Anthony swept his arm over his laboratory. “I have a myriad of experiments to complete and lacking competent help, the likelihood of any one of them being achieved is hopeless.”
His father’s lips formed a stiff line. Anthony was accustomed to applying carefully constructed scientific methods and planned his life accordingly, but this particular scenario had disintegrated into madness, and his father, the duke had taken on the role as director.
“You have it all wrong.” She raised her chin and looked down her nose at Anthony.
The hackles rose on his neck.
Anthony crossed his arms. “What do I have wrong?”
“Your formula on hydraulics is full of errors.”
Anthony snorted. “Did I hear you right?” The prospect of a woman having an idea of modern hydraulics was laughable. He grabbed his notebook and flicked through the pages. He knew exactly to what she insinuated.
She marched to the cabinet, shoulder to shoulder with him. To ignore her height, he focused his gaze on his notes. Was it lavender or lemon balm that entwined him? She snatched a quill and scratched on a sheet of paper. “This is the way your calculations should read.”
“If you say so.” There was not a prayer her computations would be accurate. Impossible for a Colonial woman to have the least idea of force, pressure and area of liquids. For weeks, he had suffered with the formula. He compared his calculations to… His mouth fell open. By God, what she had assessed in minutes made complete sense. Brilliant. “How do you know this?”
“It is a hobby of mine.”
“Hobby? This knowledge takes years…we need to discuss this.”
“You have booted me from your lab. Remember? And refused to be my escort.”
The duke rose and took her by the arm. “Miss Thorne will be occupied today. The seamstresses are waiting for her fittings.”
The Colonial woman halted. “Fittings? I couldn’t possibly—”
The duke put his hand up. “My daughter is three thousand miles away and I miss her terribly. By way of her letters, Abby has ordered a new wardrobe for you. I will honor her request.”
Anthony tossed his notes aside. “She can’t go. I must have more conversation—”
Miss Thorne paused with a dismissive glance over her shoulder. “Are we having a conversation? If there were a hanging for hospitality, Lord Anthony, you’d be last in line. I wouldn’t dream of wasting your time.”
Chapter Two
Rachel prided herself on…people’s predictability. She sighed. Except nothing about Lord Anthony Rutland was predictable. To think he was privy to all the secrets of the universe. How good it was to show him he was wrong. Let him chew on that for a while.
This is taking too long.Standing on top of a stool with an army of pin-sticking dressmakers making endless adjustments made her head ache. Rachel had argued that her own family could well afford the gowns, but the duke remained unyielding, forcing her to relent.
Over the past year, she and Abby had become like sisters, confiding the deepest of secrets. Rachel had revealed to Abby her near rape by an English officer during the British occupation of Boston and the unbearable yoke of the stigma attached to her assumed defilement. Boston was a small town and news had traveled like fire through kindling. Despite her innocence, and even with the family’s efforts to rectify the dilemma, salacious gossip damned her. When suitors disappeared, she knew why. Rachel swallowed feelings of unworthiness. No man of any value would want her. Abby had insisted on a visit to her ancestral home outside London where Rachel could have a fresh start without the taint of disgrace attached to her. She had entered the country through a different port with a contrived story of her loyalist leanings.
How she’d rather be in that marvelous laboratory. The joy of being present there this morning, all the equipment and outfittings laid before her. That rich sensual feel of discovery at her fingertips. For months she had dreamed of seeing the newly built laboratory that Abby had described via letters from her father. Flowing through her veins was the love and enthusiasm of science, direct, simple and passionate. Never could she get enough. When she was discovering, she was unchained, free from the torment of her muddled past.
Abby had talked about her older brother, Anthony and his experiments with electricity. A whole new world dawned and Rachel had created with her heart, and built with her mind, an image of him. She ground her teeth. Lord Anthony. He had spoiled everything. Abby didn’t know her brother at all. He was not the sweet conscientious man Abby had portrayed. More like Attila the Hun.
“Ouch.” A pin skewered Rachel, punishing her for her woolgathering.
“My apologies,” said the dressmaker and showered upon Rachel a myriad of fabrics to choose, satin, bombazine, velvet, silk and taffetas in a dazzling array of reds, golds and sapphires.
Her skin tingled with the unexpected. Lord Anthony was as elemental as the changing universe, uncontrolled energy, with nothing lagging or degenerated about him—no softness at all to his solid and imposing frame.
Trimmings of ribbons, Chantilly lace, seed pearls and ostrich feathers were held up to taunt her. “Good Lord, what would I need with ostrich feathers?”
“For your riding habit hat,” the dressmaker explained, all but rubbing her hands with glee, the subtle suggestions drawing upon a tenacious campaign that such extravagant dealing implied. The duke had given orders to spare no expense. There was the matter of the dinner party this evening that Rachel must attend and a new dress must be readied for the event. With certainty, there would be a sizeable recompense for such a feat. The dressmaker would likely swoon at the amount of profits she would make from the necessary gowns, undergarments, and clothing items.
Abby had not warned Rachel of how devastatingly handsome her brother was. His eyes were baffling shades of blue, like lapis intershot with sunshinedark, light, bluish grey, and intermittently, the azure of a stormy sea. Indeed, he had arrested her attention. Hadn’t he arched a dark brow and stared at her until she felt ready to squirm? His shirt had been askew and most charming, as if he had more important matters in the world to attend than an immaculate appearance. Her heart shuddered, stopping for a moment, and then began beating anew at a frantic pace. She didn’t know what emotion it was he caused to rise within her. Fear? No. She did not fear him.
Rachel tapped a finger on her lips. Admiration. That was it. Paging through his notes, she had discovered a genius. He dabbled in everything in the physical and biological world, extensive diagrams and formulas, theories and postulations. Did his mind ever rest?
