Free Ecstasy Wears Emeralds by Renee Bernard Page B

protest, but then realized he was smiling. “To what do I owe your good humor, doctor?”
    â€œI made a social call on a good friend and his wife who both reminded me in their own ways that no matter what else may or may not be true—I did need an apprentice.” He sighed and managed a cheerful shrug. “Theo took me on a ride around the park, and when I found myself reliving the morning and losing my perspective . . .”
    She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “You murdered your hat and felt better?”
    â€œAmazingly refreshing and well worth it.” He smiled, nodding as he placed his bag next to the large ornate desk at the room’s center. Rowan sat on the edge of the desk to face her. “No more battles today, Miss Renshaw. Agreed?”
    She hesitated. He could have demanded that I behave from now on. He could have said, Never again. And I would have readily agreed. How can he be this kind after everything I said? “Agreed. No more battles.”
    â€œToday.”
    â€œWhy not require a more lasting truce?”
    His gaze never wavered. “It’s not in your nature, Miss Renshaw, and at least if you’re openly fighting me on the battlefield, I don’t have to worry about you cutting my throat in my sleep.”
    She gasped at the imagery but held her tongue.
    â€œBut I will request one more thing if you’re in a giving mood.”
    â€œAnd what is that?”
    â€œThat you use that clever head of yours and make up your own mind. A scientist would hardly make a summary judgment based on the word of someone else and not trust his own experiences and observations.”
    â€œYou want me to trust you.”
    â€œI want you to trust your own instincts. I want you to have proof before you start slinging libel in my direction, Miss Renshaw. Hearsay has its place, but not in this instance. Construct your own opinions and leave rumor out of it. If you decide that I am the worst of the worst, then so be it. But let a man demonstrate villainy before you call him one. Agreed?”
    â€œAgreed,” Gayle said, then she realized just how absorbed she’d been in their conversation and her quest for forgiveness as the library’s ambience struck her for the first time. “Oh, my!”
    Everything about the room was warm and inviting, with its floor-to-ceiling shelves of books and curios, every decoration placed almost at random until it was nearly impossible not to smile at the African masks leaning up against a statuette of the Roman goddess Ceres or the model of a Nordic ship that had decided to land next to an Arabian camel doll complete with bells.
    The chairs were all overstuffed and upholstered in leather or brocades so worn that it was hard to discern the original patterns, but every one invited a guest to linger without any regard to their posture. Even the floor was a wonderful eclectic mix of various small rugs woven in one country or another until the sight of a bearskin peeking out from behind Rowan’s desk came as no surprise.
    Where the rest of his home was orderly and elegant, the character of his private sanctuary was completely unique—and she wondered if this were a better glimpse of the man. “Your study is . . .”
    Rowan nodded. “Florence has finally forgiven me for her being the unlucky soul who has to dust in here. Mrs. Evans used to, but her arthritis isn’t improved by this particular exercise. It’s a jumble, but it’s a good jumble.”
    â€œWhere did all these wonderful things come from?” She circled to a curio cabinet filled with glass and ceramic figures blended in with strange pipes and antique devices.
    â€œThe men in my family for as long as anyone can remember have enjoyed traveling abroad for academic purposes. This little library was transformed into our odd trophy room and study. Other homes boast stags’ heads and lions and, well, as you