When the door closed behind Dr. Fenton, Petra leaned back into the large armchair she'd been seated in while he'd been strapping some sort of a plastic Spanish boot. After the supper of tomato soup - and she was still internally laughing at the significance of the menu - and the painkillers Dr. Fenton had supplied her with, she was feeling rather comfortable, despite being somewhat of a Captain Ahab.
The door opened again, and the Titan walked into the room with a tea tray.
"I've called Albert, he'll drive you to Fenton's surgery tomorrow," he rumbled setting the tray on a small table near her.
"Who's Albert?" Petra asked absent-mindedly, preoccupied with choosing a biscuit.
Interestingly enough, today's assortment was much more attractive than on the day she'd intruded on him in his library. Perhaps her proclivity for sweets had been noted then. Petra bit into a chocolate-covered shortbread.
"The chauffeur," the Titan answered.
He stood, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. They were dark grey, of impeccable cut, and became him immensely. He must have changed while Dr. Fenton was fussing around her injured extremity. Who knew the Titan could look just as elegant in a soft grey jumper as in one of his bespoke three-piece suits? In actuality, Petra did know: she'd seen him in casual attire, once again when she'd finally gotten access to his library.
Petra poured herself tea and threw him an inquiring look. He shook his head.
"Will this become a habit of yours now?" he asked.
Petra picked up the second biscuit, bit a half, and hummed questioningly with her mouth full.
"You endangering yourself due to some sort of an investigation, and me saving you?" he clarified.
Petra swallowed the sweet, sipped her tea, and cocked her head. The Titan looked just as inexpressive as always. She hadn't the foggiest what he was thinking. Petra shrugged.
"Most likely. And if you think of it--" She shook the third biscuit at him. "You didn't exactly save me last time. I simply panicked and probably imagined being followed."
"You haven't imagined being run over by a car," he pointed out.
"No, I don't think I have." Petra giggled. "Unless I subconsciously tried to avoid our dinner."
"You could have simply refused me," he said and sat down in the armchair across the table.
"Does this ever happen - someone refusing you?" Petra asked with a snort.
"Hardly, I have to admit." The right corner of his lips curled up. "But again, you hardly ever comply with the usual rules of engagement, Dr. Nenadovich."
She simply loved his baritone. And to think of it, she'd used to think he was boring!
"I don't mind complying with rules," she said pensively, finishing the fifth biscuit. "Generally. If they make sense."
"If they make sense to you, I imagine," the Titan remarked.
Petra shrugged again.
"So, shall I lock you in a tower to keep you out of harm's way?" he asked.
She might have been imagining, but it seemed his voice dropped and wrapped around 'lock' like a velvet shawl - or a reticulated python. Perhaps, Oakby Snr wasn't boring at all! Perhaps, he was even... naughty!
"Do you have a tower?" Petra asked with sincere curiosity.
"The Old Fire Station belongs to me. I could furnish you a cell in the hose tower."
"Consider your king of the castle attitude acknowledged." Petra saluted him with her cup.
"I do hate the thought of your assailant succeeding next time, Petra," he suddenly said in a low voice, and she froze with her brew lifted to her lips.
His face was - almost - expressing a shadow of emotion. Petra wondered what it was like to live so firmly "encased" - to show no emotion, nor to admit to having any.
"How much?" she asked.
"Pardon?" His right eyebrow jumped up hardly noticeably.
"How much would you hate if I was run over by a car? On a scale of 0 to 10."
The Titan smirked. It was an excellent smirk, Petra thought. Very Cary Grant, she added in her mind.
"Nine and a half," he answered.
Petra fake gasped in shock, letting the half-eaten sixth biscuit flop on the saucer on her lap out of her as if weakened fingers.
"What could I have possibly done to displease you?!" She pressed her hand to her chest. "You've taken off half a point!"
A low velvet chuckle rolled in his throat.
"You've pressed your nose to my window."
Petra flailed her hands in the air. "I wanted your Homer!"
"You could've just asked."
"I did!" she exclaimed.
"Nicely," the Titan purred. "You could've asked nicely."
"But I am nice," Petra said and picked up her biscuit again. She finished it with a crunch.
"That you are," he said, and then sharply leaned, picked up her cup, and lifted it to his lips.
Petra froze with the seventh biscuit between her teeth. She'd been right: his neck - and the way his throat moved when he drank - was most attractive.
"But I am not," he said lowering the cup. "I assume, I'm everything you despise: a snob, an elitist, and a terrible father."
Petra studied his face.
"Are you bringing up your fatherhood because of my ring to Ms. Fox?"
"Yes, and you have mentioned my alleged inadequacy as a parent several times before in our previous interactions," he said. "You've had the audacity to blame my daughter's unfortunate marriage on me, if memory serves me right."
"Hit a nerve there, didn't I?" Petra said and then gave him a soft smile. "I think if you were hopeless, my remarks wouldn't bother you that much."
"I am rather comfortable in my ways, Dr. Nenadovich," he said coldly. Petra was going to retort, when he added in a quiet voice, "Perhaps they simply bother me because they come from you."
Not sure how to interpret, Petra muttered, "I feel rather special."
"You are," he deadpanned.
Their eyes met, and suddenly Petra felt rather jolly.
"You're 'lawyering' me," she said with a giggle. "You're weaving a net of flirty and seemingly emotional remarks mixed with you admitting your flaws, so I have no way to later claim damage from them. There's a barney here, though."
"What is it?" he asked in a disinterested voice.
Petra wondered if she was getting better at reading him. He seemed somewhat tense to her right now, his back straight and rigid.
"I'm not thick," she said and grinned at him. "I'm also not at all interested in you weaving sophisms and trying to manipulate me emotionally. It's almost insulting that you think I'll swoon at your Bengal tiger purr. Nor am I at all impressed by your 'master and commander' charm. I know you're a powerful man, but that's not why I'm here. Well, I'm here right now because someone tried to kill me and I broke my leg; but what I meant to say, your wealth and your status in the society weren't the reasons why I'd accepted your dinner invitation."
"Why did you then?" he asked.
"I find your willpower and your talents attractive," Petra said with another shrug. "And I enjoy your sense of humour. Your looks don't disagree with me." She laughed. "To say the least. And you are charismatic when you aren't trying to show off your flaws. I'd rather see a man accept his shortcomings and work on them, and I think you're capable of it."
"Do you expect me to 'become a better man' to impress you?" His tone was sarcastic.
"God forbid!" Petra exclaimed with sincere horror. "I don't expect anything from people around me. You are what and who you are. And your life is your own. And we will either have a great time together, or we will go our separate ways."
He gave her a pensive glance. Petra poured more tea in their cup and took a small sip.
"Admittedly, none of my 'emotional remarks' was a lie, Dr. Nenadovich," he started calmly. "Your opinion of me matters to me. And I am concerned that my flaws would... disenchant you."
"But I am aware of them, Mr. Oakby," she pointed out. "It's not like it's news to me you have no proper relationship with your children, or that you're a snob. But, firstly, it doesn't concern me. They are your choices. And secondly, I'm enchanted with all of you, snobbism and elitism included. They're not fully uncalled for. You are more intelligent, educated, and driven than most."
"I have to say, your generosity with compliments makes your insults almost tolerable," he said with a small smile.
"It's not an insult if it's true," Petra said and finished the second cup of tea.
"It's still an insult if you aim to wound," he said.
Was that what it was then, Petra wondered. Was the Titan simply avoiding being vulnerable to emotional pain? That would be, of course, the preferable scenario - as opposed to him being the cold heartless bastard he tried to appear.
"I think we should try to... have dinner and see if I'm appalled by your views while you're insulted by my insurgence," she said.
"Let's," he said and gave her a mannerly nod, almost a small bow. "Except we should probably have breakfast since it's late and you need rest. I've asked Fellowes to prepare a room for you. Your clothes will be cleaned by morning."
He rose and stepped to her armchair.
"Should I carry you again?" he asked.
Petra laughed.
"As romantic as it sounds, I think I'll just hop."
He chuckled.
"I'll need your support of course," she said and stretched her hands to him.
He pulled her up gently, and suddenly she was standing very close to him. Petra tingled head to toe. It was a half forgotten excitement from her youth: a male looking down at her, his eyes brilliant, his gaze dropping to her lips.
"I consider it fortuitous to have found you pressing your nose to my window," the Titan whispered, and Petra smiled at him widely.
"Is this your way to say that you find me and my insolent manners enchanting as well?"
"Resolutely so," he murmured and leaned to her lips.
What a posh poppet, Petra thought - and then all thoughts vacated her enchanted mind.