by Anne Renwick
“I want you to grant her more time to choose a husband. Or, better, do not require her to marry at all.”
The finger stopped. “No.”
Irritation rose. “No? Will you not even consider my request?”
“Consider? You would do well to consider what will happen to Amanda if she does not marry and soon.” The duke paused. “I’ve already delayed finding her a husband for several years, but now she has a limited amount of time before Emily’s true whereabouts can no longer be concealed. After which, by association, Amanda will become tainted, disgraced in the eyes of the ton. All chances for a decent husband, a happy family gone.” His eyes bored into Thornton’s now. “Passion burns in Amanda. But when the ton cuts her, when they begin to actively shun her, and she finds her options severely limited, that flame will flicker and dim. She will become a bitter recluse, a slave to her work. And that, Lord Thornton, is no way for a woman—or a man—to live their lives. I have worked far too hard providing for my family, my children. I will not stand by and idly watch while another daughter ruins her life. My answer remains: no.”
Thornton’s fingers curled into fists. “If she goes against your wishes?”
“I will not force her to marry. Neither, however, will I allow her to continue at Lister University. She agreed to the terms of her enrollment.”
“You left her no choice!”
“She tried to blackmail me. I returned the favor.” The duke rose from his seat, leaning on fingertips over the great carved desk. “Mr. Sommersby has offered for her hand. I see him as the perfect solution. A good family, a good income, but not so good that his social status or finances will forbid her from following her chosen path. As to children,” the duke shrugged, “I leave that to them.”
Thornton was stiff with anger. Anger at the duke for tossing away someone as unique and special as his eldest daughter on someone like Sommersby. Anger at himself. For although every nerve in him screamed, “Mine!” Although he could give her everything that Sommersby offered—and more—he did not wish to be pressured into a hasty marriage.
He had known Amanda but two weeks, two weeks under strange and unusual circumstances. What would happen when normal, everyday life resumed? When they both returned to their separate pursuits involving long hours of work? When his leg failed?
“Then I will miss her.” In his laboratory and in his arms. Gripping the head of his cane tightly, Thornton nodded and took his departure.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
HE FOUND HIS AGENT standing guard in the chicken coop. Thornton had thought the man exaggerated when he’d described Amanda’s laboratory, but beady-eyed hens did indeed scratch and peck about his agent’s feet.
The man cast him a pained look.
Any other time on any other case, Thornton might have teased the man, mocked him for the fine coating of down and sawdust that covered his shoes, but learning of Amanda’s impending engagement seemed to have paralyzed his every facial muscle. He neither smiled nor frowned. “Dismissed,” he said.
“Sir?”
“I will take it from here.” He and Lady Amanda required a private word.
“Yes, sir.”
He knocked. A moment later, the door cracked open, and her bright blue eyes appeared in the opening. “May I come in?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
“Yes, of course.” A flush crept up from beneath her high-necked collar, and, as the door swung wide, her eyes flickered to a small, but neatly made up cot stuffed into the corner of her makeshift laboratory.
Before he could take a step, an orange cat slipped past his ankles, dropping a limp mouse at her feet, and yowled for her attention.
Thornton followed, stepping into the small, cramped space. He propped his cane against the wall and waited.
A large portion of her work surface was currently given over to chemistry equipment and a distiller. He recognized the amatiflora blooms that were submerged in water and boiling over an alcohol flame. Steam rose, then cooled, spiraling down glass coils before dripping into an amber collecting flask.
“Good work, Rufus,” she praised, reaching down to scoop up the injured mouse and deposit him on a cotton pad. She twisted open a can of sardines for the monocled cat, who purred loudly in anticipation.
Did he imagine it, or was she avoiding his gaze? She wouldn’t promise herself to another, to Sommersby, and still invite him to her… cot, would she?
Knowing it might be so, could he still accept?
It distressed him to realize the answer was, no, he could not. He would not take what had been promised to another. Disappointment settled over him like a low-hanging, sulfurous fog. “Amanda, is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“About the formula?” she asked, her voice pitched a touch too high. “You’re early, but I expect to be done with the distillation soon. If you’d like to stay—”
“About Mr. Sommersby. Have you accepted his proposal?”
“How did you—?”
“I saw his carriage. Answer the question, Amanda. Should I leave?”
Her face burst into flame as she took his meaning. “I… no… I mean.” She dragged in a deep breath. “Yes, Mr. Sommersby proposed. I declined.” Amanda placed a hand on his arm. “Please don’t leave.”
He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, and the sudden rush of air into his lungs, the rush of oxygen to his brain provided stunning clarity. He wouldn’t be her last lover, but he would be her first. He would do his damned best to make certain she would never forget him by staking his claim in the primitive manner mankind had done for thousands of years.
For tonight, at the very least, she was his.
He reached out with one hand and set loose the first tiny button beneath her chin. “The cot seems convenient,” he teased. Another button fell free. And another.
She stepped forward, closing the space between them. Her hips bumped his as her fingers found his coat buttons. “Overnight distillation was my only option,” she murmured. “I sometimes sleep here.”
He unfastened the last button that peeked above her leather corset. “Sleeping wasn’t what I had in mind.” Hooking a finger over its edge, he tugged her forward. He was hot and hard and wanted her to know how badly he wanted her. “You’re certain you want this?”
She nodded.
He ran his finger under the edge of her corset, brushing over the hardened peak of her nipple. She gasped, and he saw her pulse begin to race. He wanted more. “Say it,” he demanded, deliberately holding his hand still.
“I want this,” she whispered. Her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him to her, pressing her stomach against the hard length of his straining erection. “I want you.”
Satisfaction raced through him as he bent his head and claimed her lips with his own. They had all night and he meant to savor every minute.
A loud knock sounded at the door behind him. “Amanda? It’s me, Ned.”
With great effort—and soft swears—he pulled away.
Amanda reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging him back. “Ignore him. He’ll go away.” Her lips pressed to his throat.
Thornton growled his approval. His palms caressed the smooth leather of her corset, shaping the curves of her hips before dropping lower to cup the swell of her bottom.
The knocking grew louder and more insistent. “I know you’re in there, Amanda. Open up. Father sent me.”
It seemed the traitorous, over-privileged heir wasn’t going away. Not without some forceful encouragement.
With a groan, Thornton pushed her away. He turned and, flicking the locks, yanked the door open. A young man wearing an ambulator cage that stretched from hips to toes stared back. “Lord Edward.” Thornton addressed Amanda’s brother, his tone anything but polite. “I’m afraid we are very busy. Busy solving your problem. Tomorrow would be a better time to visit your sister’s laboratory.”
“I’m
certain you’d like that, Lord Thornton.” Ned snorted. “Father indicated my sister might be up to something of interest. I never guessed—”
She cast her brother a dark look over her shoulder, cutting off his words. “Come in, Ned.” Amanda stood before her workbench, making adjustments to the equipment. Aside from the stain in her cheeks, she was the picture of innocence. “Lord Thornton and I are working on reproducing Emily’s original formula. Nadya pointed us in a new direction last night.”
“Nadya? That old gypsy woman Emily was always hanging about? Wasn’t she some relative of Luca’s?” Ned asked, shouldering past Thornton, his mechanical steps heavy but sure.
It took every ounce of willpower not to shove Amanda’s brother back out into the chicken coop. Though perhaps her tactic was sound. The sooner they answered Ned’s questions, the sooner they could be rid of him. He focused on breathing deeply, on studying the sibling for whom Amanda went to such great lengths.
“Yes.” Amanda kept her eyes on the equipment before her. “She recalled a location where late-blooming amatiflora might be found. She was correct.”
Her brother immediately brightened. “Any luck?”
Thornton eyed the steam-powered, exoskeletal device Ned wore with interest. The dials were within easy reach of the hands, the power packs small and compact, and the smoke it emitted minimal. The hinges and joints moved with only the slightest hiss of steam. Before long, he himself might require something similar. This morning, his ankle had begun to fail, twisting oddly beneath him.
“We’ll know momentarily. I’ve enough distilled to run the test on one small subject.” She waved a hand in the direction of the caged mouse. “Though if it works, there are only sufficient flowers to make enough for one vial of the nerve toxin.”
Amanda pulled on protective goggles. Turning the stopcock, she shut off the steady drip of fluid. She pulled the amber collecting flask and, using a bulbed pipette, withdrew a measured amount of the distilled essence. Squeezing the bulb, she squirted the liquid into a waiting beaker, one that already contained an orange-red liquid. The solution shifted color as she swirled the glass, stabilizing at an odd yellowish-green color.
“Excellent,” she said. “Exactly as Emily predicted.” She glanced at him. “It’s ready.” She positioned the limp mouse on a steel tray before filling a glass syringe with a fraction of the fluid. With deft hands, she targeted the mouse’s injury.
Several minutes passed during which no one spoke.
She slid her patient into the observation chamber of an aetheroscope and manually activated the vacuum. With a quick adjustment to the magnification, the feline-induced wound to the rodent’s legs came into sharp focus. Amanda inhaled deeply and held her breath. With a tungsten probe, she contacted the nerve and delivered a pulse of electricity.
His eyes were glued to the needle of the readout dial. It twitched, sweeping into the green zone before returning quickly to rest position. The barest of nerve response. Perfect for the neurachnid’s probe.
“You’ve done it,” he whispered, his lips pulling into an amazed smile.
“Done what?” Ned asked. “Did it work?”
Amanda turned around. Pulling off her goggles she gave them both a wide grin. “It did!”
Ned grabbed her in tight embrace, while Thornton fought the impulse to do the same. “My brilliant sister. Sisters!” He released Amanda. “Is the spider ready? Shall I cancel my appointment?”
Her face fell.
“Appointment?” Thornton asked.
Ned turned to him. “Ferrous replacements. Next week.”
Ferrous replacements. A brutal, horrible surgery members of the ton turned to. Such a procedure worked. Barely. But it did allow gentlemen the appearance—if not the actuality—of normalcy.
“You can’t manage a few more weeks?” Irritation laced Thornton’s voice. Behind her brother, Amanda shook her head. He ignored her. “Have you any idea of the trouble you’ve caused?”
Ned had the sense to look ashamed. “I regret the trouble my decisions have caused.”
“Regret.” He barely managed to pry the word from between his clenched teeth.
Amanda stepped forward, laying a hand on his arm. Her eyes pleaded. “There are extenuating circumstances.”
Ned nodded. “Georgina, the woman I would have as my wife, will be engaged to another man in a fortnight. Her father will accept my suit only if I am whole.”
Thornton wanted to thunder that there were plenty of women who would have a future duke, broken or whole, but a glance at Amanda had him biting his tongue. He had an idea now what a man might sacrifice in order to possess the woman of his dreams. “There is protocol to follow,” he said. “Rat studies will take, optimistically, a solid month. Long term outcomes,” he waved a hand, “upwards of a year.”
“A year!” Ned yelled. “No. Absolutely not.” His eyes narrowed. “Ferrous replacements it will be.” He stalked to the door, steam rising about him.
“Wait,” Amanda pleaded. “Thornton, please.” Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. “Can an exception be made?”
Such an exception could cost him his career. A risk he found he was willing to take. For her and her alone. “Very well. The new neurachnid is complete. Can you wait three more days for us to make arrangements?”
“Yes.” Ned nodded. “Thank you.”
Thornton held up a hand. “You realize that the surgery may very well fail?”
“Of course.”
“I have one condition.” One look at Ned’s face and Thornton knew the lordling would agree to anything. “You must have your father’s permission. Know I will speak with him myself concerning the risks.” Only then would he proceed, risking his career… All for one woman’s happiness.
“Agreed.” Ned turned to Amanda with pure glee in his face, seemingly convinced his sister’s contraption was incapable of failure.
Thornton would speak with the Duke of Avesbury again and outline the terms of his son’s surgery. If—when—the procedure worked, when the duke’s heir walked again using his own nerves, his own muscles, Amanda would be free to marry on her own terms and on her own schedule.
Chapter Thirty
WITH THORNTON’S promise, Amanda didn’t have much trouble ridding herself of her troublesome brother. He’d broken the mood by barging in and then pushing Thornton to proceed with an unapproved surgery.
She turned back to her workbench, arranging the various bottles of solutions on the shelf, not quite daring to meet Thornton’s eyes. She felt guilty. Extremely so. It was wrong of her to press him to break protocol in order to cosset the son of a duke.
Ned’s injury—if not his intended—could wait. He had waited five years; he could wait another year if necessary. But Thornton’s injury could not. By her calculations, his peroneal nerve was in danger of imminent failure. The amatiflora might not bloom in time to distill more essence for a second procedure. If they were to break protocol to perform experimental surgery on a human, it should be his injury they should attempt to repair.
“I’m sorry.” Amanda kept her back to him, as she fought a growing tightness in her throat. “Perhaps another night.” He’d looked so very angry, he couldn’t possibly be interested in continuing what they’d begun earlier. After what she’d pressed him to do, he might never be interested.
He didn’t answer.
She felt, rather than heard his approach, for he crossed the room without making a sound to stand behind her. She finished tidying the workbench and was about to turn around when his heavy hands fell on her waist.
“You have no idea what it does to me,” his breath fell warm on the nape of her neck, “to watch you work. It’s been such agony. To not be able to touch.” His hands tugged at the laces of her corset, loosening them, pulling them free. “No. Another night won’t do at all. Unless you tell me to stop, to leave, I’ve every intention of finishing what we started.” His hands stilled, waiting.
/> He still wanted her? Even though Ned’s surgery would mean his own leg would fail? She didn’t want him to go. Ever.
“Stay,” she whispered, setting his hands in motion once more.
Heat rushed over her. Her skin was on fire. Her nipples tightened, aching for his touch, straining against the thin shifting fabric of her shirtwaist as he yanked her corset free and tossed it to the ground. Her knees weakened and her world tipped off center.
Then his hands were exactly where she wanted them, cupping her breasts, squeezing them, plying her nipples with his fingers as she arched back against him.
“You like that?” He all but purred.
“God, yes.” She wanted the fabric barrier between them gone. Wanted his hands directly on her skin.
His hands fell away, and her lips parted to object, but then those hands were on her hips, turning her to face him. One lifted, and the pad of his thumb touched the fragile skin beneath her eye. Her breath caught, and her heart stuttered at the tender gesture. “You need sleep. But,” his lips pulled into a smile that promised all manner of delicious naughtiness, “not just yet.”
She tipped her face into the warmth of his palm, felt its roughness against her smooth cheek. A warm, humming thrill rushed across her skin. “What I need is you.” She let her gaze fall on those wide, oh-so-expressive lips.
He laughed, a low soft rumble. “Such directness. Such honesty.” His hand wrapped around behind her skull, pulling her face toward him as his head dipped, catching her lips with his own. Warm and soft and gentle.
Emotions too complicated and unfamiliar to analyze surged through her. He felt so right. She lifted her arms, sliding her hands up his chest to his shoulders, exploring the hard muscles that lay beneath his waistcoat, beneath his shirt. Skin. She wanted to touch his skin. She pushed his coat from his shoulders.
He released her long enough to shrug the annoying garment to the ground, then stepped forward, pinning her against the workbench so she could feel the hard column of his arousal. He caught her mouth again, his tongue sweeping inward, stroking hers with suggestive thrusts. A mere taste, a mere promise of the carnal pleasures that would soon be theirs.
