He couldn’t say the same. She was exactly who she always had been—the woman he’d fallen in love with. If she was confused, it was because he’d kept so much of himself hidden.
He took a fortifying breath. “You have me at your mercy for the next half hour. Ask me whatever you wish.” He steeled himself for the question he thought would come:Why did you leave?
“Did you truly read Rousseau’s work because philosophy called to you?”
Thatwas not what he was expecting, though he shouldn’t be surprised. They had spent hours discussing the work. It had formed the nexus of their first debate. “It was a text my professor had set,” he admitted.
Her face fell.
“But that does not mean my views on it are any different. I think he is absurdly pessimistic.”
Her disappointment quickly morphed into exasperation. “I can seenowwhy you think so. Rousseau argues that mankind will never truly escape oppression and unless you’re one of the oppressed, it’s difficult to see his point. Only the privileged get to have such optimism.”
***
Fiona had been so sidetracked by their debate that she’d paid scant attention to where they were going. But when the door swung open and Edward’s footman flipped forward the step, all breath escaped her. She sat there, frozen, her fingers gripping the leather seat.
“You know that you’re supposed to alight before I do,” Edward said, but it wasn’t true sarcasm in his tone. It was the kind of light teasing that made her throat fizz and lips form into an unbidden smile. She scrambled from the carriage. Once both feet were on solid ground, she looked up, holding her bonnet to her head with one hand, to take it all in.
The Royal Society.It was the epicenter of the finest minds in Europe. For centuries, the birth of scientific discovery began in this building.
She’d been here before. By here, she meant she’d been across the street, looking up at Somerset House from farther away, with its cream-colored façade, Grecian columns, and row upon row of tall glass windows. It had been the first place she’d visited when she arrived in London. She’d been too overawed to come any closer.
That Edward, the duke, would bring her here was entirely unexpected. It was the kind of thoughtful gesture she associated with Ed, the everyday man who didn’t exist. But it was the duke who stood next to her, and the duke was not a man who longingly stared at a building from across the street.
No, he was a man who owned them, managed them.Entered them.That’s why her stomach had erupted into dancing flames.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. It was quite possibly the most progressive, critical building in all of London. But it wasn’t somewhere that women were welcome. In fact, only one woman had ever been admitted, and that was almost a century ago.
“It’s not the only thing that’s beautiful,” Edward said.
Her pulse quickened at the compliment, but she didn’t take her eyes off the building in front of her. “What are we doing here?” Because surely, surely, it couldn’t be what she was thinking.
“I thought you might want to look inside.” He put a hand on her lower back. Even through gloves and her velvet pelisse she could feel the warmth of his fingers. Inexplicably, the sensation flowed across her skin and a red heat crept up her neck.
She stepped away from him, fanning her face in an effort to quell the desire snaking through her. She could not entertain this want for him, no matter that she knew well what his touch could lead to, how he could make her toes curl and her skin shiver. “But I’m nae allowed in there,” she said. With any luck, Edward would chalk her flustered countenance to excitement about the building in front of them.
“I am the Duke of Wildeforde; I’m allowed anywhere, and I will bring whomever I please.”
It was wrong for one person to have such absolute power but in this moment, she would be grateful for it.
She let Edward guide her as his footman opened the gates. Together they strolled up to the door. He handed his card to the butler, who looked over Edward’s shoulder at Fiona and grimaced a little but nevertheless, he stepped aside for both of them.
“I’ll notify Sir Joseph of your presence, Your Grace. Would you like to wait in the conversation room?”
Sir Joseph. As in,Sir Joseph Banks. Renowned explorer, botanist, and current president of the society. The flickering of flames in her stomach transformed into wild bushfire.
“No need. I’m taking Miss McTavish on a tour. We’ll be starting with the labs. Sir Joseph can meet us there if he chooses.” Edward took Fiona’s arm and led her past the stone staircase and down a corridor. She ran her fingers along the wallpaper. How many of her heroes had traversed these halls? What conversations had they been having as they did so?
Edward took another turn, guiding her again with a hand on the small of her back. She shivered at the touch. “I know you’re a duke,” she whispered. “But how, exactly, do you have free rein here?” And how did he know the place well enough to give her a tour?
He paused in front of a large portrait of Sir Isaac Newton, somehow sensing that she would want to stop to take it in. “It is TheRoyalSociety,” he said while she gaped. “My cousin is the king and patron, and I donate generously.”
She wanted to be taking in the magnificent work in front of her; she truly did. But her attention snagged on his words. Ed had never mentioned The Royal Society, despite their long conversations about science and philosophy.
“How long have you been doing this?”
“Roughly five years,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on the painting.
