A Poisoned Season by TASHA ALEXANDER Page A

bringing Colin with him.
    “What did you think of that dinner last night, Hargreaves?” Jeremy asked as I handed Colin a cup of tea. “I can’t remember when I’ve had such awful soup.”
    Colin laughed. “Lady Cranley would be horrified to hear you say that.”
    “Fear not. I told her that I’d never had its equal, and she took it as a compliment.”
    “You men are dreadful,” Ivy said. “I hate to abandon you to them, Emily, but I must go see to the invitations for my ball.”
    “When do you expect Margaret?” I asked Jeremy when Ivy had left.
    “I thought she’d be here by now,” he replied, refusing another cup of tea.
    “It’s not like her to be late,” I said. “I wish I had known she was meeting you here. I would have asked her to come early so that she could help me with my Greek.”
    “Ah, Emily and her Greek,” Jeremy said, smiling. “I’m glad someone can be entertained by such pursuits.”
    “I adore it and will not tolerate your teasing me about it.”
    “I’m not teasing,” he protested. “You know that I have been one of your greatest admirers ever since you proved you could run faster than me.”
    “It was a necessary skill, or I wouldn’t have been able to escape you when you chased me with—what was it—frogs?”
    “Mmmm, yes, frogs. Not one of my finer moments.”
    “I suppose I can forgive you your youthful exuberance.”
    “You are as generous now as you were when you were five,” Jeremy said.

    “What is troubling you with your Greek, Emily?” Colin asked, giving Jeremy a brief but pointed look. “Perhaps I can be of some use.”
    “Beware, Em. A Cambridge man is rarely of any use,” Jeremy said.
    “Mr. Moore has left me with a difficult passage, and I don’t quite understand the grammar,” I said.
    “Why don’t you show me?” Colin asked. I walked to my desk and pulled out a pile of papers and books.
    “Oh, dear,” Jeremy said. “Not the lexicon. That’s my cue to leave.”
    “But what about Margaret?” I asked.
    “She can’t expect me to wait all afternoon,” he said. “Tell her that she has wounded my heart and that I am unlikely to recover.”
    “I’ll pass along the message,” I said with a laugh, giving him my hand to kiss before he departed.
    “Margaret was never going to come,” Colin said when we were alone. “He’s using her as an excuse to see you.”
    “What gives you that idea? Have you been listening to idle gossip?”
    “Gossip? It takes nothing beyond ordinary powers of observation to notice that Bainbridge is captivated by you.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s more expert at avoiding romantic entanglements than even I am.”
    “You’re not back to avoiding romantic entanglements, are you?” he asked.
    “Not when they involve you.” How easy it was to lose myself in his eyes.
    “Show me your Greek,” he said. We bent over the text, and Colin carefully explained the grammar to me. His arm brushed against mine, and my heart quickened. He squeezed my hand and returned to the book before us. “The Greek Anthology is marvelous. One can find apassage appropriate for nearly any situation in it. This is one of my favorites.” He flipped through the pages and then read aloud, first in English, then in Greek. “‘I know that I am mortal and ephemeral; but when I scan the multitudinous circling spirals of the stars, no longer do I touch earth with my feet, but sit with Zeus himself, and take my fill of the ambrosial food of gods.’” The rhythmic sound of the ancient language always moved me, and I watched him closely as he spoke. When he finished he gently touched my face. “I think, Emily, that you are my ambrosia,” he said, almost in a whisper. I dropped my pencil.
    “I could grow rather fond of this method of study. Perhaps we should make a habit of it,” I said.
    “What would Mr. Moore say?”
    “If you would tutor me yourself, I’d have no need for Mr. Moore.”
    “There is much I long to teach you,”