Free Some Like it Easy by Heather Long Page B

romance of era, but what was art if it didn’t challenge preconceived notions and ideas?
    Incorporating his suggestions and her responses to them strengthened the paper. When she finished, she stole another glance toward George and found him reviewing a textbook, while taking notes on a legal pad. His writing was crisp, clear and easily legible.
    “Did they make you learn penmanship?” The art of handwriting wasn’t one heavily endorsed in schools anymore, though it might be different in Europe.
    “Yes,” George said without looking up. “I had a tutor when I was younger who made me spend hours perfecting my letters. He believed education should show in every aspect of presentation.”
    “Hours?” As a child? Ugh. “The only time I spent hours writing anything repetitively was usually ‘I will not talk out of turn’ or ‘I will not booby trap student lockers.’”
    “Did you booby trap lockers often?” He continued his note taking, though his pen moved slower.
    “Only once, but Bobby Drake deserved it. He put a frog in my art supplies and forgot about it. School was closed for a week. When I opened them up—well, it had died.” She wrinkled her nose. The smell had been awful and, worse, the poor creature likely suffered. “He thought my scream was pretty funny. Course he wasn’t laughing when he opened his locker and got hit in the balls.” The construction of the trap had taken some of Hank and G.W.’s suggestions. Fortunately, both of her older brothers had a sense of justice. They’d happily helped her work out the slingshot loading mechanism.
    “Duly noted. You fight dirty.” With a half-laugh, he shut the book and stacked it with the legal pad. “That completes the assignments I can recall writing down.”
    “Which means you’ve done all the homework you had,” she said, beginning to understand him. He played the dilettante, the disinterested and disaffected nobility, but that wasn’t George.
    “Perhaps. And you? Your paper is complete?”
    “Yeah, I already emailed it to the instructor.” If she overslept or something happened to prevent her making it to class—well, she’d rather have the bases covered. Setting the laptop on the coffee table, she turned her phone over and checked it.
    “No messages from Mallory?”
    “No.” Dammit . Sleep wouldn’t be easy, not until she heard from her, but she didn’t know whether to call or not.
    “I can check with the driver who took her to the hospital. We instructed him to remain available in case she required further transportation.” George cleared away his things, adding them back to his bag. He always stacked things with precision, stored them neatly. A definite contrast to the haphazard state of her apartment.
    “Oh, I hate the feeling of spying on her.”
    “You only wish to know she is all right. This is concern and affection, not invasion of privacy.” The butterflies in her stomach all took flight at once. He really was gifted with words.
    “Would you mind checking with him?” She’d call her parents, but she didn’t want to distract them if they were with Mallory.
    “Not at all.” He pulled out his phone, dialed a number and waited. “Good evening, this is Grand Duke Andraste. I wanted to check on our guest, Miss Ward.” A pause, then, “Is she planning on staying the night?” He waited another beat. “See if you can bring them food, and, yes, please stay with them until she either decides to go to a hotel or home with the Novaks.” Concern seemed to tighten the lines around his eyes and Penny touched his arm. She couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation. He covered her hand with his. “Excellent. Yes, if you could make yourself available for as long as Miss Ward is there…? Yes, thank you.”
    “Well?” A fist squeezed her heart. They’d focused on homework—or at least she’d focused them on it—for the last several hours and the mild buzz of their earlier wine had worn off.
    “She’s at the