book aside, though indeed, he knew there were other matters he must resolve. Aye, he had to think, as well as make a plan to not only prove Viviane’s innocence but win her agreement to return to Cantlecroft and set all to rights.
Then he had to figure out how to manage the deed. If all that did not persuade her he would be a worthy spouse, then Niall could not imagine what would.
Indeed, he trusted in his own ultimate success.
Though, still, Niall wondered at the power of Viviane’s pendant. How did it work? Would it work again? Were there other objects here possessing the same power? He did not know and could not fathom a guess.
And how had Viviane come by such a token in the first place? She said ’twas a gift from her father—had he been of this time?
Niall shook his head, unable to solve such problems so early in the day. With reluctance, he put her book aside, knowing he had much to do this day before he read at leisure.
After all, he must show his lady he was responsible. That was the greater obligation before him.
Niall scrubbed himself in the washing room, a whistle on his lips, taking great satisfaction in how the water ceased its flow completely as he turned the spigot. The looking glass over the sink was one of incomparable quality, and Niall considered the new growth gracing his chin.
He should look his best if he meant to persuade Viviane of his case. A good man should be fastidiously groomed, ’twas what his own mother had oft declared. Indeed, she had always spared a kiss for her own spouse and Niall’s father when the man arrived at the board with a clean-shaven face.
Niall fetched his dagger to scrape the whiskers from his chin and began to whistle as he worked. Aye, he would prove his eligibility to Viviane, convince her of the good sense of wedding him, persuade her there were pleasures aplenty to be had, and ensure her innocence was proven to the archbishop. And he would read her book, as well, thereby fulfilling the lady’s own demand.
Viviane would not be able to resist such persuasiveness.
’Twas then Niall spied the tiny brush hung above the sink. He fingered its bristles and examined its small size. A useful tool, of that there could be no doubt, and one particularly suited to cleaning small nooks and crannies.
Which reminded him of one particular task which could not be avoided. His gaze drifted across the chamber to the staircase, at the bottom of which reposed the bag Derek had returned to him. It contained the jumble of his discarded mail, a considerable investment that must be protected.
Niall retrieved it, then squatted beside it, pulling the sodden mess of his tabard free. He examined the garment for tears, then hung it in the washroom to drip. His cloak was similarly spread to dry, his chausses and aketon wrung out to the best of his ability before they also were left to drip.
He hunkered down beside the array of remaining metal, scanning the links and disliking the damage already wrought by the salted water. The greaves were well enough—a buff from Viviane’s incomparable “towel” put them back to rights. Yet the mail was in sorry shape. Without a squire, there was none to tend it but Niall himself, and were it not tended, his considerable investment would be worth less than naught.
And he did desire to look his best. Perhaps he should have proposed in all his finery, instead of nude before her.
Perhaps that was part of her quibble with matters. Women, Niall knew, were oft fond of a little ceremony. And this red chemise looked increasingly disreputable. He thought of the coin that was now his own and considered that he should acquire new garb. Aye, a man bent on courting would do well to ensure his lady’s approval.
But where and how, and what to buy?
Niall shook his head, unprepared for the challenge of a day at the mercy of shopkeepers. Nay, here was a task to keep him occupied while he awaited Viviane’s return, a sensible labor and one that would leave him more ready to court affection when ’twas done.
So, Niall fetched what he did not realize was Viviane’s toothbrush and set to work on his mail.
It hurt naught that such a tedious labor gave him ample opportunity to relive the delightful flash of a certain lady’s lovely hazel eyes, or the little sound she made before the pleasure rushed through her, or the wondrous curve of her lips when she smiled for him alone.
Or to plan precisely how he would win those responses from her once more. Niall whistled tunelessly at the prospect of being persuasive.
Aye, there were worse fates than to take a woman to wife who was beauteous, alluring and charming, if occasionally unpredictable. Niall was newly glad he had won sentry duty on that fateful day and had the good fortune to make the lady’s acquaintance.
Viviane would have said ’twas because of her birth under a blue moon, the very idea making Niall grin. Aye, he could grow accustomed to such harmless whimsy, especially when espoused by such a charming woman as his Viviane.
Niall’s belly growled as he set to work, its volume growing with every passing moment. He began to wonder whether Viviane had skill in the kitchen, as well.
That would be uncommon fortune indeed.
Barb was plugging in the kettle when Viviane entered the shop.
“Let me guess—he came back?” she asked dryly.
Viviane laughed. She dropped into her chair at the table and propped her chin on her hands. “Oh, yes!”
Barb shook her head as she put teabags into the pot. “Judging by the sound effects, you didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” she mused, much to Viviane’s confusion. Her boss’s quick glance though made everything clear.
And Viviane felt her cheeks heat. “Well…”
Barb studied the teapot as though it was a lot more interesting than it was. “A little trouble in paradise this morning?” she mused, and Viviane realized their argument had been overheard.
“Oh, just a misunderstanding.” She grinned sunnily as she accepted a mug of tea. “Everything will work out, I’m sure of it.”
“Is that right.” Barb shook her head and took the other seat, looking the younger woman right in the eye. “Viviane, you do know that men have commitment disease, don’t you? They fight like tigers whenever they think they might get snared, and lie like the devil to get loose. Men don’t want to settle down, get hitched, tie the knot. They avoid it like the plague—if you’ll forgive the medieval reference—and would rather jump off the Golden Gate Bridge than propose.”
Barb shrugged and pushed to her feet, heading back to the kettle. “It’s just the way they are and if your particular catch is trying to bolt into the blue, well, you can’t be too surprised. The really good looking ones never stick around.”
Viviane shook her head vigorously, both impressed by Barb’s protectiveness and anxious to defend Niall. “No, no, you don’t understand, Barb. Niall’s not like that at all. Niall wants to get married.”
Barb pivoted, her eyes wide. “Married? Is that some kind of a joke?”
“He seems very serious about it. In fact, he was pretty annoyed when I turned him down.”
Barb frowned at the whistling kettle as though she didn’t know what to do about it, then unplugged it and crossed the small room with quick steps.
She folded her arms across her chest and stared down at Viviane. “So, let me get this straight. He followed you, you’re glad to see him, and now he wants to marry you? And that’s a problem?”
“Well, yes.” Viviane smiled. “Obviously.”
“Obviously? Viviane! It’s pretty remarkable that he’s so ready to get married—I mean this was the guy who said he wasn’t staying long—and you did keep saying everything is perfect, never mind that he was your knight and all that jazz.”
Viviane rolled her eyes. “Well, it would be perfect, if Niall could stop talking about duty and responsibility and partnership.” She stuck out her tongue. “It’s not very romantic, is it?”
“Uh huh. Fate worse than death.” Barb leaned back, her assessing gaze fixed on Viviane, and Viviane tried to explain.
“Well, it isn’t! You see, he just doesn’t even talk about love and how could I marry a man who didn’t love me? He says he doesn’t even believe in love, and well, I can’t even imagine thinking anything like that!”
“Love.” Barb sounded a lot like Niall.
“Love.” Viviane sighed at the thought. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he at least mentioned love, but he keeps saying that it’s his duty to marry me. He goes on and on about responsibilities and children needing a father and”—she grimaced then appealed to Barb—“he’s just so practical about it all!”
“Duty!” Barb raised her brows. “He sounds pretty medieval.” She studied Viviane for a long moment. “Maybe he’s the perfect guy for you,” she said mildly.
“Not unless he changes his thinking! He only wants to marry me so that people don’t question where he’s a man of honor. It’s all about him and his reputation and the fathering of his children. That’s not nearly romantic enough for me.”
Viviane waved one hand. “But don’t worry, it’s all solved now. You said men didn’t read romances, so I gave him mine and he’s agreed to read it. And once he does that, well, everything will be perfectly obvious and he’ll act like the knight in the story does.”
Barb seemed to be trying not to laugh, although Viviane couldn’t imagine why. “Viviane,” she said and shook her head, her lips quirking. “You are a treat.”
Viviane frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“No, I know.” Barb shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. “You see, real live guys can’t even say the L-word.”
“What L-word?”
“Love. The word tangles up on their tongues and they just can’t spit it out. It gets all knotted up in there, maybe it’s stuck in their teeth. They know what it is and they feel it, but they’d rather die than admit it.”
Viviane blinked. Now, there was a thought. Maybe Niall really did love her but couldn’t say the word. That was an interesting possibility! “Really?”
“Really. Wild horses couldn’t drag it out of them.” Barb shook a finger across the table at Viviane. “They usually can’t manage to say marriage either, so count yourself lucky.” She grinned unexpectedly and pushed her glasses further up her nose. “Maybe you shouldn’t give up on him just yet. Sounds like he has some unexpected promise.”
“Oh, I think so!” Viviane smiled. “Thanks for your advice. You are so wise.”
“Mmm.” Barb flicked a glance across the table. “Well, here’s another bit of advice for free. Do yourself a favor and get some rubbers. I have a feeling you’ll be sharing your bed while you decide about this one. Better safe than sorry.”
Viviane frowned. “Rubbers?”
“No babies, no STDs. They’re cheap and effective.” Barb nodded firmly. “Trust me on this, Viviane, you don’t want to get pregnant before you know exactly where you stand.”
“Pregnant? No, that would only make things worse!” Viviane nodded hastily. If she got pregnant, she knew Niall definitely wouldn’t take no for an answer—he’d toss her over his shoulder and go looking for that priest, whether she was persuaded or not.
And Viviane wanted to be sure before she pledged to remain by a man’s side for all her days and nights.
“Rubbers,” she repeated carefully, so she wouldn’t forget the word, then smiled for Barb. “I’ll find some today.”
“I have to go and get rubbers,” the lady occupying Niall’s thoughts announced from the doorway. He glanced up in surprise, not having heard her on the stairs, and wondered how he could have forgotten how alluring she was.
She was wearing another of those short kirtles that drove him mad, this one adorned with yellow flowers on a black ground. Her arms were bare and her hair loose, that cursed pendant fairly glowing against her fair skin. She reached for a jacket hung inside the door, hauled it on and shoved her hands into its deep pockets. “Maybe we could get something to eat on the way.”
“I have coin now so there is no need for you to pay,” Niall agreed, getting quickly to his feet and brushing off his hands. He laid his tools carefully aside, well aware that kissing Derek’s chemise and short chausses were in need of a wash.
And return.
He would have asked Viviane for guidance on acquiring new garb, but she suddenly gasped. She strode across the floor to snatch up the brush he had been using. “What are you doing with this?”
“I clean my mail. ’Tis a most useful implement indeed, for the taint of the salt water is fiercely difficult to work from the links…”
Viviane shook it at him. “Do you know what this is?”
He guessed, despite the dawning sense he was wrong. “A useful implement for cleaning mail?”
“A toothbrush. It’s a toothbrush, my toothbrush.”
Niall’s eyes narrowed. “Teeth have no hair to be brushed.”
Viviane laughed and shook the brush at him. “That’s what I thought. People clean them here, with this.” She leaned closer. “So their breath smells sweeter.” And she exhaled slightly, the scent of mint filling Niall’s nostrils.
He did not dare imagine how his breath smelled, for he had never conceived of brushing his teeth with mint. He kept his mouth resolutely closed. “I shall return it to you, duly cleaned.”
Viviane grimaced at the state of the brush he had used, her expression and the twinkle in her eyes making her look most appealing. “No. I’ll just buy another one. And one for you too.”
Niall, as always, was concerned about frugality. “Are such tools of great expense?”
“No. A dollar or so.”
Niall considered this, reviewed the money reputedly entrusted to the bankers in his name, then decided to stock up. “’Tis a paltry expense for such usefulness. I shall acquire a quantity for future use.”
After all, he wanted to ensure he looked his best at all times for Viviane. Though ’twas curious that a time with no use for mail developed the perfect tool for its maintenance.
“And what are these rubbers?” he demanded. “Are they of small expense as well? What purpose do they serve?”
“I don’t know how much they cost, but I have to have them.” Viviane turned to the door once more, as though avoiding Niall’s gaze. “Barb said they would keep me from getting pregnant.”
Niall started and stared, unable to hide his astonishment. “Why should you avoid that?”
His lady tossed her hair in a way that did not bode well for the presence of good sense. “That way you won’t have to worry about planting your seed, which means you won’t have to marry me after all.”
Niall was appalled by the very suggestion. “Viviane, what is done is done and my obligation to you unchanged, regardless of whether you acquire these rubbers or not. ’Tis unnatural to tamper with the course of God.”
She folded her arms across her chest and lifted her chin, her eyes snapping with defiance. “Well, I’m not persuaded that we should be married.”
Niall smiled slowly, infinitely reassured by her choice of words. He reached out and captured her hand, tracing a circle on its back with his thumb. “Then I shall have to be more persuasive.” He bent and brushed his lips across her knuckles, smiling against her skin when she shivered. “Perhaps, there is no need for haste in seeking a meal,” he murmured.
The lady snatched her hand away, but not quickly enough to hide her response from Niall. “Did you read my book?”
“Nay, Viviane, a responsible man does not mark his leisure before his labor is done.”
Instead of being impressed by this, Viviane’s eyes flashed. “Leisure? Learning about love isn’t leisure!”
“Viviane! I mean to show you I am a man who can be relied upon! I fulfill my obligations first, I heed my responsibilities first, I tend my duties first.” He took a step closer, having no intention of putting his persuasiveness aside. “I would do well by you, Viviane, and indeed, there is many a man who would treat you with less than your due.”
She backed into the wall, but her eyes were wide, her lips parted, her wisp of a dress driving Niall to distraction. He leaned over her and heard her breath catch in a way that fired his own blood.
“Viviane,” he whispered, touching her chin with one fingertip and tipping her face to his. “Let me persuade you of the good sense of this.”
She leaned toward him, her eyelids fluttering closed and Niall smiled in anticipation as he dipped his head. But his lips barely brushed across hers before the lady darted away, ducking under his arm, and then wrenching open the door.
“I need rubbers,” she insisted anxiously. “Now.” She shook a finger at Niall when he might have argued the case. “No rubbers, no persuasion.”
Well, if she was going to put matters like that, Niall had no choice.
The lady would have her rubbers. He ran a tongue across his teeth and wondered if ’twas his unminted breath she found troublesome.
That, too, could be resolved with all haste.
Monty waited until Romeo and Juliet were out of sight and earshot, then darted into Barb’s shop. Barb was sitting at the counter, frowning at a ledger, and barely glanced up at his arrival.
“Psst, Barb!” Monty looked over his shoulder. “Where’s he taking her this time?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Come on, Barb!” Monty crossed the room to make his appeal, but Barb kept adding the columns. “You and I go ‘way back, you ought to know when I’m hurting.”
That made her glance up. “You owe me eight hundred and ninety-four dollars and sixteen cents. Ante up.”
“Man!” Monty pushed a hand through his hair in exasperation. This wasn’t going to make things any easier, but then, Barb never did. “Come on, Barb, we’re in this together. We could have been an item, if you’d been interested at all…”
She gave him a withering glance. “An item?”
“Yeah, you know, you and me, it would have been perfect and it’s not like I haven’t tried…”
Her eyebrows lifted. “To empty my shop without paying for anything you took.”
“Hey, that’s like an assault on my character! I’ve sincerely tried to woo you for years but…”
Barb pointed in the general direction of her kitchen. “See that red rubber thingy hanging over the counter?”
Monty looked. It was a flat circle and had some pizza joint’s logo printed on it. “Yeah. What is it?”
“A jar opener. It’s the mark of an officially single woman, a woman who needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.”
Monty scowled. “Women need men for more than opening jars!”
“Yeah, well, several things in my lingerie drawer say I’ve got that covered, too.”
And she went back to her books.
Monty watched for a few moments, guessing he was not in any way in line to get what he wanted. He decided on a bald appeal to her feminine pride.
“Hey, come on, Barb, it wasn’t such a long shot for me to think of you and me together. We’re two of a kind after all—book lovers!—and our species is getting seriously rare. Like dinosaurs, you know, we gotta breed before we’re extinct…”
“Dinosaurs! Thank you for that, Monty Sullivan.”
“Okay, okay, bad analogy. Really bad. Give me a second. Crusaders!” Monty snapped his fingers. “Crusaders on a quest to save the written word, yeah, I like that. We’re fighting undaunted against the adversity of publisher conglomerations and the onslaught of the visual age…”
“Cut to the chase.” Barb shut him down with a look just when he was warming to his theme. “What do you want this time, Monty?”
Monty tried to turn up the charm. “Hey, Barb, take it easy.” He smiled.
Barb didn’t.
“Hey, you know, about that bill, well, we all know that winter sucks for revenue, but spring will come, it always does. And then royalties roll in, regular as rain…”
“I thought royalties came in the fall, too.”
Monty squirmed. “Well, yeah, they do.”
Barb tapped the list of his acquisitions for the year. “Yet, oddly enough, none of those little pennies from heaven showed up here, posting against your account.”
“Hey, Barb, it was less than I thought! And my agent is like a thief, man, he hit me for all sorts of fees that I wasn’t expecting and then, well, I owed Derek a lump of cash and the feds were after me for my quarterly deposit…
“And I came last. Again. Same story as last spring.” She closed the book grimly and held his gaze. “Don’t tell me you’re back for more.”
“Well, just a couple of books.” Barb rolled her eyes but Monty leaned closer, intent on making his case while he could. “You see, it’s about Viviane and this guy. It’s just too weird the way he goes on about coming from Cantlecroft, like he really did or something. About her being a condemned witch. It’s creepy, don’t you think, like he’s got it in for her.”
Barb snorted and shook her head. “Viviane doesn’t seem to share your reservations. I just sent them out for rubbers.”
“Go on! Already?” Monty scowled. “And how could you know?”
Barb almost smiled. “Monty, there are sounds even a dinosaur doesn’t forget.”
Monty exhaled mightily. “Okay, so like it’s really critical now. I have a bad feeling about this guy, like a really bad feeling, and you know, I just want to make sure Viviane is okay. You do, too, don’t you?”
Barb’s lips tightened, but she nodded.
Reluctantly.
Monty didn’t care that she wasn’t thrilled to be doing so, he just wanted his books.
“You see, here’s the thing. I called the re-enactment people and they didn’t know anything at all about Viviane—nothing!—let alone Niall, and he’s not the kind of guy you miss seeing, if you know what I mean. They never heard of Cantlecroft either. And that’s kind of weird, which makes me wonder whether he’s really who he says he is…”
Barb frowned. “But Viviane said she knows him.”
“So, maybe she’s not who she says she is!” Monty flung out his hands. “Maybe they’re part of a plot, maybe they’re like spies, maybe she’s defected and he’s been sent to eliminate her before she talks too much…”
Barb almost laughed. “You’ve been reading too many conspiracy theories. Or too much of your own fiction. You do know the Cold War is over, Monty?”
“Barb, this is serious!”
“Because you’re crazy in love with Viviane?” She looked skeptical about that, but Monty couldn’t exactly avoid the question.
And he couldn’t lie when she looked him dead in the eye.
“Well, no, not exactly.” He fidgeted. “I mean, I like her and she’s cute and everything, but it’s more than that.”
“More, but not crazy in love.”
“So, I kind of have an investment here and it bugs me that this guy just swept it and scooped her up. There! I said it. Don’t shoot!”
“So, you want to prove him to be the spawn of Satan and pick up where you left off.”
Monty fidgeted. “Well, yeah. It’s not a crime.”
“You guys are all the same.” Barb sighed before Monty could defend his gender. “How do I fit into this great scheme?”
“Books.” Monty cast a longing glance in the direction of the history section. “I want to look up Cantlecroft, figure out what that reference is all about, read all about it. It might give me a clue.”
Barb pushed to her feet with resignation. “So, go ahead and look. Park yourself in the corner but don’t bend any of the pages or leave any nasty fingerprints in the stock.”
“Actually”—Monty looked nervously toward the door—“I’d like to take them with me.”
Barb slammed the ledger on the counter and spun to face him. “Monty! You’ve confused this with the library again!”
“No, I’ve like been there and they have nothing. You know how pathetic the medieval history section is. And I need to know, I need to help Viviane, I need to make sure this guy doesn’t mean her any harm…”
“To protect your investment.”
“Come on, Barb, give me some credit!”
She squarely met his gaze. “Your credit stinks. You pay this balance first, then we’ll talk.”
And that, Monty knew was that. He begged and cajoled, he tried to sweet-talk his way to a better deal, but no luck. Barb was adamant.
So, Barb got a rubber check and Monty got his books. He scampered down the street, trying hard to not feel guilty about tricking his old friend.
It was all for the greater good, after all.
Next royalty check, he’d pay Barb first.
With interest.