Tides of Love (Seaswept Seduction Series) (34 page)

Attention she could live without for the rest of her days.

She slipped her watch from her pocket and gave it a quick glance. Lifting her skirt above her ankles, she took the steps to the college of science at a run. She couldn't afford to arrive late. She had petitioned the dean for entrance to this class, a first-year biology course, and he had agreed, albeit reluctantly.

Hushed voices echoed off the high ceiling as she entered the auditorium. With an swish, the door closed. She glanced around, found Piper Campbell, the only other woman in class, and slid in beside her.

Piper leaned in. "I thought I was going to have to search the halls for you."

Elle loosened the string binding her books and pulled the biology text from the stack. "I had a meeting with Dr. Collins. He doesn't think I can handle his European Chronicles class. After four years of accepting female students, I can't believe this university still expects us to take nothing but literature and domestic economy. Simple bookkeeping is about the only class they'll approve without a fight."

"Collins?" Piper snapped her fingers. "Ah, yes, the one who wears a pince-nez and cracks his knuckles while he lectures." Her face tightened, a determined look Elle had come to know well. "Your duty is to go in there and score the highest mark, knock that dandified goat on his bottom."

Smothering a smile, Elle said, "No, no, Pip, I'll knock Professor Laurent on
his
bottom. When I signed up for his French course, I neglected to mention I spoke the language for the first ten years of my life."

At the front of the classroom, a loud clap silenced the hum of conversation. Professor Stanford, the youngest faculty member on campus, climbed three stairs to the platform and halted behind the lectern. Clearing his throat, he smoothed the thatch of dark hair on his head. "Students, I've made a slight adjustment to the syllabus, one I hope you will appreciate." He propped his elbows on the podium, where he would keep them the entire lecture. "I've asked a former colleague, a doctoral candidate teaching an advanced oceanography class at this university, to speak once a week on marine-science topics. I firmly believe an introductory class should present a wide variety of subjects to enable you to choose your next course with a clearer understanding of your interests and talents."

Professor Stanford announced his guest lecturer's name, and Elle's vision blurred. She gripped the edge of the desk, the kick of her heart all she heard.

Noah crossed the stage, his hand extended toward his colleague. He had a notebook—the
same
blasted notebook—tucked under one arm, the familiar leather satchel looped over a broad shoulder. She drew him in like a long, cool drink of water.

And promptly spit him out.

Close-cropped hair parted slightly off center. Jaw square and clean-shaven. Cheekbones prominent in a lean face. Lips parting to reveal straight, white teeth. His formal attire—striped trousers, black sack coat, gray waistcoat, and four-in-hand knotted over a butterfly collar—befit a scholar.

"My, my, will you look at him," Piper whispered, her normally barbed tone thick as honey.

Elle vaulted to her feet, her textbook thumping to the floor.

Noah glanced up from the lectern, his spectacles catching a glint of light, concern crinkling the skin around his eyes. He heeded the lapse, his features smoothing. "Miss"—he glanced at his notes, then back with a half smile—"Campbell or Beaumont?"

She could have killed him, dashed down the aisle and pummeled him with her bare fists. If every female student didn't suffer at the emotional outburst of another in this world where they were watched so closely, she would have.

"Beaumont, Marielle-Claire. Sorry to disturb,
Professor
Garrett," she said through gritted teeth, then smacked her bottom to the bench, the hard spank exactly what she deserved.

A responding spark of anger lit his gaze; his smile flattened into a thin, harsh line.

She glared. He nodded.

Across twelve rows and two dozen students, they waged war.

* * *

"Welcome aboard, Garrett. Hope you're settling in. Unpacking the modest library I seem to remember you carrying with you years ago? I'm sure the jars of sand and rusted anchors are on the way." Martin Stanford leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb of his guest lecturer's office, his brilliant blue eyes lit with impish humor his students would have been shocked to witness. That he was a man once known as a flagrant profligate by the nickname of Marty would have also come as a surprise. "By the bye, you want to tell me what the little scene was in the lecture hall?"

Noah crushed his fountain pen in his fist, cursing his earlier slip. Thank God only two people in the room had noticed. "Excuse me?" He raised his brow in virtuous arrogance, hoping the ruse would throw Marty off course.

Marty dropped into a chair and hooked the heels of his oxfords on the desk. Noah had never seen an educator alter his personality so dramatically before his students. "Come on, Noah. I may not know you well, after all, you weren't the most gregarious fellow in my residence hall, but I know you well enough. Quite a show. I actually believed Miss Beaumont was going to leap on the stage and claw your face to ribbons." He whistled, lips pursed. "Scared me, my friend."

Me, too,
Noah thought with pride and dismay, recalling the furious flush staining Elle's cheeks.

Marty rocked his leg in time to a personal tempo, patiently waiting. Finally, he said, "The silence is killing me. Fortunately, I don't have another class for two hours."

Noah sighed and dropped his pen to the desk, slipped his spectacles off, and buried the heels of his hands in his eyes. "She's a family friend." He rubbed hard, seeing stars. "Is that enough?"

"Not nearly."

"Sorry, but it will have to be."

Marty's feet hit the floor. "You contact me out of the clear blue, a terse telegraph asking me to bring you on for a semester
and
help you fund a research project on the coast. Admittedly, in light of your stellar reputation, your arrival provided somewhat of a coup for me, as I took all the credit for inviting you
and
for creating the research project." He waved his hand in dismissal. "No thanks are necessary. Glad to accommodate an old university chum. Without complaint, without question."

"Thank you. From the bottom of my heart." He replaced his spectacles, preparing to return to his work. He had to formulate a lesson plan for the oceanography course before four o'clock. And... until he figured out what to do about Elle, he wasn't clueing Martin Stanford in on anything.

Marty hummed a ditty and tapped his foot in time. "I'm Miss Beaumont's advisor. Worked with her a lot this semester."

Noah's head came up, greed overriding caution. He had missed her. In fact, he'd just about gone blind from missing her. Countless hours worrying and dreaming... and, a time or two, wishing he cursed her judgment as he cursed his. Damned helpless, he could not deny the impulse to ask, "Is she a good student? Is she happy?"

A wide, cat-got-the-cream smile crossed Marty's face. "Talkative, temperately disruptive on occasion. Slides in right under the bell, but notably intelligent and enthusiastic. In fact, she's impressed quite a few of the program's detractors, of which there are many at this institution. At any institution accepting female students, I would imagine. Dane Cossin—you remember him don't you, came down in '94—anyway, he asked her to assist in his World Geography class. Grade papers, take notes, those types of duties. For that old cuss, a weighty honor."

"Cossin?" Noah's hand shook, sputtering ink on his paper. "Wasn't there a rumor about a liaison with one of his students in Chicago?"

"Yes, but the scandal involved his son, Daniel. Mathematics department. Dane is seventy if he's a day."

Noah slumped back, wishing Marty would get the hell out of his office.

"Is she a former student?"

"No."

"Had to ask." Marty shrugged, the first sign of chagrin. "I didn't think so. Excluding formal functions, I've never seen you in the company of a woman. But, I had to ask, you understand. Being a female student's advisor carries a peremptorily higher level of responsibility than I am used to."

"Give me her class schedule, Marty."

His gaze sliced back, round and startled. "I can't do that."

"Yes, you can. If you don't, I'll find a way to get it myself. Make it easy on me, an old university chum."

Marty unfolded from the chair. "What
is
this?"

"I'm going to ask her to marry me. I'm quite certain that's all you need to know." There, he'd said it. As Caleb had predicted, the words hadn't stung much. Only a slight twinge of discomfiture.

The next time he said them, probably wouldn't sting at all.

"You're in love?" Marty stumbled.
"
You?
"

"What do you mean,
'
you
'?"

"I had it all mapped out for you, Garrett." Marty fluttered his fingers, not even bothering to hide his incredulity. "Living in a decrepit house surrounded by shark's teeth and driftwood, bundles of archaic netting. But a wife? And marriage?" His arm stilled as he stared past Noah's shoulder. "Come to think of it, I
did
see a lot of interested women flocking around you in Chicago, but you never gave them a second look. Actually, I'd started to wonder."

"I never gave them a second look because of
her.
"
I think I've loved her since I was twelve years old,
he added, too private a comment to make to anyone but Elle. Besides, it made him sound like a lovesick fool.

"Hell's bells, you must have a worse case of the sickness than I ever did."

"Have pity on me. I do." Noah slid a sheet of paper across the desk. "Either you give me her schedule or I follow her around campus, starting with your class on Wednesday morning." He tapped his pen. "Would the news you've invited a deranged marine biologist to teach in your department enhance your sterling reputation, Professor Stanford?"

Marty grabbed the pen and scribbled. "You're lucky I have a crack memory. Anyway, can't stand in the way of true love, now can I? I'm a romantic fellow, really. Always have been."

Noah linked his fingers over his twitching stomach muscles, hoping everything would be this easy.

* * *

Elle opened the door and peeked inside. She held her breath and crept along the deserted hallway. The two hours the library remained open after dinner seemed the safest time to study; she was certain Noah would eat in the faculty hall and stay for the customary cigar and brandy. In the day since he'd shown up in her science class, she had not caught a glimpse of him.

But she had looked.

Around every corner, beneath every shrub. Releasing a hysterical giggle, she wondered if his appearance at the university symbolized nothing more than the mercilessly ironic will of God.

She turned into a back room that smelled of dust and leather. A comforting scent she would always associate with learning. Maturing. Heaviness settled in her chest, and she searched her mind for the source. Ah, yes. Now, she would also associate the aroma with
him.

Settling at a table hidden behind shelves devoted to Roman history, she blinked the mist from her vision. Why did this have to happen? When she had finally decided leaving was for the best? She stared out a window overlooking the quadrangle, pine straw and horse dung littering the grassy expanse. The wind snatched at student's hats and pulled at the pages of their textbooks. Elle pressed her fingers to the pane, feeling detached and despondent, her heart and mind working against each other.

Merciful heavens, what could she do to forget him?

A dull screech signaled someone taking the other chair. She swiveled on the smooth seat, thinking to ask for privacy.

Noah. Elbows propped on the table, rolled cuffs hitting him high on his arms, wrinkled neckpiece twisted between his fingers. His hair mussed, his sun-kissed features angled in earnest regard. His lips softened into a half smile, faint and sorrowful, the corners tipped low. Hushed voices and heavy footfalls faded as his bewitching scent overwhelmed the stale one of aged parchment and learning—all crowding the air she breathed.

She almost lifted her hand to adjust his collar, dazed by the longing that set her heart beating like a drum. "What are you doing here?" she whispered.

He searched her face, considering. She saw a hint of sadness cross his, though his smile grew. "The best spot in the library. Quiet, an agreeable window."

She gripped the edge of the table and leaned in, close enough to see a tiny circle of stubble he had missed with his razor. "That's not at all what I meant, and—"

"What is this?" He dropped his neckpiece and used a slim finger to rotate her textbook.
"Basic Discussions in Biology.
I incorporated this text in a class once. Two years ago. What chapter does Marty have you reading?" When the silence lengthened, he said, "I could tutor you... if you need help."

A thousand memories crossed her mind. Carefree evenings spent at his mother's kitchen table, fireflies flitting outside the screen door, a scatter of pencils and paper, his hand guiding hers, gray eyes watchful and expectant. All the love she felt for him, absolute and powerful and unwelcome, flooded her being. Blind with panic, she grabbed the textbook and shoved her chair into the wall.

Reacting quickly, he grasped her wrist, her bones shifting beneath his fingers. "Don't run, sweet. Please, don't.
"
The sight of her fear—raw, gut-wrenching fear—eroded his control. "I've only seen fear on your face once before, when I blacked out in Caleb's skiff. That emotion was
for
me." He let her hand slip away. "It really hurts to be the cause."

She drew a breath and perched on the edge of the chair. Her throat trembled beneath her lace collar. Noah wanted to press his lips to her pulse, love her with his heart and body. Share his soul.

He would tell her everything this time; he would show her she was not alone.