Not a mouse, then.The sound was coming from the room next door to the library.
She looked down the dimly lit hall and saw no sign of a footman or maid, nor anyone at all lingering about. Her stomach gave a grumble. She’d missed lunch and should find something to eat. Maybe check on her mother.
Another scratch, this time long and drawn out.
Curiosity got the better of her and she really didn’t want to check on Mother anyway. Tucking the book beneath her arm Petra walked down the hall. The scraping sound immediately became louder.
A door stood open.
Scrape. Scrape.
Petra peered around the open door.
Morwick was bent over a massive desk, the top of which was littered with rocks and pebbles. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. Ebony curls hung over his forehead, one falling over his eye. Holding up a rock, he batted away the offending curl and squinted, turning the piece of stone over in his hand. Setting the rock back on the table he picked up a small pick and began scraping until he had a pile of shavings. Spreading the shavings across a snowy white cloth, he picked up a magnifying glass and looked down, moving the shavings around with the tip of a small metal stick. His worn cotton shirt stretched taut across his shoulders as he worked, doing…something. Perhaps she should have chosen one of the books on geology, for she hadn’t a clue what Morwick was up to.
He shifted his face into the light coming from the window. The line of his jaw was dark with the shadow of a beard above the swath of tanned skin at his neck. Petra couldn’t take her eyes from that small triangle of flesh.
“Are you going to continue to just stare at me, or are you actually going to enter?” he growled, not taking his eyes from the rock in his hands. “Always sneaking about, aren’t you, Petra? One would think you’d learned your lesson about eavesdropping.”
“I heard scratching noises, reminiscent of agiantrodent.” She gave him a pointed look so he would not mistake her meaning. Her heart was thumping like a drum in her chest. His comment led her to believe he did remember kissing her after all, though she doubted he’d ever admit such to her.
“How would you know what a loud rodent sounds like? Do you have many opportunities to socialize with rats? Oh wait,” he snorted. “I forgot thetonin London. A bigger nest of rodents I’ve yet to see.” He turned from the rock and sat back in his chair to look at her. The left side of his mouth tipped up just enough for the dimple to deepen in his cheek.
Petra’s stomach fluttered. She hoped her illness wasn’t returning.
“I see you’ve found the library. I applaud your accomplishment.” He looked at her with intent.
“You do? For finding the library?”
“The few guests who’ve stayed at Somerton invariably get lost in the warren of halls, rooms and back staircases. One of my ancestors evidently had a misguided sense of humor. Or a very poor architect. Probably both. Did you leave yourself a trail of breadcrumbs?”
Petra’s stomach grumbled as it was reminded of food.
Morwick eyed her midsection and leaned forward, stating curtly, “Don’t puke on my samples.”
“I’m quite well, my lord. Only hungry. I’ve not eaten since breakfast. Your pebbles and rocks are safe. The same cannot be said for my mother, who has become ill, I’m afraid.”
“Pity. Must be nerves.Certainlynot lamb stew.”
Petra shot him a look of chastisement. “That was unkind.” Though she was guilty of thinking the same.
“I am often unkind. I thought we had established such.”
His intense gaze burned across Petra and the pulse leapt in her throat. She imagined the depths of the ocean were the same color as his eyes.
“Tell me, how did you meet Pendleton? He’s not the frivolous type, so I can’t imagine him putting his name on your dance card.” There was a rough quality to his question.
The question surprised her, she hadn’t thought he’d ask about Simon. “At a charitable event. One which your cousin, Arabella, organized, as a matter of fact. He spoke to us on a bill he was working on. Reforms for workhouses.” Petra moved further into the room. “I attended as a favor to my new sister-in-law.”
“Oh, yes. Arabella does adore her charitable work. I believe she is atoning for something—or, rather, a great many things. Still, I am glad she is happy. But back to Pendleton.”
“You don’t like Simon, do you?” Petra said.
His gaze lingered on her mouth before coming back to her face.
“Not in the least,” he admitted. “But I’ve known him longer than you have. It’s possible after some time you may feel the same way.”
The statement struck Petra as far too close to her actual feelings for Simon, or rather the absence of them. Morwick was handsome even when he frowned, but smiling brilliantly at her as he was now?
