Storing Up Trouble, стр. 10
“You’re upset that I didn’t inquire about your societal standing?”
“Upset wouldn’t be the word I’d choose. Curious would suit the occasion better.”
Norman polished off his apple and shrugged. “I was trying to spare you the embarrassment of admitting that you don’t have any societal standing.”
Of anything Beatrix had been expecting him to say, that hadn’t crossed her mind. “Why would you assume I don’t travel in society?”
“Because you’re a confirmed spinster. You’re also traveling alone, which suggests you’re not a lady of means. Ladies without means are rarely of the society set.”
That he kept bringing up her spinster status set her teeth on edge and had her abandoning any thought of disclosing the fact that she was a lady of means, and great means at that, or that she was a member of the illustrious New York Four Hundred.
“I’m beginning to feel you might be right about idle chitchat, that it is, indeed, overrated,” she muttered, which earned a nod from him in return.
“Of course I’m right.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Or perhaps I should amend that and say any attempt at idle chitchat with you is doomed to failure because you’re completely inept with it.”
“I’m not inept. I simply don’t enjoy it.”
“Then by all means, feel free to return to your mathematical equations. I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself.”
“An excellent suggestion.” He closed his eyes and immediately began mouthing numbers instead of speaking them out loud, something that suggested he’d never realized how annoying his unusual habit was until she’d mentioned it, and was actually making an attempt not to annoy her.
However, because the numbers were coming out of a mouth that appeared to be clenched, it was clear he wasn’t finding elusive mathematical equations to be the distraction he’d evidently been hoping for, something that left Beatrix smiling.
Chapter 5
“If you’ve neglected to notice, the train has stopped. I believe there’s now the expectation that we’re meant to get off the train, unless you’d like to continue on with whatever you seem to be in the midst of contemplating.”
Norman’s eyes flashed open, disgruntlement running through him when he realized that the train had come to a stop, something he had neglected to notice.
This curious lapse on his part was concerning, especially when he’d always prided himself on his observational skills—skills that seemed to be failing him rather spectacularly at the moment.
It was also concerning that his attempt at distracting himself with his tried-and-true habit of dividing sums by three had not worked at all because while he had been trying to concentrate on numbers, thoughts of Beatrix had wormed their way through the numbers, or rather, the notion that she apparently found him lacking, or worse, inept.
Pushing his disturbing thoughts aside as Beatrix got out of her seat and began moving down the aisle, Norman followed her, stepping off the train and on to a wooden sidewalk.
“Do you think our original train finally made it here after being robbed, and if so, do you think we’ll find our luggage stowed somewhere?” she asked.
“Only one way to find out.” He gestured her forward and began making his way through the crowd toward the main depot. When he realized Beatrix had broken into a trot to keep up with him and was rubbing her side, as if she’d developed a stitch, he slowed his pace.
“Was I moving too quickly?”
“Not if you believe we’re being chased by a pack of rabid wolves,” she returned, dashing a hand over a forehead that was now beaded with perspiration.
His lips twitched. “Fortunately there are no wolves chasing us. I’m merely accustomed to moving quickly to save time.” He frowned. “Have you ever considered taking a daily run to improve your physical stamina? I run a few miles every day and find that activity to be greatly beneficial with keeping me in fine form.”
“I’m not really keen to embrace an activity I feel is comparable to torture,” she said before she headed into the main depot and charged toward a man sitting behind a counter, moving remarkably fast for a woman who’d only recently suffered from a stitch in her side.
By the time Norman reached her, she’d already informed the man about their run-in with train robbers, which had the man rising to his feet and escorting them into a nearby office.
As the man hurried from the room, telling them he’d be back directly, Beatrix took a seat in front of a battered desk while Norman elected to remain standing.
Men soon streamed in to join them, one of whom introduced himself as Agent Mahoney, a member of the Pinkerton Agency. Agent Mahoney immediately directed his attention to Beatrix, questioning her about the robbery.
Beatrix didn’t hesitate to launch into an explanation about what had occurred, giving Agent Mahoney an excellent recollection of what the man who’d tried to take her reticule looked like, as well as giving a surprisingly detailed account of the second train robber who’d shot at them after they’d gotten off the train.
Ten minutes later, she nodded to Norman. “Have I left anything out?”
“I believe you were more than thorough with your recollection of the events that occurred. You did, however, neglect to disclose that your decision to turn your pistol purse on the robber escalated the danger we were in since I was of the belief, before you brought out your pistol, that the matter was soon to be resolved since the robber had possession of my satchel, which was what I’m convinced they were after in the first place.”
Temper immediately flashed through Beatrix’s eyes. “Are you suggesting that everything that happened after I pulled out my pistol purse was my fault?”
“It wasn’t a suggestion.”
Her lips thinned. “Then allow me to counter with this—if you’d not snatched up your satchel after telling me we needed to get off the train, we would