The Defiant One

by Danelle Harmon

  "What are you doing here?!" shouted Andrew, bolting straight up in bed, which, given the fact that he slept without a nightshirt, without a cap, without anything, in fact, save for the auburn hair that curled crisply on his chest, was a mistake. Lady Celsiana Blake got an eyeful of bare skin, sinewy arms, and a lean, flat belly laddered with hard muscle.

  "A servant brought me up!" she cried, staring at his chest and blushing furiously.

  "Here?"

  "The duke said I was being taken to your laboratory!"

  "Damn you, Lucien!" roared Andrew. "What the bloody hell is the meaning of this?"

  Lucien's casual cross-armed stance, his innocent expression, never changed. "Really, Andrew. I do wish you'd watch your language. There is a lady present."

  "Not anymore there's not!" Celsie raged, and jerking her chin up, turned on her heel and marched down the hall in a rustling fury of agitated skirts and petticoats.

  "Ought to go after her, I think," mused Lucien. "She's probably heading for your laboratory . . . Wouldn't want her to find any animal experiments going on, now, would we?"

  "You cursed bastard!" Leaping out of bed, Andrew swept up a blanket, wrapped it around his hips, and ran barefooted down the hall in pursuit of his visitor.

  Celsie was halfway down the hall when she heard him pounding after her. She picked up her pace, turned a corner, and whirled, her face flushed with fury and embarrassment as she confronted the source of her distress. "Don't your servants even know the way around your house?" she howled. "Your brother said the servant would bring me to your laboratory! That was no laboratory, that was your — your —"

  "Bedroom!" Andrew shouted, equally furious.

  "I have never been so humiliated in my life!"

  "Well, don't look at me, I wasn't the one who invited you into my blasted apartments!"

  "Had I known they were your blasted apartments, I would never have set foot in them!"

  "And yet you would have set foot in my laboratory? Without my express invitation?"

  "Your brother said I could inspect it!"

  "My brother be damned! I don't want you or any other nosy, annoying, interfering, female in my laboratory!"

  "What, do you have something to hide?" she challenged.

  They stood glaring at each other, Celsie quivering with rage, Andrew's fists clenched and his eyes blazing. Celsie tore her gaze from his face. But instead of landing on a place of safety, it fell to his magnificent chest, rising in a perfect inverted triangle of lean muscle and male strength from the blanket wrapped around his hips. Appalled, she jerked her gaze up, and saw instead a clenched jaw cloaked with dark auburn bristle; a set, angry mouth; and rich, sleep-tousled hair that gleamed like burnished chestnuts in the light coming in from the window.

  "Oh!" she cried, and ripped her gaze from his face.

  Instead, it dropped to his feet. His bare feet, with their bare toes and their bare ankles and their bare calves, which were, like that splendid, oh-so-manly chest, sparsely cloaked with auburn hair.

  "I'm leaving," she announced, doing an about-face and storming off down the hall.

  Andrew marched right after her, his long shadow completely dwarfing her and the path ahead of her so that she could not escape it no matter how fast she walked. "Good."

  "I knew I should never have come here in the first place!"

  "You are entirely correct, you never should have come here in the first place, and at such an ungodly hour, besides."

  She spun around so fast that he collided with her chest. She shoved him away. "What do you mean, ungodly hour? It's nearly noon! How was I to know that you sleep the days away? Do you practice your evil experiments by light of the moon, then, so God himself can't see the wickedness that you're up to? Do you?"

  "I practice my evil experiments at all times of the day, except, of course, when I'm being harassed by meddling females."

  "So now I'm a meddling female!"

  "You've been a meddling female since the moment I met you."

  "And you've been a surly, arrogant recluse who's nothing short of strange! Look at you," she spat, tossing her head and letting her contemptuous gaze rake his body. "Standing there before me, a lady, wearing nothing but a blanket!"

  She struck a nerve with the word strange, knocking him mentally off balance. Andrew drew back, his eyes narrowing.

  "Would you prefer I slip it off, then?" he taunted.

  "I'm leaving!"

  He held himself still as she stormed off down the hall. Nothing short of strange. Her remark had shaken him. Infuriated him. Frightened him, for it showed that certain aspects of his behavior had not gone unnoticed. Emotion boiled up inside him as she marched away from him, her little rump swaying beneath yards of shimmering green satin, her shoulders stiff, her nape white and elegant beneath the pinned-up piles of shiny, tawny-brown hair. He felt an insane desire to call out, to let the damned blanket fall and really unsettle her. But no. He was unsettling her enough just the way he was, and, given her unprecedented attacks on him, he was determined to enjoy what revenge he could take.

  She was about to round the corner. In another moment she'd be on her way downstairs. Andrew couldn't let her leave without having the last word. He waited until she was nearly to the stairs before he rashly, recklessly, tossed out a challenge that would change the course of his life.

  "I say, Lady Celsiana," he called out, mockingly.

  She kept walking, her back as stiff as if someone had poured starch down her spine.

  "I say, madam, would you like to see the evil experiment I'm working on now?"

  That brought her to a stop.

  She spun around.

  "I thought you didn't want nosy, interfering females in your precious laboratory," she blazed.

  "You forgot annoying."

  "That's because I don't consider my efforts on behalf of suffering animals annoying, though I suppose dog haters like yourself would be inclined to disagree!"

  "Oh, I am entirely inclined to disagree. You are by far the most annoying female I've encountered all year."

  Celsie bit back an angry retort and turned her head, refusing to look at him. His near-nakedness was having an effect on her that she didn't quite understand, a hot, short-of-breath feeling that partnered her thumping heart. She wished she could stop thinking about his naked chest. Wished she could keep her thoughts off what must be concealed by the blanket. Wished she could think — at all.

  "So," he taunted. "D'you want to see my laboratory or not?"

  "No, I don't want to see your stupid laboratory after all. It will only upset me. You upset me. I was a fool to even come here in the first place."

  He crossed his arms, one downbent hand anchoring the blanket low on his hip. "Coward."

  Her head whipped around. "I beg your pardon?"

  "You profess to be some savior of animals, yet look at you, bolting because you just might see something distressing. Some dog defender you make."

  Her chin snapped up with renewed pique. She trembled with the urge to fling something at him. And then she saw the challenge in his far-too-intelligent eyes, and what looked like a teasing smirk dancing about his mouth.

  Celsie folded her arms and unflinchingly met his mocking stare, her eyes narrowing.

  "Fine then. Since you're so eager to show off your hideous experiments, you can just lead the way!"

  Chapter 5

  He offered his arm.

  Stiffly, Celsie accepted it.

  And wished that he would put on some clothes. Any clothes. Lord, even a coat would have done wonders.

  Stop thinking about what lies beneath that blanket!

  But she couldn't. Any more than she could will away this annoying, hot-and-prickly feeling that had so unexpectedly come over her. And as she walked mutely beside him, the air between them stiff with tension, she was disturbingly aware of how tall he was. How refreshing — no, how strange — it felt to find someone whose height surpassed her own, whose very stature made her fee
l as tiny as she wished she actually were, who made her feel less of a . . .

  Well, less of a gawky freak.

  Was his — she glanced furtively at the blanket cloaking his hips — anatomy of full stature as well?

  She blushed furiously.

  "I don't think this is such a good idea after all," she snapped, all too aware of the way her body was responding to her handsome, dog-abusing escort and not liking it one bit.

  "It is a brilliant idea."

  "What, you clad in nothing but a blanket, me without my maid or suitable escort, and you leading me to God-only-knows-where? I am not sure it is quite so brilliant at all."

  "It is brilliant because it is obviously not in Lucien's plans."

  "What on earth do Lucien's plans have to do with anything?"

  He marched her out of the main house and through the doors to another wing. "Really, madam. Do you honestly believe that the servant who brought you to my bedroom didn't do so on purpose?"

  "Perhaps he got lost whilst trying to find your laboratory."

  "Rubbish. That servant has been working for us for the last twenty years, and his father worked for us before that. He knew perfectly well where he was taking you. I would bet everything I own that he was merely following orders. Lucien's orders. After all, my brother invited you out here, didn't he?"

  "No, I took it upon myself to come. I wanted to see for myself what evil cruelty you practice in your laboratory."

  His lips thinned in an unamused smile. "I see."

  "Well, I'm glad you do, because I'm feeling very confused right about now . . . Why do you say your brother invited me here? And why would he direct the servant to bring me to your apartments when it was obvious you were in no state to receive visitors?"

  "Because he's a troublemaking monster who delights in making me miserable, that's why." He shoved open a set of carved oak doors. "Here we are. Watch where you step."

  Celsie pulled away from him and came up short. She found herself in a grand chamber, with bookcases built into the walls, a high, plastered ceiling, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a lovely floor of gleaming teak. A huge worktable, crowded with bottles, jars, notebooks, burned-down candles, crumpled-up papers, open books, and a discarded coat, dominated the room. An easel, upon which were scribbled some mathematical or chemical formulas — Celsie had not a clue which — was pulled up beside a high stool. The room smelled predominantly of new paint, new floor, new everything, though Celsie could detect the underlying scents of sulfur, vinegar, and something that had been recently burned.

  There was not an animal in sight.

  Not a cage, not a leash, not a dead dog anywhere to be found.

  "But . . ." She looked up at him in helpless confusion. "Where are the animals you are experimenting on?"

  "I do not experiment on animals."

  "But you said at the ball that —"

  "No, those were my brother's words, and after you attacked me as you did, and in such an embarrassingly public way, I was so angry that I chose to let you believe them. But I never confirmed such codswallop, did I?"

  Celsie could only stand there staring at him with her mouth hanging open. Then she blushed and looked away.

  "Oh," she said, in a little voice. "Oh — I am so sorry . . ."

  "I do not get out in public much, madam, but when I do, I would prefer that people do not get any worse an impression of me than they already have."

  "I was not aware that people already had a bad impression of you," she mumbled, still unable to meet his gaze.

  "You yourself called me strange, did you not?"

  She suddenly felt very small. "Well . . . yes, I did. I'm sorry, now. It was an unkind thing to say, but you weren't the only one who was angry."

  He merely looked at her, turned his back, and walked a few steps away, unwilling, perhaps unable, to accept her apology.

  "I said I'm sorry," she said.

  Nothing.

  She had never felt so embarrassed in her life. Because she had jumped to conclusions and humiliated him in public, he had been forced to leave her ball. And people probably did have a bad impression of him now, thanks to the fact that she had been blinded by her concern for his dogs, and thus let her temper get the best of her.

  As usual.

  Celsie scrunched her hanging, embroidered pocket in one fist. If anyone deserved her anger, it was the duke. He was the one who had made her and Andrew the butt of some cruel joke. He was the one who had made Andrew positively loathe her. He was the one she ought to have been confronting, and by heavens, she was going to have that confrontation right now.

  She raised her chin, determined to make as dignified an exit as possible under the circumstances. And then she heard it: toenails, clicking lightly in the hall just outside. It was a welcome sound in the midst of so much awkwardness. A moment later, a tall, rangy red and white setter, tail wagging gently, padded into the room, went up to Lord Andrew, and insinuated herself beneath his hand.

  Celsie saw his fingers begin to stroke the dog's head.

  "I guess if the dog likes you, I've got nothing to worry about," she said lightly, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence, trying to make amends for her horrible blunder.

  He didn't bother looking at her. "This is Esmerelda."

  "That's — a pretty name," she said lamely.

  "My brother gave her to me as a birthday present three years ago. Thought I'd want to take her bird-hunting, but I don't like to shoot."

  "Guns?"

  "Birds."

  "Oh." She gave a nervous laugh, feeling unsettled by his brusqueness. "I thought all men liked to kill things."

  "Yes, well, I'm different. Or, as you said yourself, madam —" he finally turned to look at her — "strange."

  His moody, challenging stare burned into hers. Celsie flushed and looked down at Esmerelda, who was bending her body into Andrew's leg, trying to get closer to him, her great dark eyes softening with love as she gazed worshipfully up into his face. Celsie felt awkward. Excluded. Soundly chastised. She began to wish she had made her exit. She was starting to grow very hot beneath her chemise, and more than a little uncomfortable by Lord Andrew's brusqueness. Was he incapable of forgiving? Incapable of understanding? For heaven's sake, Taunton, even Bonkley, was easier company than this man. At least she knew how to handle them . . .

  "I think I'd better take my leave," she said.

  "Why? I thought you wanted to see my laboratory."

  "Yes, well, I wouldn't want to bother you any longer with my nosy, interfering presence," she said, trying for a lighthearted sarcasm that failed miserably.

  "You forgot annoying."

  Celsie began to take a deep breath, intending to count to ten. Twenty, if she had to. "Lord Andrew —"

  "Go, leave, then," he interrupted, making an impatient, shooing motion toward the door. His eyes looked almost savage. "I never wanted you in here in the first place. I never want any females in here, because every single one of them is bored within minutes, and I'm sure you'll be, too. So go, before your eyes start glazing over."

  "I'm not bored, merely uncomfortable. Your manner does not exactly make a person feel welcome."

  He bowed mockingly. "A thousand apologies. My manner is far too honest."

  Celsie raised her chin and glared at him. He gazed down at her from his superior height. And she saw then, in his eyes, something he was trying desperately to conceal, something that hid behind his pride, something that was as plain as the hair on his broad, hard-muscled chest, before he glanced away.

  He was wrong. Honesty lay not in his manner, but in his eyes. His defiant, surly, and yes, hopeful, eyes. They said everything his brusqueness didn't.

  He didn't want her to leave.

  He would never admit it, but he didn't want her to leave.

  "Apologies accepted." She took a deep, steadying breath and let it out on a tentative smile. "Now let's stop bickering, shall we? I want to see your laboratory. I promise I won't be bored —"
>
  "Women never keep their promises."

  — "and besides, I've never met any men of science before," she said, ignoring his gruff words and trying to force geniality from him. "Did you write the formula on that easel over there?"

  "Yes," he said, shooting her a glance that said, Well, who the devil do you think wrote it?

  "And did you design and build that great, complicated machine down there on the floor?"

  "Yes."

  "And look at all those books you have . . . They appear to be texts on science and math and alchemy . . . Do you understand them all?"

  Again a look of long-suffering impatience. "I wrote several of them," he muttered, pulling one down and thrusting it into her hand while he bent over a table and began rifling through a large stack of papers. "That one's my doctoral thesis."

  "What is it about?"

  "What does it look like it's about?"

  "It looks like it's written entirely in Latin," she said tightly, but with a cheerful smile so that he would not see how much his rudeness and sarcasm were unsettling her.

  "Anyone can see that it's a treatise on the components of air."

  "Anyone who's a male and thus privy to an education."

  "And what is that supposed to mean?"

  "Exactly what it implies. You men think of us as silly, frivolous creatures when you're the ones who get to go off to Eton, to Cambridge, to Oxford; you're the ones who get to do Grand Tours of Europe; you're the ones talking politics in every London coffeehouse, in every private club, in every private dining room over your brandy after sending us women away because you think such talk would overtax our frivolous little brains. How do you expect us to know Latin and understand the components of air when our education consists of learning the proper use of the fan, taking care of babies, and how to sew?"

  He stared at her, his expression inscrutable. He had the most intent, focused, single-minded gaze she'd ever seen. It was almost unnerving. And it remained on her for far too long.

  "Stop looking at me as though I'm some bug under a microscope," she said, feeling uncomfortable.

  He finally turned away, heading across the great room. "I'll grant that men have an advantage," he said levelly, "but most of those who go up to university waste their time drinking, gambling, and whoring instead of studying."