Page 41 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

It had been bad enough the first time; this one was even worse. Fire and pain in fuller measure. Had the cramp in her leg been the cause? But the cramp, painful as it was, didn’t compare to the agony of her dream. Nor did it account for the sweat that covered her body or the throbbing in her feet.

Why was she having these terrible dreams of being burned at the stake? It was beyond bizarre. And who was that man? There had been such evil in his eyes. Thisbe shivered at the memory.

The cramp had eased a bit, and she slid out of bed to walk out the rest of it. But when her feet touched the ground, she let out a little grunt of pain. The bottoms of her feet were obviously sore. Lighting the candle, she sat down and lifted a foot to examine it.

Her jaw dropped and she stared in astonishment. There were three blisters on the sole of her foot.

THE NEXT DAY, there was a carriage in front of the laboratory when Desmond left work. As Desmond walked away, the door of the carriage opened behind him, and a voice called, “Harrison.”

Desmond turned. A gentleman leaned out of the door of the carriage. He held a gold-knobbed cane in one hand, and he used it to gesture at Desmond to come closer. With an inward sigh, Desmond started toward the man. “Mr. Wallace.”

“Please, get in,” Wallace said politely. “Too cold to stand about outside.”

“Yes, sir.” What else could he say to the man who controlled the purse strings their project needed? Desmond climbed in and sat down facing the professor’s patron.

Zachary Wallace was a thickset man with a square face and pugnacious jaw. Desmond had heard that the man had made his fortune in coal mining, though his build was more one of a miner than an owner. No aristocrat, he was nevertheless swimming in money. His suit was finely tailored, and a gold watch chain stretched across his waistcoat. He had a gold ring on one hand, and on the other an onyx signet ring. Rubies flashed in his stickpin and cuff links. Against the cold, he wore a heavy coat with dark fur decorating the collar, and kid leather gloves. A hot brick wrapped in cloth sat on the floor, warming his feet.

Desmond had been in his presence a few times when Wallace had come to the laboratory, but he had never spoken to the man. Now, as Wallace began to talk, beneath the patina of upper-class tones Desmond heard a hint of an underlying Yorkshire accent.

“I understand you have access to the Moreland household,” Wallace began.

“I have become friends with them to some extent,” Desmond replied carefully.

“Gordon tells me you have influence with the duchess’s granddaughter. It’s time you used that influence to acquire the Eye.”

“Sir... I cannot trade on my friendship with her.”

“Indeed?” Wallace quirked an eyebrow. “You could, I imagine, find it within you to do so if the reward was enough.” Desmond shook his head, but the other man went on, “Gordon tells me that your affection for your mentor is not enough to sway you, nor is the duty that you owe him.”

“I have great regard for Professor Gordon, and I am fully aware of all that he has done for me, but—”

“But it isn’t as persuasive as gold,” Wallace interrupted.

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Nevertheless, that is what is important. I am prepared to reward you for bringing me Annie Blue’s Eye.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a thin leather wallet, then began to extract bills from it. He fanned them out and held them toward Desmond.

Desmond couldn’t deny a spurt of longing at the sight of the money Wallace offered. It would pay his rent for a year. But he shook his head.

“No? Perhaps you require more?” Wallace added another note, then another. “You could leave your job, devote yourself full-time to your research.” He added another bill. “I might even consider funding some project of yours. I am, after all, devoted to expanding the horizons of knowledge.”

“That is a very generous offer, sir, and I appreciate it. But I cannot. Truly, I cannot.” Losing Thisbe’s regard was not worth any amount of money. “I’m sorry.”

Desmond reached for the handle, but Wallace blocked it with his cane. “You don’t have to answer now. Think about it. Consider the advantages. We’ll talk again.”

Desmond nodded and bolted from the carriage. Head down, he hurried toward the omnibus stop, his chest tight. It wasn’t easy to quell the pang of regret at refusing Wallace’s offer. The thought of not having to worry about money, of being able to devote himself to science, was a wish answered, a dream come true. But Desmond would not use Thisbe.

When he reached the omnibus stop, he found that he had missed the vehicle. They ran infrequently this late at night, so he settled in for a long, cold wait. As he stood there, he felt a tingle run up the back of his neck, the sort of feeling he got when someone was watching him. He turned to look back down the dark street from which he’d just come, wondering if Wallace had followed him.

There was no sign of a carriage. And why would Wallace have come after him, anyway? Nor was there a sign of anyone on foot. Still, he looked up and down the street, as well as along the cross streets. He was the only person about except for a man hurrying in the opposite direction, huddled to himself in the chill.

Desmond was tired; no doubt that accounted for the odd feeling. He had been getting up at four every morning to work so that he could leave in time to call on Thisbe in the afternoon, and afterward he’d spend the evenings at the laboratory. It was beginning to wear on him.

The omnibus arrived, and he boarded. But later, after he stepped down from the vehicle and started toward his home, the peculiar sensation stirred in him again. He whipped around. There was no one there. Had he seen a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye? Were the shadows slightly deeper in one of the doorways?

No. He was being absurd. But he picked up his pace, listening intently for the sound of footsteps besides his own. When he reached the outside stairs to his flat, he glanced back. There. He was certain there had been movement in that narrow alleyway between the buildings. He waited, alert. An instant later, a rat scurried out of the mouth of the alley, followed by another. Desmond relaxed. Just rats. No one was following him. There was no reason for anyone to follow him. He was starting at shadows. Next thing he knew, he’d be seeing the dead, like the dowager duchess. He would not consider what might have startled the rats out of the alley.

WHEN SHE FIRST saw the blisters on her feet, Thisbe turned cold inside, her brain incapable of formulating any thought other than that burns caused blisters. But as she applied ointment and wrapped strips of bandages around her feet, she remembered that only a day ago, she had worn a pair of new shoes. They must have rubbed against her skin in those places, creating blisters. She just hadn’t noticed that they hurt until she’d jumped out of bed, hitting the floor with her bare feet.