Betraying Season by Marissa Doyle Page A

won’t be blown to Blarney.”
    “Ah, but if it does blow, I’m prepared.” She spread a fold of her new cloak and waved it at him. “And anyway, that might not be such a bad thing. Isn’t kissing the stone at Blarney supposed to confer eloquence of speech? I could have used some of that in my tutorial this morning.”
    “Bad day?” But he scarcely needed to ask. Her irritation with Dr. Carrighar’s students was obvious in the sudden stiffness of her back and features. Mother needn’t have worried that they’d interfere with his wooing of her. If anything, they’d show him up in a better light. He’d have to reassure her on that point.
    “Did you have a disagreement?” he continued. “Sometimes intellectual battles are even more virulent than personal ones.”
    “I suppose so. But when they’re both intellectual and personal, they reach a whole new level of unpleasantness. Doherty spent class today staring at me as if he hoped I’d suddenly burst into flame and disappear. It was positively horripilatious.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Oh.” She colored prettily. “Horripilatious. My little brother says that all the time, and it’s infected the rest of the family as well.”
    “You’re close to your family.”
    “It’s hard not to be when you’ve got a twin. But yes, we are all close. I miss them a great deal,” she said softly.
    He resisted the impulse to squeeze her arm. “What topic has Dr. Carrighar set you that’s roused such fervor?”
    “It’s . . . it’s a little hard to explain. Oh, is that spire over there St. Anne’s Shandon? It seems as though it’s been shrouded in mist ever since I got here. How nice to actually be able to see it.”
    Niall could hear the forced enthusiasm in her voice as she peered up at the cathedral’s tower, with its distinctive red and white stone faces. This was the second time she’d evaded discussing her studies, which seemed odd. Surely academics would be a safe, easy topic of conversation. Perhaps she was afraid of appearing to be too much the bluestocking.
    “It’s a pity Dr. Carrighar’s scholars haven’t been more welcoming than they might have,” he said quietly. “Half of a university experience is the talk, among students as well as from the masters. But if they’re too busy resenting you because you’re female, or English, or some other silly reason, it can’t be very pleasant for you.”
    She bowed her head so that he couldn’t see her face set back in the frame of her bonnet. “It’s lonely. I’ve always had my sister to study with. But now—”
    That time he did squeeze her arm, very gently.
    “You don’t know how grateful I am to Lady Keating for being so very civil to me,” she said in a rush. “I enjoy Dr. Carrighar’s conversation very much, but he’s not Persy. And with Ally ill and wrapped upin—in her condition . . .” She peeked at him sideways, blushing. “With Ally ill, I don’t have anybody. It’s so kind of your mother to make the effort to befriend me.”
    “It’s no effort at all. And Mother doesn’t do anything that she doesn’t want to.” Niall smiled wryly to himself. That was bloody well true. “She wants to be your friend. We all do.” He let his voice drop and soften till it sounded like a caress. “
I
do.”
    He heard her sudden soft intake of breath and felt her hand tighten involuntarily on his arm. A twinge of guilt lanced through him. Had he gone too far? Could Mother be mistaken about her experience?
    But devil take it, he was just following orders. If he ever wanted to get anywhere, he would have to go along with Mother’s plans for this girl, whatever they were. If he was supposed to make her fall for him, then he might as well get down to business.
    “That is . . . most kind of her,” Miss Leland said, sounding a little breathless. “I—I value her friendship highly. Isn’t it remarkable how one can feel so drawn to new friends after just a short acquaintance, Mr.