Oxford Whispers Page 3

  She stood in front of the bar. Aside from the barman, they were alone.

  “We always seem to meet while in need of a drink.”

  She jumped. Her cheeks took on a rosy flush, and he saw tension mounting inside her.

  “I’d like a hot chocolate,” she said to the barman, ignoring Rupert. “With some marshmallows?”

  The girl played hard to get, and it grated his already wounded ego. He placed his thumbs in his trouser pockets, trying to look relaxed.

  “We do only tea or coffee here,” the barman answered.

  “A tea then.”

  Rupert ordered a pint of Guinness. Then, to the American girl, “I hope you enjoyed the race.”

  “Not impressive for your team.” She didn’t avert her gaze anymore.

  “It’s your team, too.”

  She looked for change in her red purse but didn’t answer.

  He stopped her by putting his hand on hers. “Allow me. You didn’t let me treat you last time.” Her skin was cold, but its touch was enough to reignite the heat he had felt outside.

  She dropped her hands to her side, and her expression was blank when she thanked him. Rupert regretted invading her space. He didn’t want to scare her, but he had to know who this girl was. She was cute, but there was more to her.

  He paid for the drinks and gestured toward one of the oak tables next to a lattice window. She sat down opposite him.

  “Let me introduce myself properly this time. I’m Rupert Vance.” He extended his hand.

  “Madison LeBon.” Her hands were small, and her skin slid like silk against his.

  “So you’re at Christ Church too?” She let a small grin appear and brought the steaming cup up to her lips.

  A stereo started playing a pop tune, and Rupert resented the intrusion. He raised his voice. “Yes, but I haven’t been around much lately. I’ve had to miss a few tutorials because of training.” He massaged the crinkle lines near his eyes. But time to change the subject and learn more about the brunette sitting in front of him. “Where are you from in Louisiana?” He took a sip of Guinness, savoring its coffee-like flavor.

  “A small place near Baton Rouge.”

  Rupert watched her twist a silver ring on her index finger, turning it counterclockwise. Maybe she wasn’t as cool as she looked. The thought reassured him but not for long.

  The door of the pub had opened, letting a cold draft in, and his girlfriend made her entrance. After her eyes had swept the room, Harriet stared at him and his companion. Her anger was splashed all over her face when she strutted toward their corner table.

  By the time she sat next to him, she had managed to disguise her feeling.

  “My darling, I’m so sorry. I missed the race,” she purred.

  Annoyed by her arrival more than he had been by the loud music, Rupert introduced the girls to each other and added, “Madison is studying at Christ Church. She comes from the States.”

  “I see.” Harriet touched his rumpled hair, trumpeting her ownership. “Maybe you can share stories about that horrible American tutor of yours.”

  Rupert interrupted. “McCain isn’t worth talking about.”

  Madison folded her arms across her chest. “You’re talking about Jackson McCain?”

  “Yes, he wasn’t very happy about my missing a few tutorials. The guy is a moron.”

  “Jackson McCain is a great guy,” she snapped. “He’s worked hard to be where he is.”

  “Calm down. I have the right not to like the man.”

  Rupert held his hands in a peacemaking gesture, but she was on her feet and had grabbed her tea. “Anyway, given today’s bad performance, it wasn’t worth missing his tutorials.”

  Ouch, that hurts …

  And like that, she left the pub.

  “Is that girl for real?” Harriet asked, her lips pursed. As always she was groomed from head to toe and wore that fur coat Rupert loathed.

  Rupert clenched his jaw. He wasn’t used to being lectured to by a stranger, or by anybody. Except his old man, and Coach Bartlett.

  “She’s a nerd.”

  “Maybe, but a nerd with a serious crush.” His girlfriend gripped his shoulder while stroking his hip.

  Rupert wanted to shake her smothering hands off his body. “We just met. I’m not that irresistible.”

  Harriet burst out laughing. “Not on you, you idiot. On this McCain chap.”

  “Good luck to her. They’ll be a perfect match in Geek Land.” That was the best retort he could think of. He grabbed his beer and finished it in one quaff.

  Nobody had ever stuck up for him, not the way Madison had for McCain. Maybe nobody ever would.

  And that sucked.

  Majorly.

  Chapter 6

  MADISON HAD A PLAN. She would play the sleuth and investigate Sarah, or whatever the name of the girl in the painting was. But one thing was damned certain. She would use her brain, not any magical powers inherited from the LeBon female line.

  Doctor McCain was the first step in solving the mystery of The Wounded Cavalier. Given his fascinated look during his tutorial, he had to know something about the painting, more than Wikipedia had already told Madison.

  She was on her way out from Christ Church to see him when a woman stepped onto the stone path underneath Great Tom. Startled, Madison jumped.

  “Miss LeBon, I’d like a word with you.”

  Madison tried to smile at the senior censor. “Yes, ma’am.” With Hillary Lindsey, she enjoyed going Southern. God knew she had worked hard to hide her drawl at Yale.

  “The other day you sent me an email regarding the college job center,” the bony woman said over her thin-rimmed glasses. “I thought you should know it isn’t normal in this country for students to work during term time. Opportunities for paid employment are very limited.”

  Madison wanted to snap back. The woman was about as mean as a gator fighting a bull. Normal or not, Madison needed to make a few bucks for her plane ticket back to the States for Christmas.

  “I’m sure Doctor McCain will be happy to give you more information,” Miss Lindsey continued. “After all, he’s been taking good care of you.” With a smile bordering on a sneer, she strolled away.

  As soon as she had passed a safe distance, Madison rolled her eyes and headed to the Faculty of History building on George Street. She checked her watch. Her pulse quickened. She was going to be late, and Madison was never late.

  Zigzagging between the pedestrians, she sprinted through St. Aldate’s and Cornmarket Street, rushing to cross the roads. When she climbed the steep circular staircase leading to Doctor McCain’s office, she was out of breath but on time. Yeah.

  A man descended quickly and brushed past Madison. Her books spilled from her arms, and she almost cascaded right down the steps.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled and cursed herself for her habit of always apologizing, even when she wasn’t at fault. She looked up at the tall guy. And wouldn’t you know, it was the last person she wanted to see. Judging by the pissed-off look in his almond-shaped eyes, Earl Boy wasn’t used to life getting in his way.

  Tough.

  Rupert walked down a few steps and helped pick up her scattered books.

  After handing them back to her, he answered in his now-familiar, low-toned, freaking sexy voice. “No problem. We’re going to bump into each other more often anyway, or so it seems.”

  His eyes lingered over her and their expression softened. Madison could have sworn he shook himself. After a stiff nod, he turned his back and disappeared at the turn of the staircase, giving Madison one last glimpse of his lean silhouette.

  What did he mean by that? She shook her shoulders, determined not to spend even one more second thinking of Rupert Vance. Climbing the rest of the stairs, she composed herself and focused on the coming meeting.

  On the second floor she knocked at her tutor’s door. Getting no reaction, she was about to knock again when the door opened to reveal Jackson McCain.

&n
bsp; He flashed his megawhite smile. “Madison LeBon, welcome.” His voice had a rich velvet tone.

  “I hope I’m not late.”

  “Not at all. I just finished with another student.” He frowned and signaled for her to enter his packed office.

  Could the other student have been Rupert?

  McCain’s desk, with mountains of books piled on top of it, stood in front of a French window that overlooked George Street. He lowered himself into a leather chair on the other side of the desk and asked Madison to take a seat.

  “I hope you had time to settle.”

  The professor’s hazel eyes provoked a rush of heat throughout her body. The dude was totally gorgeous, in a sexy-but-reliable kind of way. Madison approved of it. Very much.

  “Miss Lindsey told me you helped with finding me such nice accommodations. I’m very grateful.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure Hillary made you feel right at home. She’s a bit of a cliché, but apart from that she’s very efficient and runs the place like a Swiss clock.”

  Understatement of the year …

  Today’s priority should have been kicking off her investigation. But, after talking to the senior censor, securing her financial future had to come first.

  “She told me that it’s very rare for students to work during their studies here.”

  “There aren’t that many jobs available here for students. It’s not like the U.S.”

  Doctor McCain looked absorbed in his own thoughts and then leaned over the desk. “Listen, I might have a way to sort out this problem. I’ve started researching a book. The subject is close to your heart as it’s about the English Civil War, but I intend to approach it with history of art in mind. I’ve heard so many good things about you from your teachers at Yale, I’m sure I could use your help finding some source material.”

  Good heavenly days. A-dieu boring barista job. Bon-jour working for the hottest Ph.D. ever to walk the earth…

  “It won’t be well paid,” he warned, “but it should match what you would get in more trivial work.”

  Madison didn’t hesitate and accepted the offer. Confident in her good start, she pushed her luck.

  “Will The Wounded Cavalier be part of the book?” She could have sworn Jackson’s expression froze.

  He overcame his reaction and answered, “That’s a very good idea. This painting means a lot to me. I don’t know why. Since the first time I saw it, I’ve been almost haunted by it.”

  Eeck… Probably not in the same way as Madison was.

  His gaze seemed lost for a moment, fixed on a faraway point behind her. “The lovers seem very much like the Romeo and Juliet of their time. They probably were …” He halted, leaving the sentence unfinished.

  She prompted him to continue. “I wonder if Shakespeare Burton drew inspiration from real people.” She didn’t wonder. She had to know.

  “He was a Pre-Raphaelite, a group of English painters in the mid-nineteenth century.” He tossed off the answer—without answering her question—then met her gaze, the haunting expression on his face fading. “So we have a deal.” He came back to his proposition and named a wage that made her cringe. It was half of what she had hoped for.

  “Yes.” She might be able to earn enough to return home over the holidays.

  Jackson—she supposed she could call her new boss that—nodded and smiled. “Great. Let’s celebrate this new collaboration with a decent lunch. My treat.”

  He stood and when she nodded, he grabbed a brown jacket hung behind his office door.

  When Madison reached the doorstep, her right hand brushed Jackson’s by accident. The world opened underneath her feet. Thunder rolled and echoed between her ears. An energy wave empowered every cell of her body, then gathered in the pit of her stomach, ready to strike.

  Jackson took a step back …

  … And Madison crashed back on Planet Earth.

  Air reached her lungs, giving back to her spatial awareness and connection to the here and now.

  What the hell was that?

  “Jeez, that was a helluva of static electricity,” he laughed.

  But the professor recovered and signaled for her to take the lead out of his office.

  She stumbled, rather than walked, into the corridor. They had reached the top of the steep staircase when Jackson stopped and turned toward Madison. Maybe he was going to mention the super-weird episode of ten seconds ago.

  “I know the perfect starting point for your research on the book. Magway Manor.”

  “Okay …” She had no idea what this place was but figured she shouldn’t appear clueless after her promotion to “research assistant.”

  “I can arrange a visit. Vance owes me that.”

  That was not the name she wanted to hear. The morning had gone so well right up until now, or rather until that “Superman” moment.

  “Rupert Vance?” She kept a poker face.

  “He’s your study partner, by the way, and his family owns the estate.”

  Rupert as her study partner? Nice joke. No way she could concentrate on homework if she had to be in the same room as he. Not even worth mentioning sitting next to him, breathing the same air, staring at his lips …

  She understood now what that English douchebag had been talking about.

  Jackson must have noticed her confusion. “I’m not the one deciding on the partnerships. The faculty does. But if it’s a problem for you, I can have a word. Vance is a bit of a challenge to deal with.”

  “No. I have no problem with him.”

  As much as she dreaded having to speak to that jerk again, deep inside her stomach rumbled a little tremor of excitement.

  Chapter 7

  YOU COULD BE obsessed with a really famous painting instead. I don’t know, the Mona Lisa maybe, or something well known.” Pippa followed close behind Madison, running rather than walking, her flame-colored curls bouncing in the strong November wind.

  Pippa looked for somewhere to discard the plastic teacup she had taken away from the Queen’s Lane, their favorite coffee shop. The world-famous Bodleian Library forbade drinks of all kinds within its premises.

  “Nobody seems to have heard of or been slightly interested in this Shakespeare Burton of yours.”

  Madison wanted to know every detail of his life and understand his connection to Sarah and the Cavalier. If she could find that in the library, a lot of things would make sense.

  Pippa finally found a bin and busied herself getting rid of the cup, along with half the contents of her bursting handbag. Madison, however, had no intention of slowing down and hardly spared a backward glance for her friend.

  “We have less than an hour before the library closes. Let’s get on with it, please.” She gestured for Pippa to hurry up, and two seconds later they entered the Old School’s Quadrangle through the Great Gate. They passed a wooden lodge where a couple of tourists waited in line for tickets for a tour of the largest and oldest working library in the country.

  The Old Bodleian itself stood on the other side of the quadrangle. Even in her headlong rush, Madison wasn’t blasé enough to give the view a mere fleeting look. She stopped to admire the four ancient schools that each occupied one side of the square.

  “I thought we were in a hurry …” Pippa was now ahead of her. Madison shook herself and stepped into the Old Library.

  “Jeez, you’re on a mission.” Pippa whistled.

  After the security check they walked through the ground floor, occupied by offices, and climbed the stairs to the first floor and the Lower Reading Room. Madison struggled to take in the sheer size, the absolute silence, the stillness of the place. She could hardly hear the sound of pages being turned carefully. Around her, the students slid rather than walked, and she breathed in the dusty, acrid scent of well-worn books.

  With Pippa by her side, Madison went straight to the reserve desk in the center of the Reading Room. An hour earlier they had ordered ten books—the maximum number permitted—using t
he automated stack-request system.

  Once they had collected the pre-ordered books, Pippa chose a corner in the Greek Room, occupied by only one other student. In a few efficient moves, Madison set up her laptop using one of the power sockets that equipped all the reader seats, and shared the books with Pippa.

  The redhead just managed to cover her mouth and hide a wide yawn. “Let’s find out if Monsieur Burton had any dirty secrets,” she said, her wide, full-lipped mouth betraying a lack of enthusiasm. “I hope it’s more exciting than med school. I could change my course and become a historian.” She seemed to reflect for a few seconds, then shook her head. “No, more guys study medicine.”

  Madison plunged into the life and work of the not-so-famous William Shakespeare Burton.

  He had been born in 1824 and died at the time of the First World War, having been dogged by lack of recognition for most of his life. The Wounded Cavalier was mostly what he was remembered for. Nothing Madison hadn’t already read online.

  She kept flicking through the pages, from one book to the other, searching for one single piece of relevant information. Increasingly frustrated, she slouched in her chair and started drumming on the table with her fingers, oblivious of the silence around her.

  “Stop, you’re driving me crazy.” Pippa grabbed her fidgeting hand across the table. “Do you want to hear a little more about these guys, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood?”

  Madison tilted her head to one side.

  “So, apparently, they were a group of British painters who banded together in 1848 in reaction against, I quote, ‘the unimaginative and artificial historical painting of the Royal Academy,’ whatever …”

  Pippa paged back a way and continued. “Rossetti, Hunt and John Everett Millais were the leaders. I’ve heard of the last one.” She gave herself a light pat on her shoulder. She looked again at Madison, who prompted her to find something more noteworthy.

  The library closing routine had just begun with staff shutting windows and moving ladders away from the aisles.

  “We have only half an hour left,” Pippa warned.