Cadoc grimaced. “Gold.” Their brother-in-law was stricken with the goldbug and followed it wherever there were rumors of making a quick fortune. He dragged his family back and forth with him, across rough, often inhospitable terrain. Their sister had already lost two children to deprivation and sickness, and Cadoc was glad Davy and Ella would remain in England. Here at least he could ensure they were safe, healthy and well-fed.
“They’ll be here, in our care. For good.” Caris’s eyes shone as brightly as her smile.
Cadoc smiled back. “At least until they’re in a profession or wed.”
“Pshaw. I’m not going to think about that. I plan to enjoy my relief. I’ve lived in fear for five years - that they would go across the ocean and I’d never see them again.”
Chapter Three
Ithadbeenalmostthree weeks since he’d issued his challenge. Jess had spent every single night in the interim tossing and turning, determined to devise a solution that didn’t require her surrender.
She couldn’t very well sneak into his house and somehow miraculously retrieve the microscope without being discovered. She refused to give him the satisfaction of an easy conquest, and the situation she found herself in was unconscionable.
That morning, she’d finally decided to confront him and demand he observe the rules of gentlemanly behavior. She took a deep, fortifying breath and set the brass knocker against the heavy oak door.One. Two. Three.She could hear the steady thunk reverberating through the hall and wished she was tall enough to see through the peephole installed just above the crown of her head. She was here against her better judgment, determined to persuade him against their bargain. She’d worn her most straightforward ensemble - an unadorned whiteshirtwaist with plain buttons and a serviceable skirt devoid of bustle.
She was second-guessing the outrage that had spurred her to beard the lion in its den when the door swung open. He leaned against the threshold and stretched one arm above him to grasp the frame.
His unbuttoned shirt swung open and Jess caught a glimpse of dark hair arrowing down his navel before she wrenched her gaze away. Jess had never seen a man’s bare chest because most men wore vests under their shirts. For some unknown reason, Cadoc Morgan was contrary and chose not to adhere to custom. She jerked her eyes up from the bead of sweat that was slowly trickling down one exposed pectoral muscle.
Not only was he inappropriately attired, his cheek and forehead were streaked with grease.
He gave her a lazy, insouciant grin. “What brings you to my doorstep, Miss Wainwright?”
“I’m here to appeal to your conscience.”
He gestured magnanimously toward the hallway behind him and Jess struggled to ignore how the expansive gesture caused the unmoored shirt to gape at his sides.
“You’re welcome to try your luck, and I’ll enjoy watching you embark on a futile journey.”
When he gave her his back she shut the door. The length of his stride was ground-eating, and she had to scurry to keep up. Like an ignominious rodent. The tails of the shirt fluttered upward as he walked, and Jess caught a glimpse of his back. It was covered with pale scars - a web of them stretched upward from the base of his spine and marred the golden expanse of skin.
She knew nothing of his life before he’d shown up in Heathsted, and she wondered what he was hiding behind his devil-may-care flirtation with her. If his roguish nonchalance was nothing more than a mask. Jess had her own masks, meantto be donned in polite society and to keep those she didn’t know at bay.
She thought about what it would feel like to meet this man on his own terms, no masks between them.
The room he led her to was cavernous. Tools, wiring and several glass and metal cylinders were strewn over the large table dominating the center of the room.
“What is this?” Jess asked. She mused privately that it was exactly as she’d pictured Dickens’ curiosity shoppe. Full of mystery and hidden corners. Gears and handles and bearings covered every flat surface.
He ignored her question to swipe his cheek with a rag he pulled from his pocket. His efforts did nothing but spread the grease. She wanted to step into the space between them, lick the tip of her finger, and wipe it away. Like she would do for one of the children in first primer. With the grease in his dimple and his hair askew, he resembled one of her mischievous students. She decided to repeat her question. “I asked what this was.”
“It’s my workshop, Miss Wainwright. You’ll have to excuse the hearing in my left ear. All those years in the mine affected it more than the hearing in my right.”
Jess stowed away that tidbit of information to mull over later. She tapped her cheek. “You still haven’t gotten all the grease.”
He shrugged. “No matter. I still don’t have the calibrations I need, so there will be more grease on my person before the night is through.”
She clasped her hands behind her back and rocked back and forth on her heels. “I’d assumed this was your workshop, given the state of it.” She wrinkled her nose for emphasis. “And the spot of grease on your face.”
“It bears repeating, Miss Wainwright, that this is my workshop. Sometimes I strip away my vest and shirt so I can do battle with that,” Cad pointed to the sandbag suspendedfrom the ceiling in the other corner of the room. “It helps clear my head. However, I’d like to point out that the state of my wardrobe, or lack thereof, is entirely my concern and none of yours. As you well know, none of my gains are ill-gotten. My wealth comes from my inventions and for some unfathomable reason you’ve interrupted the solitude I require to perfect my latest contraption. I should ask you to excuse the grease, but I won’t, because your visit is unexpected.”
She folded her arms at her waist and steadfastly ignored the gaping shirt. “I’ve thought over your proposition, Mr. Morgan. At length. My sister Cecily convinced me to appeal to your sense of propriety and justice. So that is what I’ve come to do.”
He tossed the rag aside and put his hands on his hips. She thought he was going to scold her again until he threw back his head and roared with laughter. “You should know by now that I have no sense of propriety and your little visit isn’t about seeking justice. You’re here because you’re intrigued by my proposition.”
He’d stepped closer as he spoke, until he was a handbreadth away.
“Cadoc,” she lifted her chin to fume up at him. “I should call you Cad instead. I’m not intrigued. I think you’re arrogant and enjoy manipulating circumstances to your satisfaction. No decent gentleman would insist on carrying out such a bargain or answering the door half-clothed. I must insist you button up your shirt.”
