Her gaze shimmered, and he hoped she finally understood what she meant to him.
“Then I suppose,” she said, “that you should be thanking me.”
He raised his brows. “What sort of payment comes to mind?”
“I have a few ideas.”
A smile flirted at the corners of her mouth. In a blink, she’d gone from his wise and steadfast spouse to his sweet and seductive lover. He marveled at her complexity. She knew his virtues and his failings and, by some miracle, loved him as he was. Gratitude amplified his need for her, which felt as vital as his next breath.
“If I may, I do have a request,” he said.
Her eyes lit up. “The spectacles?”
Yes, she knew him well.
Tenderness became a tempest, a roiling sea of desire. And when she cried out her love for him, her spectacles sparkling and incomparable breasts jiggling with his thrusts, he let his emotions sweep him away. Trusting that what they’d built together would hold and keep them safe, he surrendered to the storm.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“By day, the Cheiranthus cheiri, variety vespertinus, is cloaked in modesty. At twilight, it spreads its petals and guides the night-flying moth with its seductive perfume. Thus, this overlooked wallflower is not waiting to be noticed: it is adapting, surviving, and blooming on its own terms.”
Evie held her breath…and released it as applause filled the room. A moment later, the clapping turned thunderous, most of the audience surging to their feet. As the President of the Botanical Society, Mr. Brixley, came to the lectern and thanked Evie for her remarks, she looked out at the crowded hall. James sat near the back, a place he’d chosen so that he could support her without being a distraction. Their gazes met, and his gleaming pride dimmed everything else. When he winked, her heart tumbled helplessly, and she had to force herself to concentrate as Mr. Brixley invited questions from the audience.
After the presentation, she was swarmed. She was pleased to find that her lecture had drawn an unusual number of female attendees, and she took the time to answer their questions and converse about their interests. As icing on the cake, Sir Richards, a longtime society member and former president, came to pay his respects. He was known as a curmudgeon, but she’d always liked how he treated her as a botanist first and lady second.
“You have outdone yourself, Lady Manderly.” His hazel eyes were sharp, his features weathered by his passion for the outdoors. “Your presentation was the evening’s pièce de résistance, and I daresay it will earn you a spot in our next publication.”
Delight and triumph rushed through her. “You are too kind, sir.”
“I am too old for niceties,” he said with a harrumph. “You have earned your place in the society—and the post of secretary, if our less progressive colleagues can see beyond their prejudices. Mr. McAllister’s term is coming up, and you have my vote to take his place.”
“Take his place? As secretary?” The notion of occupying the prestigious position stunned her. “The idea…to be frank, it never occurred to me.”
“It ought to. You need to be as clear-headed about your own merits as you are about Cheiranthus cheiri, variety vespertinus.” He was diverted by the waitstaff entering with trays. “Ah, here come the refreshments. I hope they don’t run out of the macarons like last time. If you’ll excuse me.”
Without further ado, Sir Richards hurried toward the refreshment table. His haste alerted the other guests, who raced there as well. Scuffles ensued, leading Evie to conclude that botanists and food made for a dangerous combination. Then James approached, and her mind emptied of all else save him. He was the picture of elegance—so perfect, in fact, that she wanted to muss him up a little. To run her hands through his hair and tear off that starchy, precise cravat. With a flash of heat, she wanted him the way he’d been this afternoon: naked and undone as he shoved inside her, growling her name.
“We will do that later,” he said.
“How do you know what I was thinking?”
“Because I was thinking the same thing.” His grin was brief and devilish, and the kiss he brushed over her knuckles set her aquiver. “You were brilliant, my love. From now on, no one in the audience will see a wallflower as anything but extraordinary.”
“Do you think so?” she said happily. “I was nervous and stumbled at the beginning. But I gained confidence as I went on, and by the end, I felt more at ease.”
“You were a smashing success. If I’m not mistaken, Sir Richards agreed with my assessment.”
“He did. Oh, James”—she couldn’t hold back a sigh of elation—“he thinks my paper will be chosen for publication.”
“As it should be. The other presentations couldn’t hold a candle to yours.”
“There’s more,” she said excitedly. “He says he would vote for me to become?—”
She was interrupted by the arrival of Lawrence Whetham, a wiry fellow whose hair was slick with pomade and whose unctuous manner hid sharp claws. In the past, he’d been rather dismissive of her work, and she remained wary as they exchanged pleasantries.
“Lady Manderly, how enchanting you look,” he drawled. “The hue of your gown is quite becoming.”
Gigi had insisted that Evie have something new to wear for the occasion. Given the short notice, Mrs. Sommers had worked her dressmaker’s magic and cleverly remade Evie’s slate-blue silk poplin, bringing its silhouette in line with the latest fashion. The frock was freshly trimmed with narrow black velvet bands at the cuffs, its muslin chemisette newly edged with lace. Likewise, Evie’s coiffure projected femininity without frivolity: the front had a smooth middle part, and the back was arranged in interwoven braids. A small jet comb, shaped like leaves, secured the coil at her nape.
