“Your objection toDuke,” she said instead, “is that men who would not otherwise attract certain women are now afforded the same opportunities as accomplished rakes like yourself.”
“You see the problem.”He gave her an encouraging smile.
She nodded.“I have always seen the problem.I createdDukespecifically to upset the order you’re trying to protect.To giveallgentlemen the same chance.The shy ones, the bookish ones, the portly ones, the ugly ones, the awkward ones, or anyone else Society deems less worthy.Far from being unjust,Dukemay be the closest to ‘fair’ that such gentlemen ever experience.”
In fact, it was the reason she beganDuchess.Women needed every advantage they could get.Particularly overlooked women who deserved to be seen.People like Gloria, who believed in love but lacked dancing partners.
If the right combination of scents afforded an opportunity a woman would not otherwise have had to connect with the perfect gentleman, didn’t Penelope owe it to all women to do everything in her power to give them that chance?
“Balderdash,” Saint Nick said flatly.“The whole point of earning something is toearnit.Not circumvent it with snake oil perfume or made-up science.”
Her mouth fell open.“You don’t believe in science?”
“How can anyone take it seriously?”he asked.“For centuries, alchemists have claimed they could turn lead into gold, purify the soul with mercury, cure consumption with an elixir.None of it has worked.These fools bumbling about as faux rakes are full of nothing more than false pretenses, just like the bottle those dreams were sold in.”
The alarm went off, sending a rapid clockwork belt of three hundred nails pounding against a series of interlinked brass sheets connected to the closed door of her laboratory.
Penelope was glad for the distraction.She slid from her stool as if the unholy din wasn’t vibrating through her bones, lifted the switch to stop the alarm, and strode to her oven.
Saint Nick might have meant his words to shock her.Or perhaps he thoughthewas the logical one, and she the poor befuddled female incapable of viewing the larger picture.Either way, she did not want him to see the excitement brimming in her blood.He had made a far more convincing argument than he even suspected.
Just not for the case he had in mind.
She slipped her wool-lined leather mitts over her hands and opened the oven door.Out of habit, she placed the tray of biscuits atop a cotton square designed for that purpose, and closed the oven door.But her mind was back in her laboratory.
Duchesshad to be perfect.That was the only choice.It couldn’t be as good asDuke.It had to surpass it.
But first, she had to prove the science.To show incontrovertible evidence that this new chemical combination worked exactly as advertised.All night, she had despaired of finding an unambiguous method of determining the latest compound’s potency.
That was, until a non-believer walked through her door.
“Have a biscuit,” she ordered.
He lifted his hand eagerly but then narrowed his eyes in suspicion.“I thought you said I had to leave when the alarm sounded.”
“I only promised to listen to you until then.”She tossed her leather mitts atop the counter and began to tidy the kitchen.“Are you peckish or not?”
The allure of fresh biscuits seemed to win out over his much-deserved suspicion.“May I have a plate?”
“Find one.”
While her uninvited guest was thus occupied, Penelope slipped across the hallway into her laboratory to dab a drop of the working version ofDuchessbehind her ears and on her wrists.
Saint Nick was the perfect test subject.He didn’t believe in perfume or science, but rather his own mind.Indeed, the deck was stacked delightfully against her.
He knew she was a perfumer.Believed she was the sort of alchemist who thought the right science could turn anything into something else.He would not trust her or her motives for a single second.
She was likewise a perfect control subject.Not only a spinster, not only a virgin, but one who had never been so much as flirted with before.IfDuchessworked on Penelope, if it could win even the smallest token of affection from a rake who was already set against her, it would be an unarguable success.
’Twas the perfect experiment.
In order to prove her theory, Saint Nick needed to become overset with enough emotion to try to kiss her.Not that she would allow such a liberty.
For the kiss to be valid, it would need to be attempted for no reason other than him being unable to hold his passions at bay.
A peck of the cheek would not count.A brush of the lips against the back of her hand in greeting would not count.A manipulative wooing in an attempt to talk her into sellingDukewould not count.
Only the sort of kiss that came from within would qualify.An unplanned kiss.The sort one fought against and only gave into when no choice remained but to indulge an overwhelming desire.
