squared her shoulders for battle, lifted her chin, and jerked the door open. She sailed into the room, her nose held so high that only a last-minute skidding of her heels kept her from hitting the wall.
A low, throaty chuckle reached her ears. "It's kind of a small room," said the well-modulated, masculine voice. "Lots of people hit the books at full steam. That's why the bookcase sags to the left."
Emma spun around. Digby was staring at her from behind a huge wooden desk. Behind him, a small leaded-glass window was open, and the last rays of a late afternoon sun bathed his face and glanced through his hair, making the messy brown strands appear gilded. Her first thought was, Lord, he's not bad-looking. Then she noticed his ridiculously happy smile, and the thought vanished.
"Miss Hatter," he said, "what a nice surprise."
"Hello Dr. Digby. Can I sit down?"
"I don't know. Can you?" At Emma's frown, Dig-
54
Kristin Hannah
by's grin expanded. "Sorry, professor humor. Please, do sit."
Emma glanced at the room's only chair and suppressed a shudder. Too bad she hadn't worn an older gown. She eased herself onto the chair's ripped seat. Horsehair stuffing fluttered to the floor. The smell of aged, dusty leather teased her nostrils. Perched precariously, she reminded herself why she was here. It was to ask a favor. At all costs, she had to be polite. Even to Dr. Dimwit.
Especially to Dr. Dimwit.
Slowly she raised her gaze, and found herself staring into his eager, bottle green eyes. He leaned forward,
/nodding in anticipation. She opened her mouth. Surprisingly, the words she'd practiced lodged in her throat. An unfamiliar pang of conscience struck her. Somehow, all of a sudden, outwitting him seemed like . . . well, like taking candy from a baby. Not a nice thing to do.
"I knew you'd come to wish me luck. I knew it! You couldn't stay away from what may be the most important quest of the century. You're a part of it, after all. A big part. Why, only yesterday I was saying to Dr. O'Hall—"
"Stop!" she said more harshly than she intended. At his surprised look, she swallowed hard. Her fingers twisted in her lap. Go easy, Em. Don't upset him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you, it's just that . .
. well . . ."
The eagerness in his bright eyes was replaced by concern. "Yes?"
She took a deep breath. "It's just that I need my money back."
He laughed. She shot him a sharp look, and his
THE ENCHANTMENT
55
laughter ground into an awkward silence. "You're kidding, right?"
"Dr. Digby, I'm sure you realize I'm not the kind of woman to joke about money."
His gaze hardened, turned assessing. For a split second Emma wondered if there wasn't actually a razor-sharp mind behind those guileless, friendly eyes. "Unfortunately for you, Miss Hatter, I doubt you're the kind of woman who jokes about anything."
She bit back the words And I thought you were stupid just in time. "Dr. Digby, I don't want to take up more of your valuable time than is necessary. There must be dozens of overprivileged minds just waiting to be shaped by your . . . eloquent teachings. So if we could discuss the matter of my ten thousand dollars ..."
He leaned back to study her. The sharp, whining squeak of tired springs accompanied his every move as he settled deeper into his broken-down chair. Never taking his eyes off her face, he brought his hands up behind his head and rested his neck in the bower of his laced fingers.
Emma shifted uncomfortably, ill at ease with his scrutiny. She was the one who usually studied people, and it was disconcerting to have the shoe on the other foot. It was all she could do not to snap at him. By sheer force of will she kept her lips compressed into a firm line. She wouldn't say anything shrewish yet—not until she had the check in her hot little hands. But by God, then she'd—
' 'I don't have the money."
Her mouth gaped. "What?"
"I don't have the—"
"I heard what you said," she said through gritted teeth.
A low, throaty chuckle reached her ears. "It's kind of a small room," said the well-modulated, masculine voice. "Lots of people hit the books at full steam. That's why the bookcase sags to the left."
Emma spun around. Digby was staring at her from behind a huge wooden desk. Behind him, a small leaded-glass window was open, and the last rays of a late afternoon sun bathed his face and glanced through his hair, making the messy brown strands appear gilded. Her first thought was, Lord, he's not bad-looking. Then she noticed his ridiculously happy smile, and the thought vanished.
"Miss Hatter," he said, "what a nice surprise."
"Hello Dr. Digby. Can I sit down?"
"I don't know. Can you?" At Emma's frown, Dig-
54
Kristin Hannah
by's grin expanded. "Sorry, professor humor. Please, do sit."
Emma glanced at the room's only chair and suppressed a shudder. Too bad she hadn't worn an older gown. She eased herself onto the chair's ripped seat. Horsehair stuffing fluttered to the floor. The smell of aged, dusty leather teased her nostrils. Perched precariously, she reminded herself why she was here. It was to ask a favor. At all costs, she had to be polite. Even to Dr. Dimwit.
Especially to Dr. Dimwit.
Slowly she raised her gaze, and found herself staring into his eager, bottle green eyes. He leaned forward,
/nodding in anticipation. She opened her mouth. Surprisingly, the words she'd practiced lodged in her throat. An unfamiliar pang of conscience struck her. Somehow, all of a sudden, outwitting him seemed like . . . well, like taking candy from a baby. Not a nice thing to do.
"I knew you'd come to wish me luck. I knew it! You couldn't stay away from what may be the most important quest of the century. You're a part of it, after all. A big part. Why, only yesterday I was saying to Dr. O'Hall—"
"Stop!" she said more harshly than she intended. At his surprised look, she swallowed hard. Her fingers twisted in her lap. Go easy, Em. Don't upset him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you, it's just that . .
. well . . ."
The eagerness in his bright eyes was replaced by concern. "Yes?"
She took a deep breath. "It's just that I need my money back."
He laughed. She shot him a sharp look, and his
THE ENCHANTMENT
55
laughter ground into an awkward silence. "You're kidding, right?"
"Dr. Digby, I'm sure you realize I'm not the kind of woman to joke about money."
His gaze hardened, turned assessing. For a split second Emma wondered if there wasn't actually a razor-sharp mind behind those guileless, friendly eyes. "Unfortunately for you, Miss Hatter, I doubt you're the kind of woman who jokes about anything."
She bit back the words And I thought you were stupid just in time. "Dr. Digby, I don't want to take up more of your valuable time than is necessary. There must be dozens of overprivileged minds just waiting to be shaped by your . . . eloquent teachings. So if we could discuss the matter of my ten thousand dollars ..."
He leaned back to study her. The sharp, whining squeak of tired springs accompanied his every move as he settled deeper into his broken-down chair. Never taking his eyes off her face, he brought his hands up behind his head and rested his neck in the bower of his laced fingers.
Emma shifted uncomfortably, ill at ease with his scrutiny. She was the one who usually studied people, and it was disconcerting to have the shoe on the other foot. It was all she could do not to snap at him. By sheer force of will she kept her lips compressed into a firm line. She wouldn't say anything shrewish yet—not until she had the check in her hot little hands. But by God, then she'd—
' 'I don't have the money."
Her mouth gaped. "What?"
"I don't have the—"
"I heard what you said," she said through gritted teeth.
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