Bridal Favors by Connie Brockway Page B

her.
    “I don’t see that there’s anything to forgive,” she replied, and hurried away.

Chapter 8
     

     
    EVELYN WATCHED AS Justin drew a diagram in the thick dust that had settled on the library table. It took a concerted effort, but in three weeks Evelyn had not only forgiven Justin for teasing her but had vanquished the unfortunate incident from her mind. In the interim she’d discovered that a reformed “wolf” was not such a difficult friend as one might have imagined. In fact, he was quite an easy man to have around . . .
when
he was around.
    Most days he went off “birding,” sometimes not returning until late in the day. Not that she was keeping track of his comings and goings, but when one lived in the same house with another person, that person’s presence or absence was bound to be noted. And with Merry diplomatically dividing her free hours between Buck Newton and another local man, well, Evelyn was a bit at loose ends when she wasn’t working. It was only natural that she should look forward to her time with Justin. As a friend, of course. Nothing more.
    How could there be more? He was a confirmed bachelor, having renounced the pleasures of illicit relationships, while she was a confirmed spinster, doomed never to know such pleasures, licit or il-.
    “There. Perhaps now you see what I mean,” Justin said, sitting back in his seat and waving his hand at the diagram.
    Evelyn slid her chair closer to his. “
But
if they’d posted their men like so,” she dotted in some men, “and come down the field thus,” she traced a thin arc, “they would have carried the day.”
    “My dear Evie.” For some reason, Justin called her his “dear Evie”—she’d quite given up trying to get him to call her Evelyn or, God forbid, Lady Evelyn—whenever he pontificated on a subject he considered solely a male province. There were a lot of them. “You are wrong.”
    He covered her hand with his own and, using her finger as his stylus, sketched a fat line straight through the middle of the impromptu map. That was his manner; he was utterly insensible of personal boundaries. If Justin had need of a finger, he was as likely to co-opt hers as use his own. It was an uncomfortably intimate sort of thing—uncomfortable for her, that is. He didn’t appear to realize anything untoward in it.
    “And
that
is why,” he was saying, “the men on the left flank kept them from doing so.”
    With a smile as kindly as it was annoying, he dug a handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and dabbed her finger clean before returning it to her.
    She, however, was not done. “Not if these men,” she said, pointing, “had secured the area. With the opposition’s attention diverted, the center could have advanced.”
    He shook his head. “Impossible. They weren’t strong enough to clear the center.”
    She drew a deep breath. “If they had used their heads rather than their—”
    “Ahem.” They both looked up. Beverly stood over them, looking annoyed. “Perhaps I misheard your directions, but I was under the distinct impression that you wish this room cleaned. All of it.”
    Evelyn looked around, surprised to find that while she and Justin had been debating, the library had filled with an army of workers. A pair of girls were scrubbing the floor, chatting amiably to one another, while three men fitted new panes of glass into the mullioned windows; overhead, a plasterer worked diligently on the coved ceiling. She’d been so absorbed with Justin she hadn’t noticed them come in.
    “Forgive me, Lady Evelyn,” Beverly drawled as she stared about in bemusement. “Clearly I slipped into a foreign language for a moment. Let me repeat my question.”
    Beverly’s gibe awoke her from muteness. “Yes, I asked you to have this room cleaned.”
    “And might I suppose that edict included this table? Or is the grime on it part of the intriguing ‘Midsummer Night’s Folly’ decor?”
    The man was an incorrigible troll.