“You don’t need stealth, girl.” Aunt Aubrey tapped her cane on the carriage floor. “You go sneaking about the museum and he might not see you, but the rest of the world will, and mighty suspicious you’ll seem. You’ve been introduced. Simply walk up to this Mister Mclintock. See who he’s there with. He may even offer their name. There’s more than one way to learn about a man. Don’t make it complicated.”
Madelina grimaced. There may be more than one way to learn about a man, but there were no ways to explain to her aunt that she couldn’t simply approach Mister Mclintock. Not after the way he’d abandoned her in the middle of her first set at her first ball. Made her an object of sidelong looks and fan-concealed titters. Landed her name in the scandal sheets.
How dare he do all that after looking at her as if she were the only woman in the room? Did he turn that heated gaze on Miss White when they were alone in one of their adjoining bedrooms?
Madelina drew in a long, slow breath, trying to banish the memory of those adjoining rooms. She didn’t know which unsettled her more, Mister Mclintock’s deeply masculine space, so uncluttered and alluringly scented, or Miss White’s collection of lacy, frilly, and disturbingly sheer garments, strewn about her room as if ripped from her form. The carriage slowed. Madelina looked out the window to watch their approach.
“That’s his carriage,” she said, a thrill shooting through her. “See? That’s the symbol of The Black Aspen.” Past his carriage, she took in the imposing façade of the home of Sir Hans Sloane’s collection, complete with gravel drive and massive front steps. She hadn’t realized the scale of the building. “How will we find him in there?”
“Simple. I shall watch the grand stair. You shall make a hasty search of the exhibits. If he gets past you, at least I can see who he’s with.”
The carriage rolled to a halt. A footman opened the door to hand down her aunt, then turned back for Madelina. As they walked slowly to and up the steps, pace necessitated by her aunt’s limp, Madelina scanned for Mister Mclintock’s other shadow, the man who spied on him for Miss White. By the time they entered the overstuffed structure and headed for the first gallery, Madelina still hadn’t seen him. She realized he couldn’t enter because he would stick out in the same way her aunt had warned that she would if she tried to visit the museum dressed as a lad.
It galled Madelina that Aunt Aubrey was right.
Slippers tapping lightly on the marble floor, she glided away from her aunt, trying to appear as if she intently studied the various works on display, when really she endeavored to look at everything but.
Maintaining her scrutiny of each passing gentleman didn’t prove easy. The entrance hall drew the gaze ever upward, onward. The broad staircase beckoned. Ladies and gentlemen gadded about, talking, pointing, and staring. Madelina tried to ignore how many stared at each other, and her, instead of the exhibits.
Still, something drew her onward, away from the newer exhibits from the South Seas. Away from stunning Greek statuary and the secrets of faraway Egypt. Mister Mclintock could be there to see the wonders collected in the museum…or to meet someone. Were she holding a private conversation, she’d leave the newer pieces and the crowds they drew.
She drifted to an uninhabited seeming portion of the building, the quiet calling to her. Soon, she found herself wandering a room that, though perfectly clean, held the lingering smell of dust. Books met her seeking gaze, cracked pages adorned by pressed specimens of plant life. Detailed drawings and careful, tightly clustered words spoke dispassionately of each one.
She hurried her pace as she passed into a second, similar room, then a third. Doubt began to press her. Perhaps he’d come to the museum to take in the vaunted South Sea exhibit, not for a secret rendezvous. If so, she’d passed up locating him. She could only hope her aunt would spot Mister Mclintock and any companion he might have met as they departed. Not that what he said or did could possibly be important to Madelina if he’d merely come to observe the art. Even if he accompanied a woman.
She entered the next room and stopped. A tall, lean form stood at the center, bent low to take in a large volume on display. He straightened and pivoted in one smooth motion. Amber eyes met hers. Light seemed to spark deep within. His expression shifted from surprise to pleasure. He approached with long strides.
Madelina swallowed against the dryness in her throat. He looked at her like a great African cat stalking its prey. She vacillated between the need to retreat and the desire to remain.
“Lady Madelina.” He swept off his hat as he bowed. “I cannot imagine a more pleasant surprise.”
Every lesson, every well-turned phrase her tutors had instilled in her fled. “Thank you,” she murmured.
A smile curved his lips as he donned his hat.
Her mind pressed her to utter a return pleasantry to a compliment she ought to have demurred.
“You take an interest in Sir Hans Sloane’s collection on flora?” Mister Mclintock asked, gesture encompassing the room, though his gaze never left hers.
“These? No. I should rather have transcribed copies that I may actually read and learn from.” The words came forth unbidden. She almost closed her eyes in exasperation. In her head, she could hear her aunt’s voice admonishing, “Do not answer questions. Ask them. Learn. Draw out.”
“You choose an odd path, then,” Mister Mclintock observed. “Are you lost?”
She shook her head. “I sought quiet.”
He nodded. “I often seek quiet, as well.” He pulled a timepiece from his waistcoat pocket. A look of annoyance skimmed across his features as he studied the clock face. “And should be honored to do so sometime, with you. Today, however, I’m here to meet someone and, I regret to say, I must speak with her alone.”
A jolt of disappointment went through Madelina, followed hard by anger. Before she could rein in her tongue, she blurted, “Her? Your business partner?”
Mister Mclintock winced. “I’d hoped your civility meant we need not address my…unconscionable behavior at the ball.”
Her hands clenched. “My civility was born of shock at the ease with which you address me. I should think you’d be too ashamed to.”
He looked down for a moment before those amber eyes again lifted to hers. “You will never know how sorry I am for cutting short our evening.”
The wistful remorse in his tone soothed her enough for reason to reassert itself. She did not want to keep him by her side, but rather, now that she’d found him, to follow. She couldn’t employ her aunt’s plan of walking up to him and whomever he met and seeking introduction. Not after he’d informed her that he required privacy. Instead, she must listen in. It would be best if he felt she’d left that wing of the museum, if not the entirety of it. It took little effort to summon the effrontery and anger required to convince him of that. “Indeed, I will not know how sorry you are. Please, do not let me intrude on your rendezvous.” She swung away.
“Wait.”
