“Not a problem.”
The man disappeared through a back door and returned moments later. He glanced over at Oliver curiously. “What ails you? Trouble with a woman, perhaps?”
Not exactly and yet exactly so. He clasped his hands together on the bar, trying to steady the storm brewing inside him. “Is it that obvious?”
“When a man visits a tavern with that look on his face,” the man said, wiping the bar top, “it is usually about a woman.”
“It’s not the sort of trouble you might be thinking about.” The sort that might plague a man in love.
Blue eyes flashed in his mind. A blue that could call a man to cross the ocean in search of adventure and more.
Confound it.He should never have told Lady Theodosia to hold onto the book. He should have seized it when he’d had the chance.
But he hadn’t.
He’d been indulgent, yes, but he also knew that once word reached the duchess’s ears that he was in possession of the book, she would likely retreat. And who could say what tricks she’d play after that. With the book still in play, he had a chance to lure her out into the open.
At least his gut seemed to have been right about Lady Louisa. She couldn’t know about her stepmother’s dealings, or she wouldn’t have helped him search for the book.
Or was it all a ploy to throw him off?
He still could not be entirely sure about her. She was the daughter of his family’s number one enemy—or rival, orwhatever they were. That was troublesome enough. But at this point, he couldn’t decide which was worse, their families’ constant opposition, Talbot’s petty schemes to block his every move, or the fact that he was relying on Lady Louisa for help that might implicate a member or two of the family that was his enemy.
She might also be supremely good at acting. But only observing her and waiting for time to reveal all her flaws would let him know if that was the case. For now, he could only rely on intuition.
And drink tea.
He nodded his thanks to the older woman who placed a pot before him along with a cup, a spot of milk, and some sugar. She disappeared through the back door again. He placed a coin on the bar top and pushed it to the barman.
“Enjoy your tea.” The man swiped the blunt and nodded at another customer approaching the bar.
Oliver nodded, pouring tea into his cup, forgoing milk and sugar. He took a sip, his eyes closing as the warm brew flowed down his throat.
This hewassure about.
Tea.
And also his instinct, which told him he could trust her where the book was concerned. After all, the theft of the betting book was an heiress thing, not a Talbot family thing. If she betrayed him, she would essentially betray the other women, as well. And she wouldn’t do that.
But where the devil was the book?
Surely she couldn’t be that absentminded to have lost it just like that? Was that even possible? He had never met a person who believed so wholeheartedly that they had placed a thing somewhere only to discover that they themselves had beenwrong, and that they could indeed not remember what they had done with it!
What horror was that?
His mother’s words sprang to mind.
You are too meticulous, Oliver. Loosen up a bit, dear. Life is too short to be rigid. I blame your father for that in you.
He supposed it was true that his character and disposition had been developed over time due to his father’s teaching, or lack thereof. Needless to say, his resolve to not repeat the mistakes of the late duke had also sprung forth during this tutelage.
He’d had no choice in his father. But he could choose his own beliefs, his own path.
Oliver swallowed the entire cup and poured himself another. “Let us not dwell on paths at the moment,” he muttered to himself.
The barman glanced over, then chuckled. “If you are having problems with your lady just purchase her a gift and apologize. Not flowers—a necklace or a brooch. The opposite sex loves these sorts of trinkets.”
“Thank you for the advice.” Oliver took a sip while contemplating his beautiful nemesis. “But like I said, it’s not that sort of trouble.”
