The killer . . . or killers?Kendra had to consider the possibility that more than one member of the Metamorphosis Club was involved.
“Once again, I find my wife in fierce concentration.”
Kendra didn’t exactly jump, but she certainly started and spun around to find her husband walking toward her.
“You remind me of Duke when he’s in his laboratory,” Alec went on, taking the cup out of her hand and stealing a sip. “Care to tell me what you did this afternoon?”
Kendra searched his face, but it was unreadable. “You first. What was the business venture that His Grace wanted you to look at?”
He didn’t answer immediately as he strolled to the sideboard. “Intriguing,” he finally said, topping off her cup with fresh coffee from the pot. “Mr. Ronalds has a new invention that uses iron wire to conduct electrical signals. He actually managed to send a signal eight miles away.”
“Wow. A whole eight miles?”
He grinned, handing her the coffee cup. “Minx. Whilst such technologies seem archaic to you, I can assure you, it is quite innovative. Mr. Ronalds is trying to drum up support for his invention, especially after Mr. Barrows dismissed it as frivolous.”
“I see. Who is Mr. Barrows?”
“Second Secretary of the Admiralty. Mr. Ronalds believes we can free ourselves from pen, paper, and post by sending communications electrically instead.”
“Morse code,” Kendra murmured, and then her eyes widened. “Are you talking about Sir Francis Ronalds?”
Alec studied her. “Fascinating. He hasn’t been knighted—yet, apparently. You’ve heard of him then? In your America?”
“Well, he’s not exactly a household name,” she admitted. “I took a few engineering courses when I was at Princeton, and there was a debate over whether Sir Francis Ronalds should be considered the first electrical engineer.”
She sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling unsteady, and moved to the desk to set down her cup. “It’s so weird. Sometimes I feel like I’m living two lives,” she whispered, “one overlapping the other.”
Alec came to her and put his hands on her shoulders. “No,” he said when their eyes met. “You’re living one life, Kendra.Thislife, with me. The other is just memories.”
“Memories of things to come.”
He rubbed her shoulders. “I can understand how your unique experience may be distracting at times.”
She laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. “It’s damn distracting. You just viewed an experiment that will eventually lead to technologies that I use—Ionceused—in my daily life. It’s . . .”
“Weird,” he finished for her.
For some reason that made her laugh, and this time the laughter was genuine. “Yes. It is. And it’s very short-sighted of your Mr. Barrows to reject it. I wonder how much more advanced the world would have been if England had financed the project?”
“Based on what little you’ve told me about the innovations in your America, I’d say civilization hasn’t suffered unduly by having to wait. My uncle is interested in investing in Mr. Ronalds’ invention.”
She bit her lip with worry. “Don’t do it because of what I just told you. As far as I know, this experiment will fail and his investors will lose all their money until he finally strikes it rich decades from now.”
“All investments are a gamble, Kendra. There was no guarantee when Duke and I invested in Richard Trevithick’s steam engine or countless canal projects in the last decade that they’d be successful.” He smiled at her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We shan’t be punting on the River Thames anytime soon. Most of our investments are in our estates, the land, from which we derive a steady profit—although this summer has been so cold that the harvest has been bloody miserable.” He skimmed his fingers down her arms in one, long caress. “Now, if you tell me that they’ve invented a machine to control the weather . . .”
She gave a quick laugh. “Not in my time. Nothing like the weather to make human beings feel powerless.”
“Very true.” He released her to pour himself a brandy at the sideboard, then glanced at her over his shoulder, one dark eyebrow lifting. “Well, I’ve told you how I spent my afternoon. Do you want to tell me why you disappeared after the postmortem, only to return home in a hired hackney?”
She hunched her shoulders in a defensive posture. “Wakely’s a tattletale.”
“Actually, Ramsey told me. Was it your intent to keep it a secret from me?”
She blew out a breath. “No.”
“Well, then . . .”
“You know that you married a woman who is smart and capable and very good at her job, right?”
