Romancing Her Rival - Joanna Barker Page 0,18

today’s, Cole knew he had to take the time to catch up on paperwork.

He set down his pen and leaned back in his chair, shaking the cramps from his hand. And, of course, his mind went immediately to Daphne, as it always did when he did not force himself to focus on his present occupation.

Daphne. Despite her claim that she wished to be friends, Cole had not seen much evidence to support that idea. During their walk near the goat pens a week ago, she’d been perfectly polite. She’d asked questions and seemed rather interested. But whenever he’d attempted to tease her like he used to, or reference a silly memory from summers past, she’d simply pasted a false smile on her face and quickly moved on to another topic. If they were friends, they were the type of friends who saw each other but rarely, asked awkwardly after each other’s families, and then made plans to see each other but never followed through.

He’d been hopeful when she’d called for a truce, but this… this was hardly better than the hurt and anger he’d seen in her eyes the day she’d arrived.

And things had not improved since their walk. Whenever Aunt Hartwell invited him to dine with them, or he saw Daphne on the grounds, it was always the same—pleasant indifference. Oh, she always asked a great deal of questions about the running of the estate and such, but clearly that was simply a ploy to not discuss anything beyond crop rotations and repairing fences.

Cole sighed and rubbed his chin. This was how it would be now. He could no longer fool himself into thinking he could eventually wear her down and restore their former camaraderie. There was too much between them, too much he could not fix. Not without sacrificing more than he was willing.

He stood abruptly and gathered his books, pen, and ink. A change of location was what he needed. His study on the main floor of Cheriton was cramped, and provided nothing more than a lovely view of the back of the coach house. The library, however, faced the conservatory and the green hills beyond, and Cole often retreated there on days like this.

The door to the library was already open when he arrived. He stepped inside, looking down as he flipped through the bailiff’s ledger, and went to the table by the window that he preferred.

At a rustling behind him, he turned sharply. Daphne sat up on the velvet sofa across the room, eyes wide as she stared back at him. Her feet were tucked up beneath her blue flowered day dress, her slippers abandoned on the rug. She cleared her throat, cheeks pink, and closed the book in her lap.

“Good morning,” Cole managed. Blast, but she looked pretty with those loose curls around her cheeks.

“Good morning.” She dropped her eyes to her slippers and pushed back her hair, her movements impossibly graceful.

Cole set down his books, busying himself for a moment so she could slide on her slippers without him watching her. “It is a perfect day for reading,” he said, then winced at the inanity of his words.

“Quite,” she simply agreed.

He toyed with his inkwell, at a loss for words, which flustered him even more. He always had a quip on his tongue or question to pose. But Daphne put him on edge.

“I’ll leave you,” she said, standing and smoothing her skirts. “I do not wish to disrupt your work.”

“No,” he said, too quickly. He cleared his throat. “That is, please stay. You were here first.”

She hesitated a moment more, glancing at the door. Then she sat primly on the sofa, slippers hidden neatly beneath her skirts. “All right. For a little while, I suppose.”

He clasped his hands behind his back, trying not to show how glad that small acquiescence made him. “What are you reading?”

“Nothing.” She looked as if she immediately regretted her decision to stay. “Nothing interesting, at any rate.”

Cole raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never known you to read anything that did not hold your interest.”

“Oh, it is interesting, to me.” She ran her fingers over the cover. “I doubt you’ll agree.”

He stepped to her sofa and plucked the book from her hands before she could protest. “Essays on Physiognomy,” he read, then frowned. “Did you somehow mistake this for a novel? It sounds dreadfully dull.”

Daphne snatched the book back, though a small smile teased at her lips. “More dull than A General Treatise on Cattle?”

He glanced at the nearby table,