Storing Up Trouble, стр. 91

“You’ve yet to sufficiently explain your reasons for that. All you’ve said is that you withheld it to aid your acceptance into the working world.”

She frowned and tilted her head. “I suppose I withheld that information from you at first because I found you so annoying. You were quick to make assumptions about me—one of the most annoying being your assumption that I was a spinster because of my opinionated nature.” She sent him a smile that was hardly amused. “I found it oddly satisfying to allow you to continue on with your less-than-accurate assumptions.”

Norman winced. “I imagine I might have come across as rather condescending at the time.”

“Indeed. But I found it amusing, that amusement lending me the forbearance I desperately needed to refrain from shooting you again.”

He felt his lips give a surprising twitch. “I appreciate that, but why didn’t you mention you’re Arthur Waterbury’s daughter when I brought his name up at the train station?”

“When did you bring my father’s name up at the train station?”

“When I was giving those men a list of possible suspects. I listed your father among them because he attended that meeting I was at in New York.”

Beatrix released a snort. “You gave those men over one hundred names, Norman. Even the men who were writing all those names down were having a hard time keeping up with you. And while I’m sure I must have heard a handful of the names you rattled off, I stopped listening for a while after someone brought me a much-needed cup of tea.”

The doubt was back in a flash. “You did have tea.”

“I did, but to be clear about my father, he often attends scientific meetings in New York. But he has no need to steal your research papers. He’s known to be a generous man with funding research projects, so there are more than enough men willing to hand over their research papers in the hopes of securing funding. Father has no reason to resort to theft for any research idea that may appeal to him.”

Norman frowned. “But if you are a spy for your father, it would explain why you decided to spend time with me, even though you just admitted you found me very annoying when we first met.”

Beatrix settled back against the seat. “You must realize that’s ridiculous.”

Norman looked out the carriage window, wondering how his evening, as well as his life, had turned so dramatic.

He’d always been a man who maintained a life devoid of drama, and yet it seemed to have become his constant companion ever since he’d met Beatrix.

Turning from the scenery, he shrugged. “It’s not ridiculous, although I have to wonder if you’ve been growing concerned about my, well, increased interest in you.”

“You’re going to have to explain that a little more sufficiently.”

“Very well, and I’ll start by saying this—if you’ve been, as my mother suggested, using your feminine wiles to get close to me, you must have neglected to realize that I might become intrigued by those feminine wiles.”

She released a snort. “I’ll have you know that in my many spinster years on this earth I’ve never been accused by anyone of using my feminine wiles, probably because when people think of Beatrix Waterbury, I’m sure they would never think, ‘Well there’s a lady who knows how to use her feminine wiles to advantage.’”

With that, Beatrix reached up and flipped open the small window that opened directly beside the driver, calling for him to take her back to Hyde Park. She then snapped the window shut and got resettled on the seat, staring out the window for the longest time until she turned to him again.

“You’re a logical man, Norman, and logic should tell you that you’re being absurd right now. Someone has obviously framed my father because, again, as one of the wealthiest men in the country, he has no need to steal your research.” She held up her hand when he opened his mouth to reply. “If you consider all of the time we’ve spent together, you should know that I’m not after your research either. I could have easily taken your papers after I shot you, but did I? No, I did not,” she finished before he could answer the question she apparently hadn’t actually posed to him.

“I also highly doubt, if I wanted your research,” she continued, “and if I were working on behalf of my father, that I would have intervened when those criminals attacked you outside Marshall Field & Company, or when they held up the train in the first place.”

Everything she said did have a certain logic to it, but she had withheld important information from him, and that, as far as Norman was concerned, was telling.

“Perhaps you intervened because you realized those men were going to be unsuccessful, and by intervening, you garnered my appreciation.” He nodded. “Perhaps those men were at your aunt’s house later that night to pass along information to you, and before you argue with that, how would they have known where to find you if they weren’t working with you?”

“My aunt’s address was among the other contents of my reticule that I dumped into that bag on the train.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

The next twenty minutes were spent in uncomfortable silence after Beatrix turned to the window again and refused to say another word, the light from the inside carriage lamp flickering over a face that was flushed with temper. What she was thinking, he had no idea, but he felt a most curious urge to comfort her as well as beg her forgiveness, even with him still convinced that she could very well be the spy his mother had accused her of being.

As the carriage slowed, Norman felt a sense of urgency to do something, although what that something was eluded him at the moment.

“We’re here,” Beatrix said, pulling her attention from the window and reaching for the door.

“I’ll see you to the front door,” he