Chapter 7
On the way to the laboratory, Rachel threaded her hand through Anthony’s arm, a most natural thing to do, since she was accustomed to doing the same with her brother and cousin. To the east, the bright light of morning consumed the rising mists.
“I demand a quid pro quo today in payment for my services,” she teased. He lost a step, recovered, and then nodded to one of the guards posted, making her mindful of the danger that followed the Rutland family.
“An equal exchange of what?”
A rabbit scurried through the naked branches of a rose bush, startling a coaltit to flight. Rachel jumped and gripped Anthony’s arm. Beneath the stiffness of his coat, she felt his strong muscles flex and wondered how a man with Anthony’s propensity to work indoors could be so muscular.
He opened the door to the laboratory, allowing her to enter first. A fire blazed in the fireplace, and she moved toward the warmth, evaporating the outside chill.
Though devoid of anyone else, a strange and dynamic presence lingered in every corner of the masculine laboratory. Rachel smelled it in the pungent scents of chemicals, and beeswax rubbed into the cherry cabinets and massive desk.
“I would like to go on a tour of the estate,” she said over her shoulder. Before he had a chance to dig in his heels, she pivoted on him, the rustling of her skirts disturbing the peaceful purity of the stillness. “It’s only fair. Besides the fresh air will do us good.”
He grumbled something about conspiracies to distract him, and then contracting pneumonia. She laughed, moving past the counters stocked with bottles and equipment to retrieve one of Anthony’s aprons draped on a hook, looped it around her neck and tied it in the back to protect her gown.
“What should we work on first?”
“I could launch a litany of scientific responses, but defer to you, Miss Thorne. You are so full of shining ideas and idealism. We will try your concept of changing the chemical solution.”
Anthony shrugged out of his frockcoat, tossed it on a stool then rolled up his sleeves. His forearms bulged, muscled and strong like a blacksmith who spent his day lifting a heavy hammer and pounding iron. This confirmed what she had felt beneath her fingers.
Why was she suddenly nervous being alone with him? Was it the intimacy that the lab allowed? Preying on her conscience was what she had almost revealed—something very private to him the night before. Fortunately, the noise level at the ball hid her impulsive burst. For Anthony to raise questions on why she was undesirable would be too humiliating and the last thing she wanted was for him to think of her as a social pariah like the men in Boston had.
He withdrew to the window. “I miss my sister. She was always in my lab, sat on that chair and watched me do my experiments. One night changed everything in our lives.”
She moved beside him. “I try to put myself in Abby’s shoes, waking up in the dark bowels of a ship. The horrors she faced aboard the Civis under a former slaver captain bent on her demise. So fortunate Jacob captured the merchantman when he did. Abby’s resourcefulness was amazing, disguising herself as a boy. I can imagine the chagrin on my proud cousin’s face when he discovered a female on board his ship.”
She smiled up to him. “How fortunate everything worked out in the end. They had a lovely wedding ceremony and now the treasure of a beautiful baby boy. They are so happy.”
Anthony leveled her a droll look. “If anyone had told me two years ago that my sister would be married to a notorious privateer, I would have said they were crazy.”
She rubbed her forearms. “Even though Abby was safe in Boston with Jacob, there was one person I feared afterward that might have caused Abby and your family trouble, and that was Captain Davenport.”
Anthony smirked. “Captain Davenport’s hubris earned him a promotion to India for an indefinite stay. That my father had any influence with his cousin, the King, I can only guess.”
“That will teach me not to fool with a Rutland.” Rachel cleared her throat and moved the balance scale to where they were working. “I spoke with Mrs. Noot, my lady’s maid. She told me how you saved her from her husband.”
“If there was ever a piece of humanity that symbolized cruelty, it was Cuthbert. He beat his wife like a rented mule.”
“You impressed Mrs. Cuthbert with your…talents?”
Anthony swiveled to face her. “Miss Thorne, you are provocative.”
Elbows resting on the counter, Rachel rested her chin in the palm of her hand. “It’s just that−”
“Like Mrs. Noot, you expected me to be soft since I closet myself in my laboratory? I box regularly with tenants. They work hard to keep me in good shape.”
“Oh, dear, I hope you didn’t think I was being indelicate.” She twirled hair around her finger and then caught him staring at the movement, stopped and straightened, running her hands down her apron front.
“Not at all. I like your curious nature. I encourage it.”
Never had she felt so alive. To whirl around with her arms outstretched.
“You never completed telling me of your archery exploits.”
Rachel bit her lip. “You can thank Reverend Pott’s wife for my archery abilities.”
“Was she your tutor?”
“She was my inspiration. Mrs. Potts had a predilection for gossip and meanness. She was also afraid of Indians, even though the few that were around lived in remote areas outside of Boston or, like the friendly Wampanoag, worked on ships and farms. But you couldn’t convince Mrs. Potts of their civilized ways. When she started terrible rumors about Jacob, Ethan and me, we went on the offensive. We made a huge supply of arrows, and then went out into the forest to practice with our bows, competing with each other.”
“I see where this is going.”
He looked like summertime, if one could look like a favorable season, warm and thriving.
Forcing down a smile, Rachel let loose her story. “First, I launched an arrow next to her front door. She nearly fainted dead away. Every day I launched more arrows, her back door, bedroom window, her carriage. When she had said something particularly mean-spirited about my younger brother, Thomas who was all of two summers, and the dearest, sweetest little boy who walked the earth, I ramped up the bombardment that would have made Julius Caesar proud. I loved Thomas and for Mrs. Potts to call him such awful names was abominable. Every time she went to the privy, she came under attack. I launched a dozen arrows into the door. Mrs. Potts swooned, and did not leave the privy all day, fearing Indians had invaded Boston. My father caught me and I received quite a penance.”
“What was your penance?”
“I could not go to the shipyard for a whole day. My father did not like Mrs. Potts either, but he had to make a point.”
“No doubt the rebellious streak runs in the family. I’ll have to be on my best behavior lest you come after me with your bow and arrows.”
Rachel laughed. Anthony referred to her older brother and cousin, staunch rebel privateers against the Crown with a price on their heads.
“I have failed.” She sighed.
“Failed? How’s that?”
“My goal was to turn your perpetual scowl into a cheerful countenance.”
“An impossible feat.”
“And why is that?” She wanted to know the dark mysterious side of Anthony Rutland. The part that held him back from living. She bit her lip. Were they not both full of flaws, stitched together with good intentions and seeking…seeking what? She could not answer that question for the life of her.
Not wanting to let the gaiety of the moment subside, she asked, “It’s only fair you share with me one of your youthful foibles.”
Anthony exhaled, obviously weighing what he would reveal to her. “When I was twelve summers, I experimented with different chemicals, left the combinations heating over the fire, and then left for lunch. My absence precipitated an explosion.”
“You mean to tell me your laboratory has suffered two explosions?”
Anthony nodded. His hair was a mess, loosened from his queue and there was a stain on his upper sleeve. At that moment, he was the handsomest man in the world.
He fidgeted with several flasks, probing his creative mind. “If we spilt the making of the solutions then we will be more efficient.”
She moved to the counter and drew out some flasks, and then reached for the sulfuric acid on the shelf above. The bottle wobbled, tilted, her fingers grasping. The carafe spun from her reach, and then dropped. A scream squelched in her throat. Her heart stopped. A wind brushed against her. Anthony swooped up and caught the bottle. The stopper popped out and rolled across the counter, the oily residue, steaming a path where acid burned the work surface. Had the acid splashed on her hands? She stared with horror, waiting for the fire of the acerbic to blister her skin.
He set the bottle down, grabbed her, and dragged her to a sink. With violence, he worked the pump, water flushing out the spout and onto her hands. Repeatedly, he inspected her skin through a cascade of water. A jolt ran through her from his unexpected touch.
She shook her head. “I don’t think the acid splashed on my skin.”
His eyes narrowed on her…eyes that masked the soul and in the same instant, snapped and crackled points of fire. Was he one of those men who didn’t want you to think they were interested in you, even though they were? “Acid eats flesh, devours bone.” He reprimanded her—but she knew that.
How stupid.
“You will be more careful,” he commanded. “I am responsible for you and don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Rachel pulled her hands away, surprised that her shaking limbs obeyed her. Her careless handling of the acid made her want to slither under the door like a snake to escape. And if her inept actions weren’t embarrassing enough, she’d obviously read far more into his responses than existed. He was gallant and concerned for her safety. What a fool to assume he cared for her more than a colleague.
He yanked open a drawer and jerked on rubber gloves. “We will not perform the acid test today. We will explore what I have in mind. The Italian physician, Galvani used iron and brass in his experimentation. I’m thinking he was on to something in utilizing two dissimilar metals.” He scrubbed the counter and put the sulfuric acid bottle on the shelf.
Her stomach clenched at his easy dismissal of her theory, as if her concept had no merit at all. “We will revisit my theory in the future?” By no means was she going to allow her idea to be swept away.
“Most people are superstitious about electricity, believing this fire we produce is divined from the devil.”
Was he intimating that the acid disaster was bad luck? He tore off his gloves and tossed them aside. “We will continue using the saltwater solution.”
Pig-headed man. “We need to try an acid.”
“I hate eating Lord Ward’s dust.”
She planted her fists on her hips. “Then listen to my theory.”
“I will, but I want to rule out the salt-water. My suspicions are nagging me. Can you mix a brine, thirty percent salt, sixty percent water? I’ll retrieve the zinc and iron plates.”
Your laboratory, Lord Anthony.
Rachel lowered her head, measuring out the salt and water and mixing the solution. Abby had told her that Anthony had been married. To have snared the highly intelligent, talented Lord Rutland, the woman must have been clever…and beautiful. Good Lord, was she jealous of a dead woman?
He brushed against her and her head snapped up. For a split second she sensed he had the urge to touch her again, and yet, in his eyes, shuttered a flash of pain. He pulled back. What demons tormented him? Did the ache he buried have something to do with his late wife?
How had his wife dealt with his flaws? Judgmental? Impatient? Sometimes rude? The strong opinions he formed? But, in a room full of people, hadn’t he challenged Lord Ward, making threats and insults that would curl one’s ears? Hadn’t he subdued Sir Bonneville? As brash as Americans were considered, Lord Anthony outdistanced them in crossing the lines of respectable boundaries. The man was an enigma.
What others might find pushy or callous, Rachel viewed through a different lens. She saw and respected the intelligent and gifted man who held himself to the highest of standards. She laughed off his brooding insults and accepted his impatience as a positive virtue.
It was all a façade. With her, he was kind, considerate and honorable. That he adhered to a code of ethics, regarding her was demonstrated when he saved her from Sir Bonneville and then again, when he had saved her life. She liked the way he cared for her. Protected her.
His analytical mind drove her wild and his drive to succeed matched her desire to excel. He was a man with a vision and a man to get things done. With discovery a food for his soul, and the ability to conquer the world, nothing would stop him.
He procured the items he needed and then threw extra logs on the fire. Sparks spit and snapped and spiraled up the flue. “Experimentation is more forceful than any logical thinking: facts can destroy our reasoned train of thought−not the other way around,” he said.
He referred to Dr. Galvani’s experimentation in making frog’s legs jump, deeming living tissue yielded electricity. Anthony believed otherwise. He rejoined her, the firelight dancing off the broad angles of his face as he focused on placing the plates side by side.
She nodded her head in agreement. “And the day scientists study non-physical phenomena will be the day man advances with enormous strides.”
He leaned into her. Rachel stepped back. Of course, he would be doubted, disagreed with, and disapproved, going up against a tsunami of naysayers in the scientific community for his theories. Her heart ached. His journey would be difficult.
He stared at her. “Thank you for your confidence in me.”
The air in the laboratory was suddenly too close. Too thick and full and overflowing with—him. Determined not to let her guard down Rachel raised her chin and did her best to look him square in the eye.
She numbered the many startling contrasts of Lord Anthony, adding up to a complex mix of confidence, idealism and stubborn persistence. A pang of longing shot through her.
To be with such a man.
Invisible chains dragged her down…she couldn’t yoke Anthony with her shame. She couldn’t allow herself to fall in love with him because she would drag him down and ruin his brilliant career.
His jaw flexed. “I think by alternating the zinc and iron we will have some success in storing energy. Let’s try more plates. Can you get me more from the cabinet?” She fixed her gaze on the cabinet at the side of the room, hiding her discomfiture behind a carefully arranged mask of serenity.
Before the near rape, she had been the delight of Boston. No longer. When she recovered people treated her different. Men stared, women whispered gossip. With her parents dead and her brother and cousin off privateering, she had been alone, facing a cruel world. Good men, who had shown interest before, now made excuses. Even though she’d done nothing wrong, she’d felt like a pariah, and her heart ached at the unfairness.
Agnes Quick, a wealthy widow and neighbor had seen the problem for what it was and had made it her mission to put Rachel back on the map. Afterwards, the ladies of Boston became more generous and invited her to social events. Yet, the desirable men were still put off. The invisible social barrier remained steadfast.
Not once did Anthony take his eyes off her sojourn to the cabinet and back. She moistened her lips as she handed him the discs. His hand glided across hers, warm and confident, as he accepted them from her.
She took a deep breath. “Hydraulics and electricity are similar sciences. I believe all energy flows along a path,” she said, putting every bit of crisp, Yankee efficiency she’d gained over the years into her voice, quieting the tremors.
He lifted a brow. “Yes, I know.”
She blinked. Anthony’s calm calculation had returned. Had what she’d seen been a trick of the firelight? He finished the disc arrangement, inserted the assembly in a bowl.
She poured the salt solution over the discs. “How did Duke Cornelius come to possess a glass eye? An injury, or an anomaly at birth?” She picked up a quill, dabbed it in the inkbottle, and recorded notes on their progress.
“Lost his eye in a sword fight.”
She breathed in Anthony’s scent, chemicals and sandalwood. He wrinkled his forehead, engrossed with his task and did not notice how close they were working together. She rather liked his warmth and nearness. But they were friends, working toward a goal. No need to muck it up with romantic inclinations.
“He was in a swordfight with my father, a fight over my mother.”
Rachel’s head snapped up, her pen creating a loud scratch against the table. “That is an interesting anecdote.”
“My mother married my father and all was forgiven years later.’’
Rachel did not possess the same feeling of the tall, dark-featured, Duke Cornelius. He may have made amends, been a close family friend, but he reminded her of a giant shark her brother had caught…the same cold black unblinking eye and, for a moment, she imagined gill slits on the side of his head.
“We are ready for the test.”
Rachel held her breath and prayed it would work.
He stuck a wire to the ends of the discs. A small charge flared and faded away, vanishing into nothingness. “Damn.” He raked his fingers through his hair and turned away. “I will never succeed.”
Rachel sagged, watching him pace back and forth. “Don’t give up.”
“The charge is not enough.”
“Allow the million little defeats to be the rungs on a ladder, each one that you climb to success. Persistence and patience will stand the hallmark of your triumph.”
The door shoved open. Rachel swung around to see a visitor.
Anthony’s voice came low, as if he were growling. “Aunt Margaret.”
A servant escorted a petite, plump, grey-haired woman to a chair while another deposited a tray on a side table. An animal horn lay drooped on the older woman’s chest.
“Time for tea, Anthony. Come here, dear boy and introduce me to the lovely Miss Thorne who I have heard so much about from Abby’s letters.”
Anthony gave his matronly aunt a kiss on the cheek, made introductions, and then pulled up two stools, one for Rachel and one for himself. A crude seating arrangement, but charming none the same while a servant poured tea, and then departed. It was afternoon and the culinary delights made Rachel’s stomach rumble. Creampuffs. She tonged two of the flaky pastries onto her plate and a small flan. Her mouth puckered with the sweet-sour of a gooseberry tart. She let out a moan.
“It is so nice to meet you,” Rachel said.
Aunt Margaret reared back horrified. “I would never beat you.”
Anthony looked to Rachel. “Let me try. My hair is on fire.”
Aunt Margaret smiled and nodded. “Okay, in a while.”
Rachel dabbed a napkin over her mouth to hide her lips. “Shame on you, Anthony. I like your Aunt Margaret. She is sweetness.”
“I am so glad you came and agreed to be my chaperone,” Rachel offered.
Aunt Margaret tsked and shook her head. “The King should never be overthrown. Such talk is treasonous.”
“Oh, dear,” Rachel said. “I’ve created a muddle.
Anthony gestured to the horn. Rachel had seen silver ear horns in the Colonies used for those who were hard of hearing. The funnel shaped device collected sound waves, amplified them and brought the communication to the ear.
Aunt Margaret held it to her ear, appearing like a half-Viking. “This is my new ear horn,” she said proudly.
“What kind is it?” Rachel asked.
Aunt Margaret looked at the clock hanging on the wall. “A quarter after two.”
Anthony slapped his hands on his knees. “Back to work.” He escorted Rachel to their experiment in progress.
Rachel giggled. “Poor Aunt Margaret.”
“Don’t let her deafness fool you, and above all, do not fall prey to her innocent confusion that masks the nature of her genius. Except for frequent attacks of narcolepsy where the rest of the world ceases for her, she has a practiced eye for concealed disasters.”
To prove his point, snoring and very loud snoring burst from behind. Aunt Margaret slumped in her chair, asleep. On impulse, Rachel went into the back room, tore a blanket off the cot and covered Aunt Margaret, careful to tuck in the covers around her.
“She is exhausted from her journey.”
“They are preparing to leave, Your Grace, for an extended carriage ride,” said Sebastian, the butler, closing the library doors behind him.
The duke strode to the window, the butler behind him watching the young couple. “The Colonial induced Anthony out of his lab. Can you imagine? Let’s have a toast. An incredible accomplishment.” The Duke of Rutland poured a glass of sherry for them both.
“Aren’t you going to offer a drink to me?” A voice demanded behind a large wing-backed chair. “And shame on you for assuming the plot to keep them together is between the two of you.”
The duke arrested his drink halfway—Aunt Margaret in the library?
Sebastian straightened, put his drink down and resumed his position. “If that is all you require, Your Grace, then I shall be on my way.”
“Nonsense. Stay, Sebastian.” Aunt Margaret waved a hand. “You two think you are the only ones privy to secrets. I wouldn’t be left out of this for a million pounds. Abby wrote to me—” Their gazes locked as they assessed one another, confirming an unsaid secret, the duke taken aback by his wife’s diminutive sister.
He threw back the entire contents of his glass, and then confirmed her accurate conclusion with a slight, mocking inclination of his head. “Well since we are all in the know, what do you suggest?”
Aunt Margaret blinked owl eyes, her superiority conveyed. “We must be clever for they are both very intelligent. I come from the days where a little distance makes the heart grow fonder. Let us think of something to separate them for a while.”
The butler cleared his throat. “If I may speak, Your Grace, Lady Margaret’s strategy has a purpose.”
The duke nodded his head. “How do you propose that scenario when we can’t tear them apart from that absurd electrical fire they swoon about?”
“Abby disclosed Miss Thorne was an inventor of sorts, had invented an indoor bathing tub, including a pump to move water upstairs. You could employ her to build one.”
“And how would I do that? To retain her is the epitome of rudeness.”
“Guilt and pride are powerful tools. Guilt is the bread and butter of many family communications.”
“And pride?” the Duke prompted.
Aunt Margaret pursed her lips dubiously. “You’re the expert.”
She let that comment sit for a while. His lifelong assumptions on his wife’s guileless sister vanished, and his opinion of Aunt Margaret climbed another notch.
“The girl takes great importance in her work. You need a bathtub and would appreciate her talents. Simple as that.”
“I see,” he said, but that infuriating quirk of her lips told him he’d just amused her.
“You better take charge and communicate your need as soon as possible.” She looked like a goose ready to snap, rose, and the butler rushed to open the door, nodding his approval.
The duke raised a supercilious brow. “I see where all the cunning comes from in the family. You could box the ears of the best of the King’s courtiers.”
Aunt Margaret snorted. “It’s taken you years to understand that? I congratulate you on your accomplishment and accept your acknowledgement as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t meant as a compliment. I despair and remain thankful you are on our side. If King George put you up against King Louis IVI, all of France would flee to Germany.”
Anthony took Rachel’s hand and helped her into the open carriage. They had worked for several hours while Aunt Margaret slumbered, and then escorted his aunt back to the house. If only to work in his lab longer to recover from another failed experiment. But he’d promised Rachel a tour of the estate and was unable to refuse her.
How pretty she looked, wrapped in a black velvet cape bordered with ermine. “Lord Ward entertains all kinds of morbid amusements. His kind have no respect for science.”
Anthony frowned at the guard following them, hating the idea that he was a prisoner in his home, but Rachel’s blue eyes glowed like winter turning to a warm summer lit sea and her excitement was infectious, making him forget his jailer.
“We are not going to think about Lord Ward and let him spoil our outing,” she commanded.
Anthony raised an eyebrow at her bold decree, climbed in beside her and laid thick furs across their laps. Harnessed in front, two matching black bays shook their manes and pawed the ground eager to be off. Anthony snapped his wrists and rippled the lines. The huge horses in perfect unison sprinted down the road and into the vast forests surrounding his ancestral home.
“Isn’t it delightful to get out and get some fresh air? Enlivens the brain.”
He couldn’t have agreed more. Nothing like glacial cold to tamp down the mounting fire in his body. Hours of trying to concentrate on his work left him wanting, her intellect sweeping over him like a carnal caress. It was not logical. How could he control his body? There must be some sense made to this madness. He exhaled, the air forming a perfect cloud.
“I have accomplished the impossible and have pulled you from your laboratory.”
Was there enchantment in her smile?
“If you like frostbite and the bitter cold, cutting you with a hundred knives.”
Rachel giggled. “Acknowledge all the beauty before us. How the afternoon sun glitters off the snow-burdened branches and hills, and the slight wind that tosses the tops of the towering oaks and whistles softly through their lower limbs, its power diminished by the thickness of the forest. So silent and peaceful as if the forest is holding its breath.”
“All I hear is the ringing in my ears where sound is frozen and the cracking of my iced-up face when I speak.”
“That sound from your face cracking is a smile born. Admit it, you are enjoying yourself.”
“I think you are eccentric,” he huffed.
She leaned into him to speak conspiratorially, and he savored her warmth. “My eccentricity has taken years of dedicated effort to acquire.”
“No doubt. What next, Miss Thorne, chattering with cold until my teeth break? Or something industrious that a Colonial privateer would do, hanging my frozen body from the yardarm until the crows have picked their fill?”
“You are hopeless.”
He chose a less traveled road, and yielded to a cloying compulsion to detour toward what made Miss Thorne tick. Why had she said she would never marry? “This visit is about obtaining a husband?”
She stiffened beside him.
“You’re the same age as Abby, two and twenty,” he argued with his own smile of bemusement. “That’s hardly in your dotage.”
Because I’m not that desirable. His heart gave a kick. Couldn’t get out of his head what she had muttered at the ball when she thought he hadn’t heard. She then piqued his curiosity in the science of what people were thinking, needing to understand why someone of Rachel’s loveliness would think she was not attractive?
“So why are you disinclined to the institution of marriage?”
She gave a snort of dismissive laughter. “Silly me. That was nothing.”
She had passed the matter off too quickly. He was sensitive to her. Denial was an ordinary response to an atrocity, banishing the ability to feel. He should know, he repressed the feeling every day of his life. He’d not push her to tell him, but her voice reached out to him like the unexpected tendrils of a swirling galaxy, where she was involved and impacted by some dust and stars, but a lot of it was exogenous to her. He shrugged, perhaps a childhood trauma or something that happened to her during the war with the Colonies.
“I’d never dream of perpetuating such a tragedy. I have no wish to be any man’s trouble, or wife.”
So, she was disillusioned toward the idea of a husband. The road narrowed for a mile, and far below a raging river churned and eddied over sharp rocks.
“So dangerous. I’d hate to think of anyone falling off the road.” She shuddered.
Clever how she changed the subject. He was sure there was more to her story. He had seen a glimpse of fear in her eyes when Bonneville had cornered her. How her manner contrasted to the natural way she took his hand and pulled him on the dance floor. The painting in the Rutland library came to mind. The experiences of our past are the architects of our present. What haunted Miss Thorne? What had happened in her past?
“What are you thinking of at the moment?” she asked.
He looked down at her rosy cheeks and full lips. “I’m thinking geometry.” He didn’t dare tell her the fundamental diagram of her face was the same as the one of the whole body; the link between the two, the height of the face is equal to the vertical distance between the middle of the body and intersection of the legs and the navel is equal to the distance between the tip of the middle finger. If he drew a line upward from the navel, he could measure two impressive spheres then estimate the height, weight and distance. And if he leaned in just a bit, his lips would meet hers…
Mesmerized by her rapt attention, he forced his gaze away. But, to be honest, the hell with all that geometry. He’d rather sample the spheres.
“It would give me insight if you told me what you were thinking.”
To tell her what he was thinking, would show his depravity. Definitely show his depravity. Concentrate. Think. “What did you ask?”
Rachel sighed. It was an exasperated sigh but on her, it was how he imagined a sigh would sound after a long, lovely night of lovemaking. Except Rachel was an innocent. And he was inexperienced. Nonetheless his body reacted. Rock hard reacted.
“My father is pushing me into the role of duke which means my brother… He sighed. It means he is beginning to give up hope of finding Nicholas. I refuse to yield to that notion. Nicholas is out there. I feel it in my bones.”
“The world is full of peril and there are many dark places, but we must always have hope.”
Her wisdom although inspiring, gave way to an unfortunate reality. “I have no inclination to be the duke. To idle over tenant disputes, bookkeeping and accounting. Pure hell. Already my father has forced me into some of the duties. I was never made for that role. Detest it. Nicholas was made for the task. Science is my first and last mistress.”
Her hood fell back and she tossed her chestnut curls. “I can understand your difficulty. After seeing a fraction of the estate, the duty is onerous. A mind like yours belongs in discovery.”
Silence reigned. The soft, muted thud of the horse’s hooves, the whisper of the carriage wheels over the snow and a woodpecker emerging from a hollow of a tree, a soft churr-churr invitation to its mate.
“I want to thank you for saving me from Sir Bonneville. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t arrived in time.” She shivered from the memory.
“I should have torn his right arm off and beat him with it.”
Rachel pealed out her laughter and the sound rippled over the cedars and firs. He frowned. As a scientist, he was compelled to follow what was most probable, but in speculative thought, he was compelled to follow the fact that he liked to see her laugh.
“You discuss brawling like the price of potatoes,” she said unable to control her mirth. “Oh, my, what is that?”
Anthony stopped the carriage, looking at the line of dormers set like a row of teeth in the third floor attic, visible now due to winter and the trees bare of their leaves. “That’s Elijah Johnson’s home, and old sea captain friend of my father’s.”
“Has he been at sea overlong? The disrepair—”
Anthony regarded the swayback sheds, and tumbled down and forsaken mansion. Surrounded by high oaks, branches extending horizontally, harshly angled, twisted, interlocked, grasping downward and upward, casting shadows of gloom and threatening anyone to enter.
“He died. His brother, a retired sea captain who lives in the town has not had the heart to tear the house down and this grand old dame has decayed into ruin.”
“Sends chills up my spine…” she swayed into him. “…like someone is watching us.”
He could not have agreed to a more hostile environment that left him uncharacteristically on edge.
He snapped the reins as they moved along the undulating road, to the town declining sharply southward in the valley, close-girdling the crescent mountain to the west. “He was an odd recluse, a hoarder, making up for the loneliness and guilt of losing his wife at sea. She had insisted on accompanying him on a voyage despite his rabid denial of the dangers. A terrible storm swept her overboard.”
“What a sad tale.”
“According to his brother, some rooms you could only sidestep through. He was numb with grief and sorrow, and wasted away.”
Anthony knew that agony of living. He awoke each morning with the need to accomplish, to exist, as effortless as it appeared and as unmanageable as it truly was, contented. In the course of each day, his heart would drop from his chest into his belly. Before the sun left the day, he was overcome with nothingness, nothing but the desire to be alone, to be contented with the magnitude of his pointless guilt. To be alone in his loneliness? I am not miserable. To convince himself of this had become an art. To convince others had become a masterpiece.
Rachel’s lavender and lemon balm scent trailed over him, snaring him in its tentacles. He didn’t believe the ray of sunshine that sat beside him was fooled for one second.
From the shadows of a cracked window, Cuthbert Noot clenched his fists watching a carriage withdraw from the sea captain’s home he had commandeered since his escape.
“To the last, I will destroy Lord Anthony. From Hell’s bowels, I will make him pay until I spit my last breath. Meant to kill him in his lab. Surprised his assistant. Couldn’t keep a witness around,” Cuthbert cackled.
Playing cards behind him, his brutal companions grunted.
Cuthbert had chosen well. The worst inhabitants of St. Giles, criminals from the Rookery underworld of London who found pleasure in slitting a man’s throat for a farthing. The man named Scar the foulest among them.
“So many events to hate him for…my wife lives in splendor, as a lady’s maid…would have died in prison if it wasn’t’ for that rich bloke. How good to kill Anthony’s, wife. Easy to knock her off her horse. While she gasped for breath, I spread her milky white thighs and pounded my quid into her, savoring the screams of that whore of a wife of his…would have liked to extend my time, but that rich bloke got tired of watching…ordered me to break her neck to look like a fall from a horse. Crack. How easy to snap. That rich bastard didn’t want any Rutland seed to flourish.”
His companions laughed.
Cuthbert stroked his chin. “I see his lordship has an attachment to the Colonial? My quid throbs with a million things to do to her. Damn. Why do I have to follow that rich bloke’s rules?”
Scar joined him at the window. “I’d like a turn with her. What the boss don’t know, won’t hurt him.”
The rich bloke was a scary bastard and it took a lot for Cuthbert Noot to be scared of anyone. “I like playing games with Lord Anthony. Sent him a warning with the urn. Loved seein’ his face when he found his dead assistant.”
Cuthbert pressed his face against the glass to catch a final glimpse of the object of his hatred. “Feel safe with your Yank, Lord Anthony. Joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you’ll know the debt is paid.”