And just like that, Hudson had been dismissed. He turned on his heel, long, angry strides taking him from the cursed, futile conversation he had just shared with Chief Inspector O’Rourke. He could not like the undeniable tone of acceptance in the other man’s voice when he had spoken of Croydon’s flight from England. He had made it sound as if it were already an accepted loss, that Croydon had simply escaped and would remain forever free. That pursuing him was hopeless.
But Hudson was not prepared to believe the inspector’s story. In all his years as a detective, he had learned to trust his instinct, and that same instinct had never led him astray.
Something was amiss, and Hudson was not going to rest until he discovered what it was. Thanks to Elysande’s requirements, he had three months to make certain Croydon was captured and went back to prison where he belonged. It was going to be the longest bloody three months of his life.
* * *
“Dratted, wretched, stupid thing!”
Elysande cursed her electrical frying pan, which was currently neither suitable for cooking nor electrified. If she carried on in such fashion, she would never have a functioning model in enough time for it to be included in the London Society of Electricity’s exhibition. She remained convinced that her idea, if properly constructed, would prove quite revolutionary in its potential to alter cooking. No fire would be necessary, and if she could only get the blasted thing to heat properly and evenly, it would cook food in record time.
Her model frying pan currently sat on the desk some footmen had moved up from the library at her request. Papa had offered her a small dynamo to power it, enabling her to work from Brinton Manor, and she had gratefully accepted. However, she was still no closer to achieving success. The conductor wire she had used was faulty. She had acquired platinum wire for her next attempt, with the idea that it should generate heat quickly. But the composition of cement she ought to use to insulate the wires was still giving her trouble.
If she was going to have any measure of success, she would need to cease being distracted. To stop thinking of Hudson and wondering where he was or when he might return. She would most certainly not find herself staring out the window, thinking of the magical effect his sinful lips had wrought upon her traitorous flesh. Nor would she spend hours distractedly sketching changed design elements only to find her mind perpetually mired in thoughts of the way he had looked, naked and gleaming and emerging from the lake that day.
Do not think about his broad chest or his flat abdomen roped with muscle, she warned herself.Or his excellent shoulders and strong arms. To say nothing of his…
“For heaven’s sake,” she chastised aloud. “You are doing itagain, Elysande. This simply shall not be accepted.”
Elysande had been far more intrigued by the way things worked than by the way people did. Her heart was impenetrable, and from the time she was a very young girl, she had been content to sneak into Papa’s workshop and surround herself with the components for building. With gears and tools and screws and wires. Science fascinated her. While her sisters had been reading poetry and fine literature, Elysande had been consumed with engineering treatises, reading about everything from electricity to geometry.
She did not swoon over a handsome face. She had never longed for kisses. When Izzy had spoken of Mr. Penhurst with lovesick sighs and recited his manly attributions with the dedication of a scholar, Elysande had laughed, thinking it odd indeed that her sister should find herself so enraptured by one mere mortal.
And yet, here she was herself, helplessly caught in the throes of foolish, silly infatuation with her replacement husband. The husband she had not wished to have! The husband who had made her melt and then gone to London. It was outrageous and wrong and embarrassing. Little wonder she had yet to make any significant progress on her prototype. She had turned into a hen-wit, and all because of…of…his tongue. Yes, that was the reason.
Biology.
You can trust me, Hudson had said.
And she had believed him. But now, it was more than apparent that of the two of them, it was herself she should not trust. Her mind was strong and sharp, but her body was weak and susceptible.
A knock sounded on her door, interrupting her ruminations. And a fine time for just such an intrusion, for next she would stoop so low as to begin sighing over the man who had fled her side.
You told him you wanted three months, a voice reminded her.
So she had.
All the while, her frying pan sat before her, unimproved.
“Come,” she called on a sigh, supposing it would be her lady’s maid.
Instead of Denning, however, her sister Izzy sailed over the threshold. “Ellie! Whatever are you doing hiding away up here?”
Izzy’s long, dark curls had been plaited in a Grecian braid. She wore a cheerful yellow silk and a happy smile.
“Dearest sister,” she greeted, rushing forward with open arms before stopping just short of an embrace when she recalled she was in her workshop apron, which was horribly dirty. Hastily, she untied the knot at her waist and drew the garment off. “I am working on my electrical frying pan. I have chosen to convert my sitting room into a workshop of sorts.”
Izzy gave her a hearty squeeze, her roses-and-orange-water scent familiar and reassuring, as her sister’s sudden arrival was. “Oh, Ellie. I have missed you skulking about Talleyrand Park streaked with dirt and oil.”
She chuckled, for there was no need to argue with her sister’s description; it had been apt. “I have missed Talleyrand Park and you as well. As you can see, I am merely skulking about streaked in dirt and oil here at Brinton Manor instead.”
“Yes, I most certainly can see.” Izzy ended the embrace abruptly, stepping back to view Elysande with a searching gaze and a frown. “You are by yourself, still?”
By herself, indeed. Her family had not made any secret of their disapproval of Hudson’s return to London while she remained in Buckinghamshire. When she had traveled to Talleyrand Park to oversee the movement of her prototypes and supplies, she had been forced to admit the reason why she was alone.
“Of course I am by myself,” she said lightly, trying not to allow her sister’s opinion to sway her. “I requested three months to work on my electrical frying pan so that I can ready my design for the exhibition.”
That was a partial truth, for while she had asked for the time, she had not imagined he would leave her alone at his estate. And when he had informed her of his plans, he had also made it seem as if he would scarcely be gone long. However, one week had turned into a fortnight, and then more days had slipped by.
