He pulled the letter from his pocket and lifted it to the light. He peered at the third paragraph. Had Hampson written that they’d raised the temperature of the alloy to 1,250 or 1,280 Celsius? Even such a small difference could affect the results. Pulling his lorgnette from his waistcoat pocket, he raised them to his eyes and brought the paper closer. Perhaps if he—
“What are you reading?” Netta poked her head through the door. Her gaze swept the laboratory, and she stepped fully inside. Her lime-green gown seeming to brighten the room, or perhaps it was the woman wearing it. “And what is this place?”
He shoved the glasses back in his pocket. “A letter from the manager of my smelt. He’s informed me of the development of a new alloy he’s playing with. Or the lack of developments.” He crossed his arms. “And you’re in what is left of my laboratory.”
She wandered to a tall glass-fronted case and reached for the door. “And all these little jars—”
John leapt forwards and drew her hand back. “Highly dangerous chemicals. Don’t touch.”
She clasped her hands behind her back and strolled to his work bench. She found the one object not covered by a linen, his worn leather book of notes, and blew at the dust covering the page.
She sneezed.
A lead ball weighted his stomach. There was no experiment in progress. No open flames. Yet the image of Netta bent over his workbench filled him with unease. The scene was too reminiscent of the last person he’d seen bent over his work bench.
He took her elbow and drew her out of the room, locking it behind them. “The letter is further evidence that I need my chromite mines returned. It is time for you to meet our mark.” He tossed the letter on his desk and dropped into the chair. If all went well, he could kill two birds with one stone. Tonight was the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the Dutch embassy, and, he hoped, flaunt Netta in front of Sudworth at the same time.
Netta leaned against his side. She combed her fingers through his hair, and the fine muscles in his face went slack. “Are you certain there is nothing of promise in the letter?” she asked. “Perhaps if you read it more closely with your spectacles on.”
He removed her lovely, petting hand and glared up at her. “I do not wear spectacles.”
Her gaze dropped to his waistcoat pocket and she arched a dark eyebrow.
John sniffed. “Those are purely for affectation.” Until now. Bloody thirty-five-year-old eyes. “No matter. What are you up to today? Another visit to May’s club?”
“I hadn’t planned on it.” She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and gave him a look he couldn’t interpret. “But if you’d like to accompany me, I think a visit to The Minerva would be time well spent.”
“Me? At a women’s club?” He patted her hip. “A bit like inviting the fox into the henhouse. I don’t think Auntie May would approve.” He pushed the edge of the letter with his finger. Perhaps if Hampson heated the furnace even further the alloy would—
No. He’d learned his lesson. His time of fiddling about with corrosive chemicals was over.
His head jerked forward. “What?!” He rubbed the small sting on his scalp and scowled. “Did you just slap the back of my head?”
“You weren’t listening to me.” Netta turned and leaned back against his desk, facing him. She crossed her arms. “I don’t like being ignored.”
John stared at the ceiling, fighting his grin. It wouldn’t do to encourage such behavior. But she was irrepressible. “You now have my undivided attention.”
“And now I don’t want it. I don’t think you’re ready for what I had to say in any case.” She tugged the letter from under her arse and scanned its contents. “This laboratory up at your estate, it is much larger than the one here, I suppose?”
“Yes. At least five times its size.” It was a lovely space. One he’d designed himself. He was glad Hampson was finding some use for it, even if his experiments came to naught. He tangled his fingers in Netta’s skirts and pulled her between his spread legs. He rested his cheek against her bosom as he lazily traced a circle on her lower back.
This was nice. Having someone he could talk to about his day. Someone sweet and understanding.
“And is that laboratory similarly abandoned?”
John’s hand stilled. Depending on the direction of her next words, he might have relaxed too soon. “Well, Hampson putters about in it from time to time.”
“But you don’t?” Her bosom heaved with her sigh. “Why did you stop working in science?”
And there it was. He set her away from him. The question he didn’t want to hear. “The ‘why’ isn’t important. That part of my life is over.”
She moved back into his space. Raising her skirts, she swung her leg over his thighs and settled on his lap, lacing her hands behind his neck. “Because of what happened with your brother?”
His muscles tensed. “What do you know of it?”
“Only what you’ve told me.” She planted her nose against his, her enchanting eyes filling his field of vision. The violet at the edge of her irises seemed to glow, a bright lure that drew him deeper into her thrall. “And that is nothing. But I saw his scars. I see the guilt you bear. I am not without powers of discernment.”
He wanted to be irritated. Wanted to gather his guilt about him and wallow in a self-loathing silence. He didn’t speak of the accident with his friends. Not even with his brother. It hung over them like a pall.
