It had been exactly twenty-six hours since Lady Duncaster had made her remark about the brandy. Standing in the empty parlor, Rachel observed the time. Midnight. She expelled a breath and approached the side table. The lantern she’d brought illuminated the room to satisfaction – enough for her to see what was in each bottle and crystal decanter. The various shades of amber liquid winked at her through the shadows. This had to be the silliest idea to have ever swamped her mind. But ever since she’d been challenged on a scientific basis, it had been impossible for her to ignore the possibility for an experiment.

The test was simple, really. She would have a sip from each bottle and write down her opinions in the notebook she’d brought along. Included therein would be flavors, sweetness, acidity, and so forth. Perhaps she’d even find something that stood out and be able to tell Lady Duncaster how well a particular spirit agreed with her. A smile filled her lips at that idea. She picked up the first bottle and poured a small measure into a glass. She took a sip, wincing in response to the strong flavor but forcing herself to swirl it around her mouth.

Hmm…

Not one of the best she’d ever had, but perhaps it wasn’t too awful either. It was certainly spicy. She detected a subtle hint of fruit and caramel. Setting the glass aside, she jotted that down beside the name of the brandy she’d selected, a Courvoisier & Curlier from 1789. Next, was a Hennessy Cognac. She picked a clean glass and tasted this as well.

Oh!

It was bolder, perhaps even a bit warmer and with…what was that? The flavor eluded her even as it surprised her with its uniqueness. To her consternation, she had to admit it might be the best she’d ever tried. So she took another sip before moving on to the next. Five more bottles followed and then three carafes, two of which contained different brands of sherry. She liked the sweet one the best because it rolled down her throat like honey. Mmmm. Perhaps one more sip of that one as well…

“Lady Rachel?”

She clasped the carafe and spun toward the voice that had spoken. “Belgrave?” He stood a short distance away, which meant she had not heard him enter the room. “What on earth are you doing here?” Blinking, she tried to clear her head. It was starting to feel slightly fuzzy.

“I couldn’t sleep and thought I’d get a drink, but I see you’ve beaten me to it.”

“Hmm? Oh! You mean this?” She lifted the carafe she was holding. He raised his eyebrows and gave her a curious look that made her feel oddly warm all over. “This is just an experiment.”

“In how to get foxed?”

“I am not…” She pushed out a breath and returned the carafe to its spot on the sideboard. “I know I had a brandy with you in the library, but that was mostly to see how you might react. I don’t really make a habit of drinking on a regularly basis.”

“Unless Lady Duncaster decides to goad you.”

“She means well, you know, and she was right to push me a little. Besides, I find the flavors interesting. I never considered how different they could be. It’s all tasted the same to me until now, when I’m actually focusing on the flavors.”

He shrugged, then stepped forward and picked up a glass. He poured a measure of the Hennessy and raised it to his lips, drinking while his gaze lingered on her. “Did you try this one?” he asked, holding the glass toward her.

“I…I…Yes.” She stared at the glass and at the large hand holding it. “It was probably my favorite, besides the sherry in that carafe over there. It was very good as well.”

“Feel free to have a bit more if you like.” He nudged the glass forward a tiny bit more.

Her mouth went dry. “But you’ve just drunk from there,” she blurted without even thinking.

The edge of his mouth lifted. “I’m not diseased, if that’s your concern.”

“No. Of course you’re not.” Heavens, her heart was beating so fast she feared it might suddenly fly from her chest. “I merely think it might be rather inappropriate.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” He remained where he was, completely still, his eyes searching hers until she fairly trembled beneath his gaze. Then, without warning, he turned away and strode across to the wall where Fiona and Chadwick had entered earlier. He set his palm against it and quietly asked, “Can you imagine finding the treasure while we’re here?”

“Doing so does become more likely as we eliminate places during our search. I think Fiona’s assessment of where to look is logical.”

“You mean the ground floor area surrounding the foyer?”

She gave a concrete nod. “The other parts of the house have already been explored without success, and according to everyone else’s accounts, not even the secret passageways have offered any clues.”

“They also haven’t been fully investigated.” He raised his glass to his lips and sipped his brandy.

Their eyes met, and she felt her chest tighten. Lord, he was handsome. And when he looked at her like that, as though he held some decadent secret in the confines of his mind, she could practically feel herself melt in response. Jamming her knees together, she set her mind on remaining upright. She was not some silly female prone to swooning or any other ailments a weaker-minded individual might suffer when in the presence of such powerful masculinity.

“True.”

The word did not carry the sort of conciseness she would have liked. Instead, it came out a whisper. Belgrave smiled as though hearing her every thought. Annoying man. Breaking eye contact, she snatched up one of the glasses she’d used earlier and poured herself some more Hennessy. It instantly calmed her nerves the moment she drank, and she finally understood the pleasure in such indulgence.

“Perhaps we could continue to search for it together?”

The question interrupted the momentary escape from reality the drink had offered. It reminded Rachel she wasn’t alone. She turned toward Belgrave. Casually reclining against the backrest of the chair he now occupied, he kept his gaze firmly on her while he cradled his glass between his hands. His entire demeanor prompted a question that demanded an answer. “What is it you want from me, my lord?” He’d mentioned marriage one evening at dinner, but surely that had been a joke.

His eyes narrowed a fraction, and Rachel could not dismiss the change in his expression. It was almost as though he was caught between pain and pleasure. “Everything,” he murmured.

She stilled. Surely she must have misheard him. “I beg your pardon?”

He flinched, appeared to collect himself as he straightened his posture, and cleared his throat. “Companionship, for starters.” Looking unsatisfied with his comment, he set his glass aside and stood. “Might I ask you a personal question, my lady?”

“That depends,” she hedged. He was coming toward her now, and she suddenly felt inclined to both flee and fling herself in his direction. How utterly absurd!

“What I wish to know,” he said, stopping before her, “is what you truly desire from life.” He leaned into her ever so slightly, crowding her with his much larger size and making her feel more vulnerable than ever before.

She drew a breath. “I…” What did she desire, besides the obvious? She chose to lead with that. “To make a scientific discovery and to be acknowledged for it, in spite of my sex.”

“As long as your determination does not waver, I see no reason why you cannot accomplish such a feat. But that was not what I was referring to.”

“No?” She could barely breathe, he was so close.

“I’m aware of your academic dreams. You mentioned them the first night at supper, and we have spoken of them at great length since.”

“So then?” What else could there possibly be?

He tilted his head, enough to allow the light to shift across the side of his face. “What about a husband, children, a family of your own? Do you plan to make room for that, or will you insist on living alone?”

“I never insist on anything, my lord.” Why did she sound so breathless?

“Perhaps you should.” His hand rose, and he was suddenly touching her shoulder. Small sparks of heat began to dance across her skin. “Perhaps,” he continued, settling his hand more firmly against her, “you ought to let yourself want a whole lot more than the Royal Society’s acceptance.”

“I’ve done the calculations,” she muttered. “To find a suitable match close at hand would be—”

“Impossible?”

Feeling weak, she only managed a nod.

“Then perhaps you should dare to dream of the impossible.” His other hand swept aside a curl that had come undone from her coiffure and fallen across her face. “Unless, of course, you are immune to my affection, in which case I ask you to tell me so swiftly, so I may be released from my torment.”

Understanding shot straight through her, piercing her with its sharp acuteness. “You…” She could write an endless amount of complicated equations, but right here, right now, she simply could not find the right words.

“I admire you, Lady Rachel.” His thumb found her cheek, and the lightness of the pressure there was so incredibly soothing. “If you must know, you’ve managed to turn my whole world upside down.”

“According to Newton,” she stammered, finding her tongue, “the—”

“Let me say my piece.” His dark eyes met hers with entreaty, and then he quietly added one simple word, “Please.”

All she could do was stare back at him. It was as if he’d woven a spell. One from which there would be no escape. Her mind had certainly ceased to function at its full capacity. And her body…it was feeling things…little sensations that had started to form the moment he’d looked at her from across the table the very first evening at dinner. They’d been escalating ever since. Most notably when he was near.

A frown formed upon his forehead as if he was trying to think of what to say next. Eventually, he simply asked, “Would it surprise you if I were to say you are…” He paused then, just for a second, before hesitantly saying, “the most impressive woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing?”

She shook her head, dumbfounded.

“I cannot imagine how you might feel about me. All I can do is hope that perhaps, in some small way, you might be willing to re-examine your position on marriage, that perhaps you’ll consider the possibility that your statistical calculations have been wrong and that the perfect man for you is standing before you at this exact moment.”

* * *

Feeling as though he was balancing on the tip of a pin, Arthur held his breath and watched while a series of complex emotions played across Lady Rachel’s face. He’d never made such a declaration before, though he’d come close once where Lady Mary – now Mrs. Heartly – was concerned. But even then, while he’d held her in the highest regard and still did, their acquaintance had lacked the spark he now felt. Had they wed, it would have been an amicable marriage of convenience, but it would not have had the sort of substance Lady Rachel promised to provide.

It both surprised and pleased him to find he was equally attracted to her physical attributes and her mind. In fact, the mixture – her staid discipline coupled with an intellectual demand for knowledge – was more compelling than he ever would have imagined possible. The idea of possibly challenging her control and of broadening her horizons in a more physical capacity was so unbelievably enticing, he could scarcely stop himself from demanding a kiss.

Christ!

This woman had found some inexplicable means by which to challenge his gentlemanly ways. She tempted him to act without thought for propriety when he’d built his entire reputation on being respectable and decent. Now, his contemplations were bringing to life an inner rogue he’d never believed existed, while his actions… He curled his fingers into fists and allowed his nails to dig against his palms in an effort to force some restraint on himself. Lady Rachel bit her bottom lip as if in contemplation. She’d dropped her gaze to somewhere in the middle of his chest, prompting the curls she’d fashioned in recent days to fall slightly forward.

Arthur counted ten full seconds before she raised her chin to look back at him with resolve. “Is this how you honestly feel?”

“It is.”

She swallowed, and he watched in fascination as her throat moved against the effort. “But I am plain and unexciting, my lord, while you are so…so…” A blush crept over her cheeks, and she averted her gaze.

“So what?” He couldn’t help but ask.

Slowly, as though it took her tremendous effort, she allowed her gaze to slide back to his. “Handsome,” she muttered, so low he could scarcely hear her. “Surely you’d want a prettier wife. After all, you are an earl – wealthy, by all accounts, and highly respected – so you could easily have your pick of available brides.”

“The only woman I want is you.” He took a small step closer and was pleased when she didn’t back away, though she did suck in an audible breath. “You are beautiful, both inside and out, and if you ever suggest otherwise again, I might have to set you across my knees and spank some sense into you.”

“Re-really?”

“Oh yes.” He took another step, and the rogue within him sprang forward in full force, no doubt on account of her breathy voice. “So, my lady, what will it be? The possibility of sharing your future with me, or a life dedicated only to science? And before you answer, I can assure you I will support you in your scientific pursuits, but I wish to do so as your partner. I want to discuss your theories with you over tea and scones. I want to help you succeed, perhaps even invest in the lamp you plan on inventing.”

“That does sound rather wonderful.”

“Yes.” Reaching up, he grabbed one of her curls and allowed it to slide between his fingers. “But there must also be time for you and me to indulge in other pursuits.”

Her eyes had gone as wide as saucers. “Like what?”

“Well, for starters, I think kissing ought to be a crucial part of your education.” He allowed his fingers to trail across her jawline in a feather-soft caress. Deliberately, he dropped his tone to a husky whisper before daring to ask, “What are your thoughts on the matter?”

She actually gulped, in the adorable sort of way that only an unschooled woman faced with the prospect of venturing down a forbidden path would do. And then she nodded. “I think kissing might be rather nice.”

“Oh, it will be more than that,” he promised as he finally pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “I dare say it’s going to be delicious.”

A hiss of breath escaped her in answer to that salacious comment. Her chin tipped up, and her eyes closed with an expectation that swiftly brought his lips to hers. The caress was sweet and gentle, the slowness of it complemented by the softest touch of pressure—a tempting elixir that threatened to be his undoing. It was so at odds with the fiery yearning roaring inside him – a dangerous need threatening to conquer her innocence.

Worse was the quivering murmur tumbling over her lips when he tightened his hold, the feel of her arms winding their way around his neck as she pressed herself into his body. Dear God, he could feel every part of her meld against him, and Christ, nothing in the world would ever compensate for such a glorious feeling.

“More,” he murmured against her mouth before playfully drawing her lip between his teeth. The effect made her gasp, and he quickly took advantage, deepening the kiss with a skill that had taken years for him to master. He now applied every lesson he’d learned to coaxing a passionate response from Rachel, the need to make her reveal the wanton inside her so strong, it would not be denied.

Thankfully, she did not push him away as he might have feared. Instead, she followed his lead, exploring his mouth with such enthusiasm, he was hard pressed not to toss her onto the nearest sofa and have his wicked way with her right there in the parlor. Restraint was both his friend and his foe in that regard, but regret was going to be a devilish beast to deal with later, so he did what he could to hold back and to simply enjoy the flavor of brandy upon her tongue.

“That was…extraordinary,” she said, when he finally found the will to let her withdraw. Raising her hand, she pressed her fingertips to her lips as if in wonder, then met his gaze with curious eyes. “Did I do all right?”

Her question practically slayed him. “My dearest, Rachel.” Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss against her forehead. “You were wonderful.”

“I’m sure I still have much to learn.” Her cheeks burned bright in the dimly lit room, but she stayed where she was, valiantly staring back at him as though he held the key to her continued happiness.

“Of course you do, and I would be more than honored to teach you, if you’re inclined to accept my suit.”

She smiled then. “From a scientific point of view, I do believe there may be some benefit to doing so.”

“Cheeky minx.”

“From an emotional point of view however…” He stood completely still as though waiting for a judge to deliver his sentence. “I think there is every benefit to it. What you said earlier…no man has ever made me feel as cherished or as appreciated as you, my lord.”

“You must call me Arthur.”

“Must I?”

Pulling her back into his arms, he murmured against her lips, “I absolutely insist upon it,” right before kissing her once again, this time with more joy in his heart than he’d ever felt before.