Chapter Two
The moment shesettled into the carriage across from Lord Harry Marlow, Alexandra knew she had made a terrible mistake. The carriage was warm and cozy, laden with fresh hot bricks and furs for comfort, and its confines were small enough—or perhaps she and Lord Harry’s legs combined werelongenough—that their trouser-clad calves brushed.
Such a strange point of contact to affect one, the lower half of the leg. She could not countenance it. Indeed, she had never, before this very moment, given much thought to the existence of her calf aside from its functional purpose. But with his leg pressed against hers, she could not deny the rush of heat that began in that lone spot and spread, curling through her body like an unwanted flame that settled somewhere between her thighs.
What was it about this man that made her body react in such an odd manner? Being a science-minded lady, she knew her response was natural. But why him?
“Have you lost your tongue, Mr. Danvers?” he asked in his low, butter-smooth tone.
It was a pleasant voice, the sort that felt like crushed velvet to her senses—soft yet almost sinful in its luxurious decadence. She forced her gaze to meet his, recalling that he thought her a gentleman because of her attire.
She ought to have corrected his assumption at once. But she had not because the notion of being a man, even for a fleeting moment, had seemed so alluring in its freedom. And also because she did not wish for her brother and sister-in-law to know she was gadding about in public wearing pilfered trousers, boots, and coat.
Without the snow buffeting her face, she had an unobstructed view of him, and he was even more breathtaking than she had supposed. His eyes were the vibrant green of forest moss. Golden hair peeked from beneath the brim of his hat. He was the sort of handsome that would ordinarily make her want to hide. Fine-looking men made her palms sweat.
“Forgive me, Lord Harry, if I am unfit company,” she forced herself to say, striving to keep her voice gruff, all the better to preserve her cover. He had said he would take her to an ideal location for her meteorological observations, and she did not wish for him to rescind the offer. That was the only reason she continued the ruse, she assured herself. “It is merely that I am reviewing my observations in my mind.”
What rot, but he needn’t know that. In truth, the moment he had alighted from his carriage, tall and lean and shaking his fist at the clouds she was intent upon studying,hehad been the only object of her observations.
“Your observations,” he said, flashing her a charming smile that made her belly perform strange gymnastic feats. “What are they?”
For a moment, she could not breathe, for it was as if he had somehow heard her innermost thoughts. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she had to look away from him, focusing instead upon the snow clinging to her stolen boots.
“Mr. Danvers?” he prodded. “I confess I am quite fascinated by your studies. The instrument you showed me, for instance. What does one use it for?”
Ah. Thankfully, mind-reader was not one of his talents.
She glanced back up at him, reminding herself that she was not Lady Alexandra Danvers in this stolen moment but Mr. Danvers, a gentleman who could do and say as he wished. A gentleman who would decidedly not be dazzled by Lord Harry’s golden beauty. There was no need to be shy or nervous. She could simply be herself, embracing all her oddities.
“My spectroscope, you mean, my lord?” She extracted it from her pocket, holding it up for his inspection. “It is ordinarily used to observe rainbands. You simply hold it to your eye and settle it just above the horizon. Most do not believe a spectroscope can be used to predict snowfall because cold air makes the band difficult to see.”
He leaned forward, his eyes glittering with something she couldn’t define. “May I see it, Danvers?”
“I suppose so.” With reluctance, she handed the small instrument over to him. “Do be gentle. There is a compound prism at the end that is easily broken.”
As he took it from her, their gloved fingers brushed. “Fascinating,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at the spectroscope at all.
He was looking at her.
Or, more specifically, at her mouth.
Her lips burned as if he’d touched them, and she wetted them with her tongue. Perhaps she had caught frostbite and that was the reason for the sting. She fought for something to say. “It…it is a unique tool, my lord.”
“It is that, indeed.” He turned his attention to the spectroscope in his hands at last, turning it this way and that. “You mentioned a map earlier.”
“Yes.” More heat crept to her cheeks. This was the sort of thing she was not meant to mention in mixed company. But if she was Mr. Danvers, she could say anything, could she not? “I’m making my own diagram that will aid in predicting the weather. Or at least, that is the intended outcome of my efforts.”
Thus far, she had not garnered much success. It was only one quarter complete.
“Predicting the weather is a passion of yours?”
What was it about the word “passion” in his silken baritone that made a frisson of something wicked slide down her spine? She stared at him, her gaze absorbing his sculpted lips, the well-defined philtrum, sharp cheekbones, and wide jaw. How could it be that even his nose was perfectly suited to his face? It ought to be a sin for a man to be as compelling as Lord Harry Marlow.
“Danvers?” A knowing grin curved the lips she’d just been ogling.
Heavens. She was making a fool of herself. “It is a passion of mine, yes.”
“A man of science,” he drawled, shifting his leg so that it brushed against hers in a delicious friction not once but twice. “How intriguing.”
