One Magic Moment(48)
Author: Lynn Kurland

 

“I could drive.”

 

“Well,” he managed, “you do have the keys.”

 

She looked at his car, then frowned. “How do I get in?”

 

“The saints preserve me,” he muttered under his breath, in French. He took the keys, hit the unlock button, then opened the door for her. He paused. “Is your hall on fire?”

 

“Nope,” she said cheerfully.

 

“Then you lied?”

 

She took the keys from his hand and sat down in the driver’s seat. “I thought you might be mobbed by reenactment nutters if I didn’t get you out of there posthaste.” She smiled. “Go get in the other side, sport. I’ll get you home in one piece.”

 

“Sport,” he repeated in disbelief.

 

She pulled the door shut and looked for her lock to keep him from pulling her back out. It wasn’t necessary. John seemed quite willing to let her have control. It was a first, so she fully intended to enjoy it while it lasted.

 

She looked over all the bells and whistles until he put himself into the passenger seat. He sat back and let out a long, slow breath.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“No problem. Where’s the ignition?”

 

He made a noise that was something between a laugh and a groan. He apparently settled for something that sounded remarkably like a prayer before he reached around the steering wheel and pointed.

 

“Thanks,” Tess said brightly. “I’ll bet this thing goes really fast.”

 

He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “The saints preserve me.”

 

“You already said that before we got in.”

 

“I meant it twice.”

 

She decided again that silence was golden at the moment, so she kept her mouth shut and concentrated on getting his car out of the car park without scratching it. She was extremely grateful that she’d driven in the UK long enough to not have to think about what side of the road to drive on. Trying to keep a half million dollars of machine going without killing it or speeding was going to take everything she had.

 

It did indeed go very fast, and there were a few dodgy moments at first when she wasn’t altogether certain she hadn’t made a grave mistake considering how touchy the gas was and how well it zipped along in just first gear. She glanced over at John while waiting at a roundabout light. His eyes were closed and he looked peaceful enough, but his left hand was clenched where it rested on his thigh.

 

She supposed she could predict how the rest of the afternoon would go. Despite how chummy he’d been over the past few days, he would draw silence around him like a cloak, drop her off at her castle, then tell her that they shouldn’t see each other again for at least a week—though she imagined that now he might up the ante to at least a fortnight.

 

She honestly couldn’t blame him.

 

She spent a good half hour dividing her time between making sure she didn’t wreck his car and considering potential conversational topics. If she’d asked him where he’d learned that quite effective swordplay, he probably would ignore her. Then again, if she didn’t ask him where he’d learned that skill, he would probably wonder why she wasn’t asking him any questions and that might lead to all sorts of speculation about things she absolutely didn’t want to discuss yet.

 

Then again, if she opted for the first and then kept her mouth shut when he ignored her, he might actually not run away, which she was finding she didn’t particularly want him to do.

 

She finally decided that it was entirely possible she thought too much.

 

“You gave up your meeting,” he said, finally.

 

“I’ll reschedule,” she said, keeping her eyes glued to the road.

 

He took a careful breath. “You can ask now.”

 

“Ask what—”

 

“Watch the road,” he said in a rather calm tone considering that she almost sent his car skidding by braking a little too hard. “You can ask whatever you want to ask me. You were thinking so loudly it was keeping me awake.”

 

She shrugged. “I was just wondering where you learned to do that.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“That thing with the sword.”

 

He was very still. “My father taught me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“To keep me out of trouble, I imagine.”

 

She imagined Rhys de Piaget had taught John swordplay not only just to keep him out of trouble. She also suspected John had had a sword in his hands from the time he could walk. She had to concentrate for another few minutes to get them on the motorway, then she let out her breath slowly. “Who taught your father?”

 

“Not his father, surely,” John said with a sigh. “Actually, it is a long, convoluted tale that isn’t very interesting.” He paused. “I actually never thought to ask him where he’d learned such an obscure and useless skill.”

 

“I think it’s an interesting thing to know how to do,” she offered.

 

“Hmmm.”

 

“I think that little guy was about to kiss you,” she added, “or at least kidnap you and take you to dinner in thanks for his life.”

 

“I had other plans.”

 

“Did you?” she asked. “Football on the telly tonight?”

 

“Spoons and saucepans in your kitchen—bloody hell, Tess,” he blurted out, “watch the road!”

 

“Sorry.” She didn’t even dare look at him. “You’re the one who wanted me to drive.”

 

“What was I thinking?”

 

“I don’t know,” she said weakly. “What were you thinking?”

 

“That I was too keyed up to do it properly,” he said, “but now I’m beginning to wonder if I’d be less keyed up if I were behind the wheel.”

 

“I could pull over.”

 

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, as if he were deliberately calming himself down. He shifted a bit in his seat. “But if you do, then how could I admire you so freely?”

 

She shot him a look. “Stop that.”

 

He smiled.

 

“Stop that,” she said, with feeling, “or I really will plow your car into something. Growl at me until we get back to less busy roads.”