He thought back.What precisely had he promised?Only that he would stop by?Here he was.Word kept.Game over.
He reached for the door.“I’ll see myself out.”
“But why are you here?”Miss Godwin shoved delicate fists onto curvy hips and speared him with a frosty glare.
Unbelievable.
He drew himself up to his full height.He had not behaved as a gentleman ought, but nor had he been spreading willful ignorance to impressionable individuals.If he owed her an apology, she owed a bigger one to every poor fool on that tour.
He could not be sorry for attempting to correct her outright lies, but in the name of politesse…
“I apologize for causing a scene,” he said magnanimously, “just as I am certain you are sorry for spreading”—horrific, blatant, outlandish—“misinformation.”
She folded her arms beneath her breasts.“I’m not sorry.”
He scowled at her.
She scowled back.
“Neither am I,” he admitted.They might as well be honest.“Astronomy is a serious field.Scholars spend their lifetimes refining the known, and working hard to discover—”
A knock sounded from outside.
“If you please,” murmured the maid.
He stepped out of her way.
She creaked open the door and stuck her arm through the crack.Moments later, the door once again closed tight, and a folded square of parchment rested in the maid’s hand.
She turned to her mistress.“Note from Miss Mitchell.”
It was all Christopher could do not to close his eyes and allow the back of his head to bang against the wall.Repeatedly.
His “letter of reference” had arrived right on time.
Miss Godwin broke the drop of wax and flipped open the message.Half a breath later, her incredulous gaze rose to meet his.“This is absurd.”
“I agree,” he said fervently.Now they could be done.“As we are in agreement—”
“I’ll do it,” she said, with all the joy of an impending trip to the hangman’s noose.“Not for you, but as a favor to Penelope.”
He stared at her in disbelief.“What?”
She sighed.“Consider your apology accepted.Sit down.Madge will watch over us to ensure propriety.”
The maid immediately sat at the edge of the closest wingback chair.
Miss Godwin settled herself in the center of a two-person sofa, as though to ensure Christopher would make no attempt to draw near.
She needn’t have worried.He was still debating whether to run screaming into the street.
He glanced about the small parlor and chose the wingback chair beside two tall bookcases.Like the maid, he did not settle back against the pillow.He would not be here long.
“I see you like to read,” he said, searching for common ground.“I, too, enjoy—”
“You see a collection of books.That doesn’t mean they’re mine, or that I read them.”She arched a brow.“We are not friends.I’m your matchmaker.What do you want in a match?”
He clenched his jaw.Definitely not anyone like her.
