Finally, the door opened and a man stood there, spreading his hand in welcome. “Do come in.” He glanced over the duke’s shoulder. “I had expected more.”
“I’m afraid one of our number was taken ill. We are all you have, sir.” A broad smile wreathed his face as the duke took the man’s hand and shook it warmly. “May I introduce my companions?”
So Damaris found herself introduced to the Astronomer Royal of Great Britain. Mr. James Bradley was a fairly short, portly man with a serious demeanor and small, but friendly eyes. Since he had taken holy orders early in his career, he was wearing sober, dark clothes, with a neat cloth at his neck. Many scholars who had more brains than money took holy orders to obtain places at the prestigious universities.
Damaris liked how he preferred to shake hands with her, rather than to perform an elaborate bow. “So you are the famous D. Singer,” he said with a smile.
Shocked, she turned to the duke. “Bradley can keep a confidence,” he explained. “I preferred him to know who he was dealing with.”
“But I have done so little.” She shook her head in denial. “Mr. Bradley, your work on the aberration of light in the heavens is something I could never begin to emulate.”
“Like many astronomers, my work is built on that of others. My predecessor, Charles Halley, said as much. We are not islands, young woman.” He ushered them inside a small hallway. “If I had been sitting on the committee of the Royal Society that day, I would have voted for your acceptance.”
Awed, she could say nothing, but Delphi piped up, “What’s aberration of light?”
“Starlight,” Damaris replied without taking her gaze from Mr. Bradley. “He told us how starlight works.” Not strictly true, but the nearest she could get to explaining the phenomenon. “They twinkle at different rates.”
Mr. Bradley let out a mighty roar of laughter. “Perfectly true,” he said when he had recovered.
“Mr. Bradley has accumulated a remarkable collection of instruments,” the duke said. “He has been of inestimable benefit to the Society.”
Mr. Bradley shrugged. “I do what I can, your grace.” Turning away, he picked up a sextant. It was a beautiful instrument, but it showed some age. The black enamel on the base had worn through to the original brass at the edges. He then carefully handed the sextant to Damaris.
Damaris stroked the lovely thing. To her, this was more beautiful than any work of art. It opened a new world, gave her information and beauty at the same time. “This is a splendid instrument. Is it yours?”
“No.” Mr. Bradley sounded amused, but she could not see why. Turning around, she held the sextant up and played with it, taking a few readings. The gauge slid smoothly.
“I would love this.”
“Do you not own a sextant?”
She glanced away to see him wearing a frown between his dark brows. “Not one like this. I own a rudimentary one that I’ve had for years. It works well enough, but not as accurately as I’d like.” She lowered the sextant, and stroked the smooth, brass lines. “I should indulge myself, but they are very expensive.”
“You should, indeed.” She heard more in Logan’s voice than her longing for decent scientific instruments. Glancing at him, she saw she was not mistaken. She’d seen that light in his eyes once before. In the garden, on the first night they met.
She must not let him toy with her. The Duke of Glenbreck was not a known rake, but he was powerful and influential. He could cause her a great deal of harm. But the harm she feared most was that to her heart. She must learn to resist that look.
Even while she was thinking that, she swayed towards him.
Mr. Bradley’s voice cut into her near torpor. “You are holding a sextant that belonged to Sir Isaac Newton.”
Shock laced her senses. Her hold on the precious instrument loosened. She would have dropped it, had not the duke reached around her and grasped it firmly. His hands enclosed hers, and his body pressed against her back as he let out a sigh of relief. “I would have suggested you told the lady that after she had put it down.” Kilsyth, quietly watching the interaction to this point, put a hand over his mouth and let out a small cough to cover his laughter.
Together, they put the instrument carefully back on the table. His hands lingered before he released her, and when he pulled away, hers went with him as if glued there. His breath swept her neck, raising all the small hairs before he gently placed her palms at her sides, and stepped back.
Damaris was so shaken she couldn’t speak. But he must have realized that because he chatted to Mr. Bradley, asking him about the sextant. She could not have repeated a word if anyone had asked her what he’d just said, despite Sir Isaac being her hero.
She caught a thread of conversation. “Sir Isaac could be a difficult man,” Mr. Bradley said.
“He was a genius,” she said softly.
“Best viewed at a distance.” Mr. Bradley laughed, but no humor lit it. “He was moody and difficult, but his theories were undoubtedly brilliant.”
“So was Hooke’s.”
Her head went up at the duke’s words. Rumors about the relationship between Newton and Hooke had circulated for a long time, but nobody knew the truth of it. Newton was accused of ruining Hooke, and Hooke of being deeply jealous of Newton. Since she’d known neither man, she didn’t care. Only that Newton had opened new worlds for her, and she would be forever grateful to him for doing so. “I learned from Newton.”
“Many of us did.” His soft tones soothed her.
“I have several letters here, and a chart that Sir Isaac drew up later in life.”
When Mr. Bradley passed them to her, Damaris laid them before her when Mr. Bradley moved the sextant aside. She frowned at the paper on top. “What is this?” A moment’s study made the words more plain. “Ah, yes. He was an alchemist, was he not?” Sir Isaac had not confined himself to one area of study, but had ranged across mathematics, astronomy and optics, making a great difference in all.
Bradley twitched the sheet aside. “I’m sorry. Every man has his foibles. Or are you interested in alchemy?”
She laughed aloud. “Hardly, sir. It’s akin to witchcraft, and such outdated superstitions. How could I believe in that? It is a shame that Sir Isaac wasted his time in such pursuits.”
“Not everyone would say so,” the duke murmured. He was leaning over another document, one with more familiar symbols. Delphi gently slid the rejected notes over to where she stood around the circular table, and studied it. Reaching into her pocket, she drew out her spectacles and slid them on. Delphi only wore her glasses when she knew nobody would object. Matilda would definitely have objected, but she wasn’t here. Delphi could study the writing without straining her sight. The duke was too busy studying the other papers.
“You are not the only person interested in the papers. I had another distinguished visitor earlier in the week.”
Glenbreck spared the Astronomer Royal a glance. “Indeed?”
“Sir Peter Brady. I believe you know him?”
“I do. He wishes to become a member of the Royal Society,” Glenbreck said. His hand moved fractionally towards hers, but Damaris moved her fingers away on the pretext of turning the page. He remembered her distress, then, and he was responding to it now. While she appreciated his concern, she didn’t want to dwell on that terrible day.
“He does. He wanted some help interpreting some observations he had made. I must say I was surprised, because I am acquainted with Sir Peter’s work.”
“Really? What do you think of it?”
Bradley bit his lip, pausing before he answered. “It is interesting. I believe he would prove a solid addition to the Society but, of course, I only have one vote.” He turned to Damaris. “Your work is exceptional, my lady.”
Damaris flushed hotly. “I do what I can.”
“If I may say so, it’s methodical and progressive.”
She needed to get control of herself. She wanted to scream and cry and hug him but, o
f course, she could do none of that. “You are very kind to say so, sir.”
“He’s right,” said the duke gently. “They should have voted for membership. I do not consider the matter closed.”
“Don’t.” She spoke sharply. “I want nobody’s charity. I wished to be accepted for my work, not myself. I do not wish for advocates.”
“It is still for your work,” Glenbreck said softly. He was still too close for her comfort. She sensed his presence every time she drew breath, with every movement she made. Was it natural to feel somebody so acutely? “You deserve to be recognized.”
“That part of my life is done.” She lifted her gaze. “I was told that the vote to disallow my membership was unanimous. I take that as a signal. Perhaps my work is not as vital as I’d thought.” Maybe if she gave it up, she might find happiness elsewhere.
He raised a brow. Her information wasn’t entirely accurate.
Bradley straightened in a sudden movement, his eyes on the duke before he turned his attention to Delphi. “My lady, I have more documents in the room next to this. We have some ancient texts you might be interested in viewing.”
Delphi glanced at Damaris, then her head jerked up as she met the duke’s clear gaze. “That would be delightful,” she murmured, and took Kilsyth’s arm. “Lead on, sir.”
They left the room.
Silence descended for a bare instant. Recalling Matilda’s words, Damaris made to move after them.
A hand touched her shoulder. She turned around.
He stretched out his hand, and then dropped it to his side. Damaris touched her fichu, the fine linen bunching under her palm. Her own heart beat wildly, pounding against her chest as if it wanted to escape.
“Come,” he said, holding out his hand once more. “Sit.”
When she cautiously accepted, he led her to a sofa set under one of the mullioned windows. He sat next to her. “You are distressed by your sister’s illness.”
“Of course I am,” she snapped.
“Then you would benefit from a few minutes’ peace.” He kept hold of her hand, stroking her palm with his thumb in a most distracting way. “You are a woman I would like to call friend, even when our current situation ends. I want to correspond with you, to discuss your work, if you will allow it.”
She had read his work, the elegant and clever monographs he sent to the Society. “I would be honored.”
His words affected Damaris more than any pretty words ever could. He valued her work, or he would not give any time to it. “Did you vote for me to become a member of the Royal Society?”
He shook his head and her senses plummeted. “Your application never went to a vote. The vote was deferred, probably forever, I’m sorry to say.”
“Ah.” She hadn’t realized that. “Would you have voted for me?”
“On the evidence of the articles you wrote? Without a doubt.”
Words failed her. Nobody had treated her work with such respect. Her sisters and brother respected her need to do it, but they didn’t understand. This man did.
This woman disturbed his senses, far more than they should be. His respect for her work was balanced by his desire for her, an unfortunate thing, but he would not deny it. In many ways, Damaris was the perfect partner for him. But she would find his mother a sore trial. And would she welcome the role of duchess?
That he was even thinking of it told Logan how far he had come in such a short time. If he asked her, she would disbelieve him, perhaps think he was joking. She might think he was humoring her about her work so that he could seduce her, but that was far from the case. He truly admired what she had done. When she’d said she would stop her work, he was so alarmed, he gave Bradley a signal to leave. Fortunately, the man had taken the hint, and borne Lady Delphi off as well. Otherwise, he feared he might have hauled Damaris to him anyway, if only to give her a good hiding for thinking the unthinkable. She must not give up astronomy.
Logan could see every nuance of her expression, her eyes, of a shade he had personally decided was heavenly, reflecting her mood. Presently, they were darker because of the expansion of her pupils. No, he wouldn’t harm a hair on her head. “You cannot give up your work.”
She lifted her hand to her disordered fichu, which she had twisted out of shape. “Can I not? How will you stop me?”
“It would deprive us of a fine mind when we are most in need of one.” “And it would make you unhappy. Neither of those things are desirable outcomes.”
For the count of two seconds, she said nothing, keeping her head bowed. But when he smoothed her fichu down, ready to tuck it in, her chin shot up and she confronted him, eyes blazing.
What could a man do? Logan did the only thing possible. He kissed her.
He cupped her head, her silky hair caressing his skin with unspoken invitation. But he would remain in control of his wayward emotions this time—he was determined on it. The kiss was a bare brush of his lips against hers, but it was enough to revive the magic of that small garden pavilion in the moonlight.
He had his arm around her now, and she fitted as if she belonged there. Calmly, he brushed her hand aside and set about putting her to rights. Her fichu was pulled out more than halfway, the fabric bunched and creased. Gently, he set about putting her to rights, straightening her fichu, flicking the ruffle of lace around her throat and smoothing her hair back into place.
Although he’d wanted her since he’d first laid eyes on her, Logan wasn’t completely mad. If he let himself indulge in more of these trysts, he would become irretrievably tangled in her. He might even come to love her.
Love had no place in his life, now or ever. If he married, he wanted a woman he could like and respect, not one who could make him her slave, who could rouse all his protective instincts without meaning to. This room was lovely, made for afternoon delights, except that it contained the scientific equipment he had brought her to see.
And why had he done that? He could tell other people, notably Adam, that he wanted to further Damaris’ interests, to help her in her quest for knowledge, but he would not lie to himself. He’d arranged this visit purely so he could see the delight in her eyes.
That was too close for his liking. It was time to move away. He got up and took a few paces towards the center of the room, using the pretense of studying an old portable sundial.
“Maybe I will discover the secrets of longitude all on my own.” Her laugh was awkward, even pained. “With the poor equipment I can lay claim to. If this is too…” She spread her hands helplessly. “You have paid your debt to me handsomely. We can call it quits, if that is what you want to do.”
Panic jittered through him. “No.” With astonishment, he listened to his own voice. “I don’t want that. I find pleasure in your company, Damaris. Besides, if we part now, that will damage your reputation more.”
“I do not see why it should.”
“I do. If I walk away after we were seen so conspicuously together, certain quarters will assume we parted on bad terms. That cannot help you.” He grasped at another straw. “And if we part, the mamas will close in for the kill. Notably mine.”
“Lady Elizabeth?” Her voice quavered.
“Indeed.”
A telescope winked in the sunlight as he shifted slightly.
The alternative, marriage to Lady Elizabeth, did not bear thinking about. But this strategy, of using Damaris’ willing compliance to avoid the lady was proving even more dangerous. He had never felt this way about Lady Elizabeth.
“The season will end soon. I may have to leave town earlier than that, even.” That would be his excuse. If he had to turn tail and run, so be it.
A shadow crossed her face and the sun went in. Her forced smile made his heart bleed. “For a week or two more, then.”
“Perhaps the end of the month,” he conceded. By the end of May, people would be starting to leave town. They would not consider his departure unusual. “You could go to your brother’s estate, then.”
; Vigorously, she nodded. “I believe he plans on taking part of the summer to visit the parts of the estate he is not acquainted with.”
“But until then…” He smiled at her and enjoyed her tentative returning smile. “I would ask one thing of you.” Her lifted brows invited him to continue. “When we are in private, please call me Logan.” He let his accent slip through again. Perhaps the reminded intimacy would help her decide in his favor.
“Very well.” She sounded doubtful, but at least she’d agreed. She shot an adorably shy and untypical glance at him, making him smile.
“Until then, we will flirt and be seen in one another’s company, but I will pay attention to other ladies, too, so as not to make our connection too particular. As long as we are both aware that this is a friendship more than a courtship.”
“Of course,” she said in a subdued voice.
He was not at all sure he meant it, but he must hold true to his resolve. For both their sakes.
Her head filled with the wonders she had just seen, Damaris entered the pretty house in Greenwich. Her first query was for her sister. “She’s sleeping,” Blackridge said, “and Miss Cathcart is sitting with her. Be assured we will let you know when she wakes.” He had changed. His hair was tied simply at his nape, and his clothes were softer and simpler than his London attire, a coat of deep blue and matching waistcoat. She liked that he was not a slave to his valet.
“Did she take laudanum?”
Blackridge sighed and shook his head. “She refused. I fear the choice cost her some pain, but she was adamant.”
“I appreciate you taking care of her. But it is getting late. We should try to get back to town.”
Regretfully, his grace shook his head. “She isn’t well enough to travel. I can make a carriage available for you, but I wouldn’t recommend the journey this late in the day.”
“Traveling in the barge in the dark is possible, of course, but not advisable since we have to pass the Port of London,” Kilsyth put in.
Matilda appeared in the room. Although as neat as always, she’d shed some of her finery. Her jewelry was gone, probably in her pocket, and she’d tucked her fine lace ruffles up her sleeves, as was her habit when they got in the way.
A Hint of Starlight Page 11
