Author Note

The Cotton Mills and Factory Act passed in Parliament in 1819. It was a weaker version of the bill and only applied to children in cotton mills. In essence, children under nine were not to be employed, and children between nine and sixteen could work no more than twelve hours a day. There was no real way to enforce the act. It was introduced by the industrialist Sir Robert Peel. For purposes of the book, I took literary license during the debates in the House and expanded the bill to other factories. I loved writing the book and hope you enjoy the story!

About the Author

Bestselling author Tina Gabrielle is an attorney and mechanical engineer whose love of reading for pleasure helped her get through years of academia. Tina also writes the bestselling Kebab Kitchen Mediterranean cozy mystery series as Tina Kashian. She grew up in the restaurant business, as her Armenian parents owned a restaurant for thirty years. English is her second language. Tina’s books have been Barnes & Noble top picks, and her recent book, How Not to Marry a Duke, is a double winner in the prestigious NJ Romance Writer’s Golden Leaf Award for best historical romance and best book by a NJ Author. Tina lives in South Jersey, is married to her own hero and is blessed with two daughters. Please visit her website at tinagabrielle.com to join her newsletter, receive delicious recipes and learn about upcoming releases.

You can also find Tina at:

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Ruined by the Wrong Earl

Tina Gabrielle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN-13: 9780008947866

Ruined by the Wrong Earl

Copyright © 2026 by Tina Sickler

Published in Great Britain 2026
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

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Dedication

For Gabrielle, with all my love

Chapter One

Cornwall, April 1819

Miss Nora Magarian disliked Society events and the thought of captivity during a week-long country house party would normally make her stomach tighten like a corkscrew.

But this house party, hosted by the Duchess of Everly, was different. First, it meant time to plan an escape from an unwanted betrothal. Second, because the location was an estate in Cornwall, it gave her an opportunity to work on her scientific endeavors in the study of seashells.

Strains from the orchestra interrupted her thoughts. The Duchess was hosting a ball to celebrate the beginning of her gathering. Along with a dozen guests who would stay for the week, she’d invited neighbouring gentry and aristocrats for the evening. Standing alongside her mother, Nora scanned the opulent ballroom. Ladies dressed in colourful silk gowns and adorned with glittering jewels mingled with men sporting brightly coloured waistcoats, snowy cravats, and finely tailored jackets.

‘Stop fidgeting, Nora,’ her mother said. ‘We should join the line to greet the Duchess.’

Nora smoothed the skirt of her blue silk dress. ‘We’ve already spoken with her upon our arrival yesterday, Mother.’

Her mother raised a delicate brow. ‘Rules may be relaxed in the country, but we must still be vigilant. Need I remind you that the Duchess and I went to finishing school together.’

Nora did not need reminding. Her mother had mentioned this fact on more than one occasion. It was the reason they’d been invited for the week.

‘Also, do not forget that your behavior here may affect Lord Umbridge’s suit when we return home.’ A warning note sounded in her mother’s tone.

Nora’s fingers tightened in her skirts. As the oldest of three sisters, she was expected to wed soon. It had been a fortnight since her matchmaking mama had decided that Nora, at the ripe age of twenty-six, should accept Lord Umbridge’s courtship and anticipated proposal upon their return to Town from the house party.

Lord Umbridge! The baron, thirty years older than she, made her heart quiver not in anticipation but dread. He was as dry as stale toast and obsessed with speaking of himself and his fortune. He was unattractive with a balding pate, sagging midriff and bowed legs. Fond of garlic, his breath smelled. What was her mother thinking?

A title. Her mother had ambitions for her three daughters to become English aristocracy. She’d grown even more motivated after Nora’s father, a Middle Eastern merchant, had died five years prior.

Umbridge was the answer to her mother’s prayers. He’d inherited his father’s title and, additionally, was rich in coin. He was also stingy and in need of a good tailor.

Many in the beau monde were prejudiced of Nora’s mixed blood—her mother was the daughter of an English lady and her father a Middle Eastern businessman—but the elderly Umbridge cared only for a beautiful young woman to decorate his arm.

So far, Nora had been unsuccessful in persuading her mother against the match. Madeline Magarian possessed a shrewd intelligence—or ambition, depending on how one perceived it. Now in her late fifties, her mother’s once vibrant auburn hair was fading gently to gray. She was still an attractive woman but her hopes and efforts were focused on her daughters’ future marriages rather than on seeking a second husband for herself. Nora had inherited her mother’s auburn hair and her father’s green eyes. Many in Lebanon had dark eyes, but there was a fair share with green or hazel, and Nora was a blend of her parents.

Nora bit her bottom lip. ‘Mother, I do not think the Baron and I would be well suited.’

Her mother’s brow furrowed in a familiar fashion. ‘Why? Because you fancy yourself a scientist?’

‘Well, yes. I do.’

‘Nonsense. No gentleman wants a lady whose nose is buried in thick treatises and talks about shells. May I remind you that you are no longer a fresh-faced debutante but a twenty-six-year-old miss. If you hadn’t discouraged all your prior suitors, you would not be in this position.’

There was no sense in arguing. Her mother did not approve of Nora’s interest in biology and conchology. Ever since she was a little girl, her father—who imported rare goods from the Middle East—would bring home seashells from the Mediterranean Sea and she had been fascinated with them. Her scientific notebooks were filled with sketches and research facts. Her interest in seashells was even more special since it was connected to memories of her father. It had been a stroke of luck that the house party was in Cornwall, which was known for its rugged coastline and abundance of shells. She hoped to make some more findings here then present her research to the London Scientific Society. Eventually she hoped to join a travelling contingent of scientists and travel to Spain or Italy where the seashells were unique and she could develop new research skills.

But her goal to present to the Society would be dashed if she was forced into a betrothal with Lord Umbridge. The one time she’d mentioned science, his disapproval was as loud as a trumpet blast. She did not wish to marry—ever.

Thankfully, the invitation to the country house party had delayed her mother’s matchmaking goals. The event was a perfect opportunity to thwart her mother’s ambitions as well as Umbridge’s intentions. The more Nora had thought of a plan, the more it had solidified in her mind. No one, not even Umbridge, would want a ruined miss. And there happened to be a notorious rake in attendance… Sir Simon Gilbert.

With his golden locks and green eyes, Sir Simon caused a titter amongst the Society ladies whenever he walked into a room. He was a renowned lover, and it was rumored his paramours were Drury Lane actresses, bored widows and fallen ladies. From their brief encounter upon her arrival, Nora had deemed him a flirt. He’d lingered seconds longer than proper over her gloved hand and complimented her eyes. He also seemed to possess little intelligence. But what drew her to him was something else… He hadn’t a care for scandal and could never be forced to wed.

Perfect.

Tonight at the Duchess’s ball, if all went according to plan, Nora would encourage his flirtatious behavior. Arrange to slip into his bedchamber only to be ‘accidentally found’ by her maid and mother minutes later. Surely, she’d be ruined! Only then would she be free to pursue her passion for biology and to study the unique seashells found on Cornwall’s coast.

‘I see Lady Ardmore!’ came Mother’s voice. Madeline had briefly spoken with the Viscountess upon their arrival. It was true that formalities were relaxed in the country and her mother intended to take every advantage to enhance her own social status. An eager light flashed in her mother’s eyes as she watched the Viscountess walk across the ballroom then gave Nora a sideways glance. ‘Please be pleasant when you speak with the other guests. And no mention of science.’

Nora bit the inside of her cheek to keep from arguing until her mother walked away. Her mother’s initial thought to stand in line to greet the duchess seemed to be temporarily forgotten in her haste to track down Lady Ardmore.

She let out a held in breath. Maybe now she could slip a bubbling flute of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray while she plotted her future. Male laugher drew her attention to a group gathered by the refreshment table. There were four of them, each with a drink in hand. The Duke of Everly, an elderly viscount, a middle-aged man she didn’t recognize, and Sir Simon. Only one was the focus of her attention.

Sir Simon, who was slim and of average height, fashioned his fair hair in the à la Brutus style favored by Beau Brummel and the dandies of the ton. He wore a garish scarlet waistcoat with a matching ruby pin in his intricately tied cravat. His poor valet must have spent a considerable amount of time on the many folds of the scrap of silk. The points of his collar were starched so stiffly they looked razor sharp, as if they could slice his chin if he turned his head too swiftly.

Who better to ruin her reputation than a renowned scoundrel? Science was the utmost importance in her life. To achieve her goals, she wanted freedom from the shackles of marriage. With her target in sight, she forced her lips to curl in what she hoped was an inviting smile. Strategically weaving through the throng of guests in the crowded ballroom, she never took her eyes from Sir Simon.

Halfway across the room, she ran into a solid mass of man. ‘Oh!’

Her ballroom slippers lost purchase on the polished hardwood floor, and she slipped. Strong arms swiftly grasped her forearms to steady her.

‘Miss, are you all right?’ a low voice rumbled.

Brushing a wayward auburn curl that had escaped from her chignon from her eyes, she tilted her head up to meet sinfully dark eyes. Her heartbeat tripled. Over six feet tall, he was lean and well-muscled, a towering hulk of a man. Dark hair framed a face that was all sharp planes from his cheekbones, aquiline nose and straight forehead, softened only by a cleft in his chiseled chin. Even his lips—his full lips—appeared hard. He had the look of an unfinished sculpture, rugged and raw and…compelling. He exuded an unmistakable air of command. She was aware of his hands on her forearms, his fingers firm but not too tight.

Lord Ralston.

She’d met his lordship at last night’s evening meal when he’d been seated across from her. She’d noticed his attractiveness but her first impression was that he was uptight and disagreeable.

‘Where were you off to so quickly?’ he asked.

She blinked. ‘Pardon?’

His hands dropped to his sides as he regarded her, and she felt the loss of the heat and the strength of his touch.

‘You were almost running,’ he pointed out.

Her pulse leapt as she considered her new predicament. Being waylaid by Ralston could only delay her plans. She must engage with Sir Simon before the man seduced his next target. She wanted…needed…that female to be her. She shifted to the side to glimpse around the Earl.

Damnation! Sir Simon had left the group by the refreshment table. Where on earth had he gone?

‘Miss?’

She grew aware of Lord Ralston watching her, waiting for her response. Frustration welled in her chest. His tall broad-shouldered frame stood in her way. On any other occasion, she would exchange pleasantries and send him off to fetch her a glass of lemonade.

‘I’m fine, thank you. If you hadn’t barged into me, I’d be better.’ The words slipped out before she could stop them. She bit her lip, knowing she shouldn’t have spoken her thoughts out loud. Her mother often berated her for speaking her mind and called it an unladylike weakness.

Judging from Lord Ralston’s pinched eyebrows and levelled gaze, she suspected he would agree with her mother.

‘Miss Magarian,’ he said, his voice low and level, ‘is there a reason for your haste?’

The Earl of Ralston remembered her. During last night’s dinner, she had pointed out to one of her sisters that creamed onions were bad for one’s digestion. He’d overheard from where he’d sat across the table and disagreed.

‘No reason, my lord.’ She stepped back. ‘If you will please excuse me, I’ll be on my way.’

Reaching out, he brushed her arm to halt her. She was aware of the slight touch, and a trickle of warmth ran down her arm. ‘Perhaps you’ll join us at the lake tomorrow.’

Was he asking her? Would he offer to row her across the lake like gentlemen preferred to do with ladies at these house parties? She had done nothing to encourage him. Perhaps he was just being polite. Meeting his gaze, her heart raced again. His eyes were surrounded by long dark lashes. She hadn’t noticed before.

Good grief. What was she doing thinking of his eyelashes? She had another goal in mind. A vitally important one. ‘Other than boating at the lake, will the men be fishing?’ she asked.

Ralston shrugged a big shoulder. ‘I assume so.’

‘Then no. The lake is overfished. It would be best if the fish are left a season to spawn.’

He released a coarse laugh. ‘Is that so?’

‘It’s a scientific fact that—’ She spotted Sir Simon out of the corner of her eye. He spoke with Lady Melrose, a pretty widow. The woman’s head tilted to the side, and she smiled invitingly at him.

Oh, no. Nora needed to swap places with the widow. Now.

‘What about hunting?’

Nora’s attention snapped back to the Earl, and she wrinkled her nose. ‘I have no objection to hunting other than I think it terribly unfair. A dozen men and their hounds against one lone fox. Those odds are just unmanly.’

‘Unmanly?’ he said in a choked voice. ‘Perhaps you are only interested in other activities. Such as letter writing or needlepoint.’

‘Heavens no.’ Both sounded torturous to Nora.

‘So, no fishing or hunting. Or ladies’ activities.’

Sir Simon and Lady Melrose had halted by the open French doors. Would they slip outside for a rendezvous? Nora’s urgency to speak with the rake tripled. ‘I wouldn’t say no to everything, my lord,’ she said as her eyes followed Sir Simon. ‘Just fish properly and have all your men and dogs hunt something other than a poor lone fox.’

He whistled through his teeth. ‘You are quite opinionated.’

She turned her attention to the Earl. She couldn’t help but compare the two men. Ralston was ruggedly attractive; the complete opposite of Sir Simon’s fair looks and slim build. No doubt ladies would find the Earl a catch, but she wasn’t looking for a husband. Rather, she needed to escape his presence as expeditiously as possible. She pursed her lips as she gazed up at him. ‘You are rarely challenged, are you, Lord Ralston?’

‘Not often. And never by a lady.’

‘That must be exhausting. And boring.’

He arched a dark eyebrow. ‘Oh? And why is that?’

‘To always be told you’re right, even when you know you are not.’

He stiffened as if she’d struck him. Nora took advantage of his shock. ‘Pardon me, Lord Ralston. I must be on my way.’

Turning her back, she walked away to find a blackguard.

Devon Hawkley, the Earl of Ralston, stood stunned as he watched Miss Nora Magarian disappear into the crowd. His reaction to her sharp words was surprising since not much took him off guard. He also prided himself on his self-control.

He’d met the lady only briefly on the first day of the house party. She was beautiful with auburn hair, green eyes that were tilt-tipped at the corners and a lush mouth. She’d had three seasons and remained unmarried, and he wondered as to the reason. His first clue was during last night’s dinner when she’d criticized the creamed onions, which he happened to enjoy. His second encounter was much more telling.

His attempt at polite conversation had miserably failed. What lady argued about fishing, for goodness’ sake? And defending a fox?

Instinct had told him she was searching for another, and he was a nuisance in her way, which had irked him. And if he were being truthful to himself, he found it insulting. He was an earl, after all, a very wealthy one, and he often had to flee from overeager debutantes and their title-seeking mamas.

He shouldn’t give Nora’s rude behavior another thought. She was the type of woman he avoided. He had political aspirations in the House of Lords and pursuing an obstinate woman like her wouldn’t further his efforts.

What he needed was a lady of impeccable breeding, one who could trace her lineage back to Queen Elizabeth, and whose connections could help him attain his political goals. He was working on a bill to require that children be at least ten years old to be employed at mills. He had another bill in mind that would require at least two years of education for every child. But he understood that he must work on one at a time, and each proposed bill would be an uphill battle. His main rival at the House, Lord Weber, was his fiercest opponent, and Ralston knew he would need allies, both political and social. He was also aware he needed an heir for the continuation of the earldom. He wasn’t a cold man, and his future wife would have his title, his wealth and his influence in Society. He’d respect and admire her. As for love…his past was not to be forgotten.

He had once been engaged to a woman he loved. But that had ended in devastation and heartbreak. Now, years later, he wanted a traditional aristocratic English union—a businesslike marriage of convenience without emotional engagement, one which would benefit both parties. Once he found a lady who met these requirements, he could better focus on his politics. ‘You look like you could use a drink.’ Ralston’s long-time friend, Hugh Shelton, the Marquess of Adler, handed him a tumbler of whisky. ‘Scotch whisky. The best from our host’s cellars.’

Ralston sipped the fine drink. ‘I’m surprised you’re here this early. You usually wait until midnight to attend a ball.’

Adler disliked Society events, especially balls, and had sworn to put off marriage as long as possible. He preferred his club, his whisky and his mistress too much. He possessed a sharp wit as well as a mocking expression. With his light brown hair and green eyes, he was a natural born charmer. He’d been friends with Ralston since their days at Eton as boys. They met at a coffee house in the Strand every week to read the papers and talk politics. Although Adler had no political aspirations, he did his duty by showing up to vote in the House and kept his eyes and ears open to help Ralston.

Adler raised his own glass. ‘My mother has been nagging more than usual.’

‘By more than usual you mean she is guilting you? Or is she threatening you in some other fashion?’

Adler shuffled uncomfortably. ‘I’m not the only one who must ensure the progression of the title for future generations.’

‘Ah, our duty for the heir and spare.’

Adler’s lips twisted into a smug grin as he eyed him. ‘I saw you speaking with that lovely auburn-haired lady. Miss Nora Magarian, is it?’

Ralston’s fingers tightened on his glass. ‘She barrelled into me. I couldn’t avoid her.’

‘Truly?’ Adler arched an eyebrow. ‘I wouldn’t mind if she “bumped” into me.’

‘Don’t be fooled by her beauty. The lady has a tongue that could clip tin. She claims the lake is overfished and we, as a group, should not hunt a solitary fox.’ She’d also declared that it must be exhausting to be appeased by others. He withheld that comment from his friend. Adler would most likely hoot with laughter.

‘Is that so? A lady who speaks her mind rather than one who bats her lashes and pretends to giggle at bad jokes is rare. I’m intrigued. Perhaps I’ll seek her out myself and ask her to dance.’

‘You?’

‘Why not?’

For some reason, the thought of his flirtatious friend dancing with Nora did not sit well with him. Ladies had always been drawn to Adler, and he disliked the idea of him holding Nora in his arms as they waltzed. ‘I would think the pretty, fair-haired Miss Joan is more your type,’ Ralston said.

Adler eyed him with interest. ‘I see. While I dance with the blonde maybe you should pursue Miss Nora instead.’

‘Unlikely. You know what I’m looking for.’ Ralston’s voice sounded gruff to his own ears.

‘Ah, yes. A mundane political match.’

‘An advantageous match,’ Ralston corrected. And the fiery auburn-haired Nora Magarian was not that lady. Half English and half Middle Eastern, many in the beau monde would be prejudiced against her mixed blood. Her background did not disturb him as much as her outspoken nature. She may be beautiful, but he knew better than to fall into that trap. She was the opposite of what he sought.

Adler’s normally amused expression turned serious. ‘I’m worried for you, my friend. I fear your past has tainted your future.’

Ralston scoffed. ‘You mean matters of the heart? You’re wrong. I was young and stupid when it came to my betrothal to Margaret all those years ago. My heart is now safe.’

Margaret had been his country neighbour, and they’d grown up together. As eighteen-year-olds, their friendship had blossomed into romance, and they’d often sneak away to be together. When she told him she was pregnant, he hadn’t been afraid but happy. With their families’ approval, he’d proposed and they were to marry. But he was too young to notice her wandering eye and when he’d caught her in bed with a lover, she’d confessed the baby wasn’t his and called off the wedding. Devastated, he swore never to risk such heartache again.

‘Are you certain?’

Ralston nodded. ‘Why would you ask?’ Adler studied him, then seemed to shift his attention to something over Ralston’s shoulder. ‘It’s just as well. Because Miss Magarian is talking to that scoundrel, Sir Simon.’

Ralston turned to spot the pair by a set of French doors. His gaze narrowed. Adler was right. Nora was engaged with the blackguard, her head tilted up, her gaze focused on him as if in rapt attention. From the brief conversations he’d had with Sir Simon, he concluded the man had limited intelligence.

Why the hell was she polite to that coxcomb, and rude to himself?

And why did he care?

‘You look angry enough to charge over there and yank the lady away,’ Adler said.

‘Don’t be stupid. I just find it intriguing why any female with half a brain would find Sir Simon interesting.’

‘I second your opinion. The man is a pretentious fop. It just goes to show that there is no predicting a lady’s mind.’

Especially hers.

‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to ask the blonde, Miss Joan, to dance.’ Adler placed his glass on a passing servant’s empty tray and was off.

Ralston found it difficult to tear his gaze away from Nora. He had his own goals, dammit. Still, her unforgettable, infuriating words came back to him in a rush.

‘That must be exhausting. And boring… To always be told you’re right, even when you know you are not.’

Indeed.

A part of him wanted to engage with the lady once more. Verbally spar with her. See how far he could go to cause her eyes to flash green fire and her pretty face to flush. She was a challenge, and he hadn’t been challenged by a woman in a long, long time.

He shoved his curiosity and any strange fascination aside. Engaging with her was not in his best interest. He did not want a stimulating marriage. As far as he was concerned, politics was where he found his excitement.

If Nora Magarian wanted to engage with a man of Sir Simon’s ilk, then that was the lady’s decision. Then why on earth did he want to interfere?

‘I’m flattered you sought me out, Miss Nora. I would never forgot such a lovely face,’ Sir Simon said.

‘You flatter me, Sir Simon,’ Nora artfully fanned herself and met his gaze. By the time she’d found Sir Simon by the open French doors, thankfully, the widow, Lady Melrose, had departed.

‘Just Simon. Let there be no formalities between us, sweet Nora.’ His gaze raked her face then promptly dropped to her breasts, as if she wasn’t aware of what he was doing. His eyes shone and she suspected he’d made one too many trips to the punch bowl. It wasn’t an excuse for his behavior. He was the type of male she’d never take seriously if she were seeking a husband.

She released a long sigh. ‘I fear my mother is ruthless in her intentions for me to marry a much older man.’

‘What a waste of your youthful beauty. What is it you desire, Nora?’

Unbidden, the Earl of Ralston flashed in her mind. His rugged dark features were as night from day from the dandy. Simon’s features were so perfect, so symmetrical, that any more delicacy would have made him too beautiful for a man. She inwardly shook herself. Now was not the time to think of the maddening Earl of Ralston. Rather, now was the moment to seize an opportunity.

She must take the initiative if she wanted her freedom. Not all women wanted to marry. Society may deem unmarried females as old maids, hopelessly on the shelf. She would relish that title if it meant she could read as many treatises as she wanted and spend hours talking with scientists who shared her interests. Even travel to the Continent to attend scientific gatherings. There was an entire world outside of marriage and London Society.

With those thoughts in mind, she took a small step closer to Simon, just enough to ensure he was focused on her. She reached out to touch his sleeve with her gloved fingertips and met his green gaze. She let out a tiny breath. ‘I want to feel reckless before I’m shackled in an arranged marriage. Do you know what that feels like?’

His body stiffened in response to her words. ‘I do, sweet. I do. I’m prepared to help with your distress.’ A lustful greed lit his glassy green gaze.

She batted her lashes and hoped she looked infatuated. ‘How can this be accomplished? Please tell me what to do?’

‘My room is on the left, three down the hall from yours. Come to me tonight.’ Eagerness tinged his voice.

She removed her finger from his sleeve, her eyes widening. ‘Oh, sir, I’m not sure I can.’

He licked his lips. ‘You can. Trust me.’

He was the least trustworthy person in Cornwall.

Leaning down, he whispered in her ear. ‘I can give you passion. Something you must experience before you are bound for eternity to a doddering, old man.’

It was bold. Reckless. Impetuous. Dangerous. Nora didn’t hesitate.

For science!

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Tonight.’

Chapter Two

It was well past midnight when Nora opened the door to her assigned bedchamber and glanced into the hallway to ensure no one was still awake.

Empty.

Perfect. She wore only a nightgown and didn’t bother with a robe or slippers. Holding a candle holder with a lit candle, she slipped from her room and softly closed the door. Her bare toes curled on the plush Wilton carpet runner. Her pulse pounded in her veins and her stomach churned at the thought of her daring act.

Tonight, as she hoped, Nora would be one of Sir Simon’s conquests. After they were discovered, Simon would never offer marriage and she’d be ruined. Word would travel and she’d be free from Lord Umbridge. Meanwhile, she’d take advantage of her liberty to study the unique seashells found on Cornwall’s coast.

A giddiness rose in her throat at the thought of her goal coming to fruition, and her feet crept across the carpet. She halted at the third door on the left down the hall, the one Sir Simon had told her was his bedchamber. She’d arranged for her maid, Rosey, to find her precisely fifteen minutes later.

Nerves tightened in Nora’s gut as she reached for the door. Anxiousness trickled down her spine at the bold action she was about to take.

Do not think too hard about it!

She swallowed, determined to take control of her life.

Her fingers rested on the doorknob. And turned.

Her flickering candle barely illuminated the chamber. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness to see a shape in the massive four-poster bed in the center of the room. Sir Simon.

His back was turned. He slept without a nightshirt, his broad back naked, the covers pushed down to his hips. She wondered if he wore anything lower down, beneath the sheets. Her heartbeat quickened with a different type of anxiety. He was in a deep sleep, and she could easily turn and tiptoe back to her room with no one the wiser. Everything would return to normal, and she could wake the next day pretending nothing untoward had occurred.

No! If she wanted her freedom, any freedom, she must take matters into her own hands. She was no longer a young miss fresh in her first season. At twenty-six, she had survived happily without an unwanted husband. She quietly closed the door and rested her back against the cool wood.

She blew out the candle and set it on a chest of drawers. The room was dark as pitch. Hands outstretched, her bare feet were silent on the hardwood floor as she approached the bed. Lifting the sheet, she slipped inside.

He turned and she inched forward and kissed him full on the mouth.

He stiffened and pulled back. ‘What—’

‘Shh. It’s just me.’ She pressed her lips to his once again.

This time, he returned the kiss. His lips were firm, yet soft, his body enticingly warm, and his kiss sang through her veins. Her hands rested on his shoulders, surprisingly muscular and broad shoulders, she noted. She’d never thought him this large but touching him proved otherwise. His hand rested on her back, and warmth followed the path of his touch, heating more than just her low back. She snuggled closer, her nipples tightening beneath the thin cotton nightgown. She didn’t want to give him a chance to deny her. Not when she’d carefully devised this seduction. Not when her future happiness was at stake. And not when Rosey was expected at any minute.

‘Oh my, you certainly know how to kiss,’ she whispered against his lips.

He pulled back. ‘Miss, you—’

She pressed a forefinger to his full mouth. ‘Shh. Let’s not waste time. Kiss me again. With fierce passion. Just as I’ve dreamed.’

She pressed against him once again, his hot skin like sun-kissed marble. This time, his hand came up to cradle her face. Her lips parted and he slipped his tongue inside. She was shocked at the first gentle thrust of his tongue, then quickly wanted more. She clung to him, her fingers moving from his shoulders to burrow into his thick hair. When her nails scraped his scalp, he stiffened for an instant as if deciding which path he would choose, then a coiled tension inside him released and the kiss changed. He slipped one arm around her waist and ravaged her mouth, his tongue tangling with hers. Heart thumping, an unexpected wave of pure heat crashed over her.

Goodness, he was a skilled kisser. No wonder women fell at his feet. Becoming a fallen woman would be much easier than she’d thought.

She wiggled closer. Fascinated by their differences, she pressed a hand on his chest. Strong and sure, his heart pounded beneath her palm. She breathed between parted lips as her fingers passed over slabs of muscles and a crisp mat of hair. Sandalwood and linen and his own masculine scent, hinting of danger, teased her heightened senses. He was even more stunningly virile than she remembered.

He seemed just as eager to explore her now. Lifting his head, his lips brushed a path down her throat and to the sensitive shell of her ear. A delightful shiver of wanting ran through her. She felt the heat in the strangest places. A tingling in her belly. A delicious warmth between her legs. She was warm and hot and shivery.

A soft moan escaped her lips, and she arched towards him. ‘Yes…that feels incredible.’

His voice was hoarse, passionate. ‘God, you were made for this. Who are you?’

Did he not remember their brief flirtation? Or, more likely, he’d dallied with more than one woman at the ball. Any answer was lost when his big hand ran up her leg—her thigh bare without stockings—and she suddenly understood how a woman could lose all inhibitions in the embrace of a skilled, passionate lover. At twenty-six, she’d wasted too much time. When would she get this chance again? Her mother had told her that her curiosity would be her downfall. As someone who studied science, she didn’t see it that way.

Especially not now.

Rosey would be opening the door soon. Now she wished she’d asked for a bit more time. An hour? Maybe two. If she was to be a fallen woman, then she should be able to select the rake of her choosing.

Him. Undeniably him.

‘Simon,’ she whispered, ‘I never imagined.’

He jerked back. ‘Who? Miss—’

The door opened and light illuminated the bed. Heart racing and feeling flushed, Nora sat up ready to face her future…and her freedom.

Her maid, Rosey, gasped, precisely as practiced. It seemed a long, loud gasp, but it was nothing like the reaction of the other woman beside her.

Her mother screamed.

Surely the high-pitched shrill would wake the dead, let alone their host and every guest of the house party.

Beside her, he tossed aside the sheet and stood. ‘What the hell!’

Nora turned at the sound of the deep masculine voice—entirely unlike Sir Simon’s lilting, lyrical voice. His voice had been low before, choaked with passion, and she hadn’t recognized it.

Dread settled low in her gut, at the dark and brooding Earl of Ralston standing stark naked beside her.

Devon, the Earl of Ralston, knew he’d been tricked.

And what a way to go.

He snatched the sheet and wrapped it around him before all hell broke loose and the rest of the house party woke from the hysterical screaming matron in the doorway. What would it take to get her to cease?

She pushed the door aside with such force a chip of plaster flew off the wall and missed his cheek by inches. ‘What is going on here?’

The Earl wasn’t sure if the matron was asking him or Nora Magarian standing beside him.

The mother turned her attention from him to the young woman. ‘What were you thinking, Nora?’

Yes, he thought loudly to himself. What the hell had she been thinking?

No matter how beautiful a woman Nora was, standing stark naked beside her was not a smart choice.

Although, it hadn’t actually been his choice, had it?

She’d slipped into his bed.

God, the feel of her. That lush mouth pressed against his. Her abundant curves had sinuously rubbed against him, and he’d felt her breasts through her thin nightgown pressed against his chest. Her fresh lemongrass soap filled his senses, drugging him. Her silken thighs were without stockings and his blood ran hot thinking of her.

He’d had a hard time forgetting their encounter the prior night at the ball. She’d been impertinent, difficult and intriguing. He hadn’t realized how bored he’d been until she’d challenged him. He was used to beautiful women. In his world, there were many debutantes who’d sought his attention. Only she hadn’t sought his. Until tonight. The more he thought of what had just occurred, the more confused he was. Why had she slipped into his bed? And what red-blooded male could resist her?

He grasped the sheet tighter around his waist.

‘Nora,’ Mrs Margarian’s tone sharpened as she addressed her daughter, ‘I will deal with you later.’

Despite everything, a protective possessiveness for the daughter stirred in his chest, and he wanted to push her behind him to shield her from her mother’s wrath. He must be mad. Then he caught a gleam in the mother’s eyes, and once more, his suspicions were raised. She turned a penetrating gaze to him. ‘You have dishonored my daughter, my lord.’

He hadn’t done anything. Nora had climbed into his bed. But the world didn’t work that way, did it?

‘Madam, this is most awkward—’ he began.

‘Awkward! I demand you act honorably.’

Ah, therein lies the rub.

He was struck by the enormity of the situation. He could not afford a scandal, not even a hint of one. It would be the proverbial kiss of death for a rising politician. He had goals, objectives, and his bill to limit child labor was to have its first reading soon after his return to Town. He could just imagine Lord Weber’s smug look upon clutching the Tatler, the ridiculously popular scandal sheet, and taunting him with it at White’s or, even worse, in the House of Lords, surrounded by his peers.

He reached up as if to loosen a cravat around his throat that wasn’t there. He swallowed. He gave Nora his most imposing scowl, one that would send his stewards scrambling and warn men in the street from stepping into his path. To his surprise, Nora faced him squarely, green eyes gleaming even in the darkness, chin up, lips swollen from his kisses. Her disheveled auburn hair caressed her shoulders and fell in waves down her back as if they’d spent a night in his bed. Still dressed in her cotton nightgown, he could make out a shapely leg. He wanted to yell at her, to demand an explanation, to kiss her hard.

What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t in keeping with his well-designed future. She wasn’t part of it. He, more than others, knew life could be devastatingly unexpected. There was only one way to prevent the scandal of the Season.

His mouth set in a grim line as he faced the mother again. ‘I’m prepared to offer for your daughter. With your permission, we can wed as soon as we return to Town and the banns are read.’

Chapter Three

‘I will not do it. No one can make me marry the Earl.’ Nora collapsed on the edge of her bed the following morning. Thankfully, both of her sisters were present. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be the Earl of Ralston’s room. That oaf Simon told me the wrong room. He said the third room on the left but he was counting from when he departed his room, not from mine!’

Candace rubbed Nora’s back in an attempt to soothe her. ‘It doesn’t matter now, Nora. You must deal with Mother. Not to mention the rest of the house party. News, let alone scandal, travels like wildfire and if you don’t accept the Earl’s proposal, the scandal sheets will be ablaze before you return to London.’

‘Candace is right,’ Sara said from where she sat on the window seat across the room. ‘And Mother will be intolerable if you refuse to cooperate and marry the Earl.’

Nora rubbed her temples with her fingertips. Both her sisters had good points.

Candace was a year younger than Nora and the two were close. The combination of Candace’s mahogany hair and dusty complexion from her father’s Middle Eastern side with her blue eyes from her mother’s English side was striking. Sara, who was also lovely, was three years younger and had dark, curly tresses, but her eyes were chocolate brown. She loved fashion and often sketched dresses on a notebook she carried. As the youngest sister, Nora typically did not confide as much to Sara.

But Nora had confessed her plans to seduce Sir Simon to Candace, who’d promptly tried to talk her out of it, even knowing that when Nora made a decision, it was hard to dissuade her.

Nora flinched. Her plot to get out of her mother’s plans to bind her to Lord Umbridge had backfired. Instead of a baron she’d snagged an earl. Her mother must be over the moon.

‘I know Mother is secretly thrilled, but it’s not what I wanted for myself,’ Nora said. ‘The London Scientific Society meets in less than six months, and I want to present my findings of the Cornwall shells.’

‘It wasn’t what the Earl of Ralston had in mind either. Regardless, you will be a countess,’ Candace said.

‘A countess!’ Sara perked up. ‘Can you imagine, Nora?’

Nora let out a puff of air. She never wanted to marry. Especially not him. ‘The Earl of Ralston strikes me as a man who always gets what he wants and is set in his ways.’

‘In my opinion, you just described most men.’ A note of bitterness tinged Candace’s voice.

Candace had been heartbroken a year prior. Lord Neal had courted Candace and she’d been thrilled when he’d knelt on a knee and proposed. She’d been giddy planning their wedding when, one afternoon, he’d confessed he was in love with his mistress, a Drury Lane actress. He’d proposed to Candace only to please his family, but he couldn’t go through with the marriage and must please himself. He’d then fled to Gretna Green to marry his mistress.

Candace, who’d been in love, had been devastated.

Their mother had been more agitated and upset at the scandal than the heartbreak of her middle daughter.

Candace grasped Nora’s hand. ‘I’ve come to realize there is no such thing as true, selfless love, but there are cruel gossipmongers who thrill at another’s misery. No one knows this better than me.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s my fault. I should have somehow dissuaded you from going through with your idea to seduce Sir Simon.’

A knot twisted in Nora’s stomach. ‘Oh, Candace. You had nothing to do with my plans. Please do not blame yourself.’

Candace pressed her hands to her cheeks and shook her head ‘How can I not? Just the thought of the scandal and the vicious barbs from wagging tongues! Now you have no choice but to marry the Earl of Ralston.’

Nora stood and began pacing the carpet as an idea formed in her mind. Scandal had never frightened her as much as it did Candance. ‘Not necessarily.’

‘What do you mean?’ Candace asked.

‘What are you going to do, Nora?’ Sara asked.

Nora halted. ‘What if I convince the Earl it’s best if we part ways.’

‘How?’ both Candace and Sara asked in unison.

‘He dislikes women who speak their minds,’ Nora said. ‘Who is more outspoken than a female scientist?’

The quill was poised over the foolscap for a solid minute. Ralston, who’d remained in his bedchamber all morning and now sat at the writing desk in the corner of his room, needed to advise his head housekeeper and butler at his London mansion of an upcoming wedding. The earldom had a country estate and a large London home when in Town. His staff disliked surprises and it was best to notify them. Although an engagement with Miss Magarian had yet to be formalized, he must be prepared for the inevitable. How should he start?

Mrs Hanning,

I’m betrothed. A wedding breakfast will take place at Ralston House before the end of summer.

He could just imagine his orderly housekeeper’s reaction. She’d be in a frenzy to prepare the mansion and the staff for a new mistress. She’d also most likely be overjoyed. Both his housekeeper and butler had been employed since Ralston was a baby and were like family. On more than one occasion, Mrs Hanning had made passing comments that the nursery had been empty for too long.

If his parents were alive, what would they think? He’d been raised as a typical son and heir of an aristocratic household. All his needs had been met, and his father had been satisfied that he’d had an heir. His mother had been affectionate when he’d been a young boy, then more distant for his later years. His parents had approved of his engagement to Margaret since their families had been friends and were upset for him when she’d cried off. By the grace of God, he’d never told them about the baby. His mother would have been happy to have a grandchild, then furious that Margaret had betrayed him that way.

As for Nora Margarian, would his parents have approved of his hasty betrothal to her? They would not have approved of the way it came about. They’d demand an explanation. Perhaps it was best if they were not around for him to explain.

As for himself, his plans to marry for convenience and connections were no longer in the cards. Love wasn’t necessary, nor was it desired. He’d even preferred a lady who didn’t stir his emotions or his lust. An image of the auburn-haired virago, Miss Magarian, sprang to mind—a woman bold enough to slip into a man’s bed.

She was the opposite of what he’d sought. Nora did not have a fat dowry or the lineage of a queen. Although her family had been invited to the house party, certain members of the beau monde looked down upon them, both because of their father’s Middle Eastern roots and the fact that he’d been in trade. Her background did not concern him; her behavior, however, was a different matter. She was impetuous and scandalous.

A knock on the door sounded. He set the quill aside. His valet was expected to shave him. ‘Enter.’

The door opened and Nora entered.

She was alone, with neither her mother nor maid as chaperone, and her brazenness again took him off guard. His body instantly grew alert. Unlike the prior evening, her auburn hair was pinned in a neat bun at her nape, and she was properly dressed in a blue morning gown with embroidered rosebuds at the bodice. Not an inch of skin showed. Skin, he knew firsthand, which was soft and smooth. Awareness thundered in his veins, along with a sizzling attraction. She must have felt it, too. Her eyes—her green eyes—were large in her oval face.

What was it about her?

‘Miss Magarian, you should not be in my chambers unchaperoned.’ His voice sounded harsh to his ears.

‘I’m aware, my lord. However, I need to speak with you.’

‘Don’t you think it is a bit late for conversation?’ In his opinion, the time for that had long passed for both of them.

She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t believe so. Last night, was…was unexpected.’

He released a gruff laugh. ‘Unexpected? You mean for me? You, on the other hand, planned it perfectly, didn’t you?’

She wrinkled her brow. ‘No, my lord. I only sought to gain my freedom.’

‘Your freedom? What did you think would happen?’

She swallowed and his gaze was drawn to the smooth column of her throat. He recalled her soft mewling moans as he trailed his lips from her mouth to the shell of her ear. With only her thin cotton nightgown between them, he’d been as aroused as if she’d been naked. And when his palm had slipped beneath the hem to caress her shapely leg, he’d been lost. What would have happened if her maid hadn’t opened his bedchamber door with her mother in tow?

His heartbeat pounded like a drum in his chest. The attraction was perilous. He prized himself on his self-control. He took his responsibilities seriously and rarely showed or displayed emotion. Base lust had never controlled him. Yet, a few shivery kisses with the brazen Nora had made him as hard and volatile as a youth with his first lover. She could never know how strongly she affected him. She was dangerous.

She shook her head. ‘I wanted to ruin my reputation to get out of an unwanted match. I accidentally slipped into the wrong bedchamber. It wasn’t supposed to be you.’

His gaze snapped back to her face. Her complexion had paled a shade. She’d called him another man’s name and it had disturbed him more than he would let on. He’d been completely engrossed in the moment with her and couldn’t recall whose name she’d uttered. ‘I see. Whose bed was it supposed to be?’

‘Sir Simon’s.’

A second paused and he tossed back his head and laughed. But now he understood. Finally understood. ‘That dandy.’

She looked affronted as if he’d insulted her. A sourness tasted in his mouth that, because of a mistake, she’d ended up in his bed. If the gossip was to be believed, Sir Simon had deflowered his share of debutantes.

The memory of her speaking with Simon at the ball came back. It had bothered him then. This was worse, and Ralston’s heart pounded at the thought of Nora in Simon’s arms.

Ralston picked up the discarded quill on the escritoire in his room and fingered it. ‘Your efforts have failed. You escaped one match only to end up with another. And I thought you’d tricked me to become a countess.’

Her green eyes flashed in her face. ‘No! I don’t want to become your countess!’

A burst of anger flared in his chest. ‘Well, it’s no longer up to either of us, is it? It will be an epic scandal.’ A scandal he could not afford. He had no choice but to diffuse it before it reached Town, and he introduced his bill in the House.

Her magnificent green eyes flashed again, then she released a breath as if reining in her temper. ‘You’re wrong. It is up to us. I have something for you to convince you that we are unsuited.’ She stepped forward. For the first time, he noticed an object in her hand. She placed the wrapped item on his desk.

‘What is it?’

She stood still, her fingers folded before her. ‘Unwrap it. You will see how unsuited we are.’

His curiosity was piqued. Reaching out, he picked up the package. The item was light and small. He unwrapped the cloth. ‘It’s a seashell.’ Looking up, he met her eyes.

‘It’s not just a seashell, my lord, but a painted topshell and is unique to the Cornwall coast. The body of the snail that inhabited the shell is as colourful as its shell and is flecked with purple, red and brown. I found this during my explorations.’

‘Interesting, indeed,’ he said, ‘but what on earth does it have to do with our predicament?’

She let out a small sigh. ‘Don’t you see? We are unsuited. I am a scientist, a biologist, and my current interest is conchology, the study of mollusk shells. I have no desire to marry. Ever.’

‘Interesting,’ he repeated, ‘but I still do not see how this changes—’

She took a step forward and the scent of her soap wafted to him. He inhaled the fragrance like a drug. He was grateful the escritoire was between them so she couldn’t see his physical response.

Her eyes were wide, imploring. ‘You must understand. I have no interest in Society or the fickle beau monde, only my research. I hope to present my findings to the London Scientific Society in the future. I would make a dreadful countess. Tell my mother whatever you wish, my lord, but do not go through with a betrothal.’

His brow lifted. ‘You do not look like a scientist.’

Her lips twisted wryly. ‘And what do you think a scientist should look like?’

‘Bespectacled, serious and introverted.’ And male, he thought to himself. Not a woman who slips into a man’s bed uninvited in the middle of the night. Certainly, not a woman who looked like her. A woman who made him think of heated encounters in the bedroom, of her glorious auburn hair, loose down her back as she rode him and screamed his name as she came.

His name.

A spark lit her eyes, and she raised her chin. ‘Your assumptions are ignorant but not shocking. Scientists, especially women, can look and act differently than as you described.’

He picked up the shell. It looked like an ordinary shell. The home of a sea creature. All he’d wanted was a businesslike marriage of convenience that would suit both partners.

‘Are we in agreement, then?’ she asked, a note of eagerness now in her voice. ‘If you prefer, we can consent to a temporary betrothal during the house party since others must have heard and the news will spread. When the scandal is forgotten, we can then both agree to cry off when we return to London.’

He leveled his gaze on her as his mind kept turning to the prior evening. ‘No. We are not in agreement.’ If she thought a scandal of this proportion would just blow over, she was gravely mistaken. It would be disastrous for him. He’d be a laughingstock in the House chamber and could just imagine the members talking behind his back. Politicians gossiped worse than magpies.

‘I fear you aren’t listening. My scientific endeavors are—’

‘The truth is I do not wish to be married either, but I believe it is too late.’

Her eyes widened. ‘How so?’

‘Your interests are in science. I have my own interests to protect. I am a member of the House of Lords and preparing a bill. Scandal will hurt my efforts.’

She shook her head, the strands of red in her auburn hair shining from the sunlight streaming through the open drapes. ‘I’m sorry to hear this, but I do not mind a scandal.’

His stomach churned in frustration. This wasn’t going the way he’d wanted at all. It was true he did not wish to marry this swiftly. And when he did wed, he had always believed he’d wanted a lady of breeding whose family connection would help his political aspirations. But things had veered off course, and he was left with little choice but to adjust. Last night’s misconduct had been too public—a duchess’s house party no less—and the consequences would swiftly follow. He had to contain this.

Perhaps there was a benefit to his wife having a profession. She wouldn’t require constant attention, flowers or poetry. Her science would keep her occupied so he could focus on his own work. The less time they spent together the better, and they could cohabitate without conflict. Her intellect would ensure he wouldn’t be bored by mundane conversation when they did have to speak. Another bonus was that, once married, he would no longer have to dodge the overeager mamas of the ton at every ball who sought him for his title and wealth. And married politicians were deemed more respectable. If he got married while Parliament was in session, the timing could help his bill.

He had to convince her. He was a politician after all, and skilled at debate. If she was strongly opposed to marriage, then he must use all his powers of persuasion. There was much he could offer her, and if she was a scientist like she’d claimed, then she must be logical. He just needed to make it worth her while.

He leveled his tone. ‘What if it is to your benefit to marry?’ He stood and walked over to her. At over six feet tall, he leaned across a chest of drawers so as not to appear intimidating to her.

‘How?’ she asked.

‘I will not stand in the way of your science. In fact, you will be free to pursue your study of shells from the comfort and security of marriage.’ He thought of what else would be hard to resist and considered her financial concerns. ‘I will even fund your research. As a countess, doors will be open to you in Society that would not be as an unmarried woman.’

She gave him a considering glance. ‘You would fund my research? Would I have an allowance?’

‘I am a wealthy man and will be generous.’

‘What if I drain your wealth?’

He chuckled, the tenseness in his chest easing a notch. ‘I’m not concerned.’ Of that he was certain. He’d wisely invested in the London Stock Exchange and had increased the earldom’s coffers by nearly twofold.

She swallowed. ‘And what of an heir?’

It would be best if he were honest. ‘Yes, the earldom requires an heir. But after one is born, you can pursue your own endeavors wherever and whenever you choose.’ He would not keep her tied to his bed. Although that image was arousing.

He could tell she was intrigued and he thought of something she could not resist. ‘You will also be free to host salons, dinners or gatherings with your scientific peers. It would be a marriage of convenience.’

She nodded slowly. ‘And you? How would marriage benefit you?’ she asked.

Again, he answered straightforwardly. ‘My political career is important to me. As I said, I am on the verge of proposing a bill, and I must avoid any hint of scandal. The bill means much to me, not only do I believe in the cause, but I admit if it passes it will help my career in the House of Lords. So you see, I do not seek a love match, but a businesslike union that will benefit both parties.’

He could imagine her sharp mind considering his offer. He needed to seal the deal, argue his final point. ‘Think of the benefits. What do you say, Miss Magarian? Will you agree to marry?’

A heartbeat passed. Two. He held his breath unsure if his argument had been persuasive enough. Then, at last, a slight nod of her head caused a thrill of victory in his chest as she said. ‘Yes, my lord. I agree to marry you.’

Chapter Four

‘You agreed?’ Candace asked later that day. The two were in Nora’s bedchamber.

‘I know it seems like an abrupt turnabout, but yes. Lord Ralston’s argument to marry was compelling.’ Nora had also been surprised at his offer. Just as surprised as she had been at her own consent. He convincingly argued that he would support her biology research, even fund it. And as a countess she would have influence. The only catch: They’d have to share a bed to procure an heir.

‘I may not believe in selfless love, but you are different,’ Candace said.

Nora picked up a ribbon from her chest of drawers and ran it through her fingers. ‘Love? I’d never risk such a foolish emotion. It would jeopardize my scientific career.’

‘Hmm. I see.’

‘And what of the requisite heir?’ Candace sat on the edge of Nora’s bed and eyed her with sisterly concern.

Nora let out a long sigh. ‘I’m not opposed to children. In fact, the more I think about it, the nicer it sounds. I can teach him or her all about science and even the sea. My love would be for my child and my work only.’

Candace watched her closely. ‘And where would the Earl fall in all of this?’

‘He will be my partner. A businesslike partner. That’s what he seeks himself.’

‘A union without any affection sounds like a cold marriage.’

Nora sat beside her sister on the bed. ‘No! It sounds like a perfect one.’ Her mind was at ease for the first time in a long time. ‘Mother can’t still be mad about Baron Umbridge when she will be the mother-in-law to an earl. A very wealthy one, to boot!’

‘You’re right. But I’m still not sure you are making the right decision for the right reasons.’

‘I’m certain, and I’m ready to face Mother,’ Nora said. No doubt her mother wanted to discuss how best to announce the betrothal at the house party.

As if on cue, there was a single knock on Nora’s bedroom door, and Madeline Magarian swept inside with the force of a summer storm. ‘I still cannot believe your behavior, Nora. I almost fainted from the scandal!’

Her mother had never succumbed to vapors. Nora couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her cry. Not even when their father had died. She must have grieved in private.

‘Mother, I—’

Her mother planted her hands on her hips. ‘Heavens, I disapprove of how you did it, but you managed to snag an earl. An earl!’

Nora wanted to argue she hadn’t intentionally managed anything. In fact, she had plotted and planned to get out of marriage to Umbridge, a mere baron, only to find herself soon to be engaged to an earl.

‘The engagement must be announced before any more gossip travels,’ her mother said.

‘So soon? It hasn’t even been a full day.’ Even though she’d agreed to marry Ralston, she needed some time to adjust to the news herself.

‘A day is as long as a year when it comes to the scandal you caused.’

‘I hardly think—’

Her mother pursed her lips. ‘Do not think, Nora. Thinking is what always gets you into trouble.’

Nora bristled. ‘That’s not—’

‘Yes, it is. Your notion of being a scientist is absurd.’ The disapproval in her mother’s voice was ill-concealed.

Her mother kept cutting her off and Nora had to answer in a rush of words. ‘An interest in science is not absurd.’

‘It is for a lady.’

‘We are not titled and I’m not a lady.’

Her mother’s cheeks flamed red. ‘Precisely! You will be a countess!’

There was no sense arguing with her mother whose sole ambition was to obtain titles for her daughters. Nora wished her father were still alive. A Lebanese and Armenian man, he’d imported rare vases, carpets, jewelry, mother of pearl snuffboxes and other collectables from the Middle East that were in demand by the ton and the upper classes. He had surprisingly modern notions and would often indulge his daughter’s whims. Not that science was a whim, but he’d listened to Nora read a book on invertebrates she’d borrowed from Hookham’s Circulating Library, and he’d gifted her beautiful shells from the Mediterranean Sea. He would have disagreed with her mother’s matchmaking with Lord Umbridge. He’d never consent to such a marriage contract.

‘Perhaps you can wait another day before announcing the betrothal, Mother, so that Nora can come to accept the Earl,’ Candace said.

‘Impossible,’ her mother snapped. ‘You of all people know the harm from wagging tongues.’

Candace paled a shade at the reminder of her jilting fiancé.

Nora hurried to place a reassuring hand on her sister’s shoulder. ‘Tonight is acceptable if the Earl is in agreement.’

Her mother’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Oh, he will agree. I’ll be sure of it.’

Nora stifled a groan. She knew her mother would have her way. She always did.

Later that evening, Nora’s stomach was in knots as she paced her bedchamber before dinner. ‘I’m nervous,’ she told Candace. She knew that at that precise moment, their mother sought a private audience with their hostess, the Duchess of Everly, requesting permission to announce Nora’s engagement to the Earl at the evening meal. Preferably with champagne from the Duke’s vast cellars to toast the ‘happy couple’.

Candace watched Nora pace. ‘Nerves are normal.’

Although she’d already agreed to an engagement, Nora was still anxious about having it announced so suddenly. ‘Not like this! I haven’t spoken with him since early this morning. I must have a private word with Ralston before mother announces our engagement.’

‘How?’ Candace’s delicate brow furrowed.

Nora tossed up her hands. ‘I don’t know. Can you help me find a way?’

Candace bit her lip. ‘Mother is as tenacious as a terrier to have her way.’

Nora felt nauseated. How on earth was she to agree to marry a man she barely knew? His proposal was logical and convincing, but now that time had passed and she could think, he was still a relative stranger. A stranger very skilled at kissing, but a stranger nonetheless.

Nora looked in the dressing glass. She’d been in a daze and had gone through the motions as she’d dressed. She’d allowed her mother to select her gown and her maid to style her hair in a coronet of auburn curls. The blue silk emphasized her breasts, her small waist, and the length of her legs. The colour brought out the green in her eyes. Rather than feel lovely, she felt like a horse at auction at Tattersall’s.

Panic settled in her stomach. ‘My corset is too tight. I fear I’ll faint.’

Candace clutched her hand. ‘It’s not the corset, darling, but the nerves. I will find a way for you to speak with the Earl beforehand.’

Nora squeezed her sister’s fingers as they exited the room and descended the grand staircase together. It was custom for everyone to meet in the drawing room before the doors to the dining room opened and the guests took their seats. Approaching the door, Nora leaned against the wall and glimpsed inside. Most of the house party guests had already gathered. A wealthy baron, Lord Grant, sat beside local gentry, Mr and Mrs Mercer, and a thirty-year-old widow, Mrs Charlston. Viscount Ardmore and the Marquess of Worth were with their wives.

Nora spotted Sir Simon drinking a glass of wine and speaking with one of the guests. Simon’s fair hair gleamed from the firelight, and he was dressed in a bottle-green coat with a paisley waistcoat. The signs of dissipation were evident—the red-rimmed eyes, the slightly yellow tinge of his skin. She’d never felt the slightest attraction towards him.

Her gaze went to the Earl of Ralston across the room. He leaned against the fireplace, one hand on the mantel the other holding a sherry as he spoke with his friend, Lord Adler. Dressed in a navy coat, buff trousers and Hessians that hugged muscular calves, Ralston looked striking, and her heart skipped a beat. In a rush, memories returned of her hand pressing against the breadth of his broad, naked chest. The mat of hair had teased her fingers and awakened her awareness of him as a man. His kisses and touch had easily caused her already heightened senses to spiral. She was left shivery and aching.

Her mother was in conversation with the Duchess of Everly. She smiled and nodded at something the Duchess said.

‘We’re lucky Mother is occupied,’ Candace whispered. ‘Wait here and I’ll fetch the Earl.’

Nora fidgeted outside the drawing room. Her nerves were in knots. If only she had an extra day to think things through, she would not be as anxious. Thankfully, her sister was successful and, minutes later, Ralston joined Nora outside.

His brow furrowed. ‘Miss Magarian, your sister said there was something important to address.’

She swallowed. ‘I apologize for any inconvenience, my lord. I only seek a word in private please.’

He looked at her with curiosity. ‘Now? It’s highly unusual.’

She knew he was right. Nonetheless, she still felt the need to speak privately. ‘So are our circumstances.’

He hesitated for a moment, and she worried he would reject her request, then he nodded. ‘Fine. The library?’

Nora was aware of the Earl behind her as she hurried down the hall to slip inside the library. He closed the door behind him.

The colourful spines of books on the tall mahogany shelves should have comforted her. Instead, her insides churned as she faced him.

‘Pray tell me what is so important,’ he said.

She took a deep breath, her breasts rising in her too-tight bodice. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

‘By this I assume you mean announce our betrothal tonight.’

She felt herself pale. ‘Yes.’

His gaze held hers, a startling intensity in the shimmering dark depths. ‘I do not have second thoughts. But I suspect you are nervous.’ He stepped forward and took her hands in his. She felt the warmth and strength of his fingers. ‘Our betrothal will be a simple announcement over dinner.’

‘Are you certain you know everything about me?’

He arched a dark eyebrow. ‘Such as?’

She took a breath. It was best if she did not mince words. ‘My father was not English and of Arab descent. Some members of the ton are not as accepting of my mixed blood.’ Her mother had suffered the most and she’d been on the outskirts of Society for her entire marriage. It was one of the reasons her mother sought titled husbands for her daughters and cozied up to both Ladies Ardmore and Worth at the house party. She wasn’t concerned if he accepted her heritage or not but thought it one more reason he would not want to move ahead with the announcement.

Ralston’s gaze never left hers and his thumb circled her hand. ‘I’m aware and it is of no concern to me. Rather, I find it intriguing.’

She stared, wordlessly. Many titled bachelors had rejected her Arab blood as unsuitable. Umbridge would have looked past it in exchange for a young bride. ‘And what of your political aspirations?’

‘Like I said, it does not concern me. You will be my wife, my Countess, and no one would dare offend my wife or your sisters, fearing the consequences. Scandal, on the other hand, would hurt my aspirations in the House.’

A knot eased in her stomach. He was not prejudiced and would shield her and her sisters. She was beginning to understand him more. He prided himself on following the rules, not so much to appease society, but for his work, which he held to be most important. In this fashion, they were alike since her work was just as important to her.

She cleared her throat. There was one other concern that was worth bringing up before the announcement. The physical aspect of their marriage had been on her mind. Their one experience was tainted. Neither had known the other’s identity. What if—now that he knew it would be her in his bed—he found her lacking? What if she became frozen in fear?

Her voice was whisper soft. ‘What if we don’t suit?’

Still holding her hands, his gaze leisurely travelled her features. ‘I believe we will suit just fine.’

She immediately felt flushed. Her eyes were drawn to the distracting divot in his strong jaw. She had a ridiculous urge to press her lips there.

‘If you still have doubts,’ he said, ‘we can conduct an experiment. You are a scientist, correct?’

She eyed him cautiously. ‘What kind of experiment?’

‘A kiss.’

She gaped. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Why not?’ There was a maddening hint of arrogance about him. Releasing her fingers, he reached out to cradle her cheek. ‘Don’t tell me you are suddenly shy?’

Her pulse pounded. Something intense flared through his gaze and her stomach tingled. She could see his freshly shaven jaw and smell his shaving soap of sandalwood. ‘I—I…’

They were down the hall from her mother and the rest of the party. Rather than be frightened, it added to the anticipation.

‘I’m going to kiss you, Nora. If you don’t wish it, you can walk away.’

She froze. Unable to move, her slippers felt filled with lead. Inch by inch he lowered his head. At last, his lips brushed against hers, feather-light and completely engrossing. It was as devastating as a lit match to dry hay. The attraction she’d felt the prior night flared to life. He tasted of rich wine and virile male, a heady, intoxicating combination. Her breasts tingled in her tight bodice, and she was achingly aware of every point of contact, the tantalizing touch of his lips against hers, the heat of his solid chest, and his fingers splayed against her back. She wanted more, craved it. Her arms rose to clutch his shoulders, and she sagged against him.

He lifted his head. She was confused by his sudden withdrawal, the tensing of his body. Perhaps it was as she’d feared, and he wasn’t as affected by their shared kiss? As for herself, she was a quivering mass of nerves.

‘Do you now agree that we’ll suit?’ His voice was gruff.

She met his gaze and changed her mind. There was a wild look in his eyes, a smoldering promise of more to come. The tensing of his body was not from cold detachment, but from measured restraint.

Still, by suitability, he meant a sexual attraction, not an emotional one. She’d not sought his love either. Then why did a pang center in her chest?

He offered his arm. ‘Shall we return to the drawing room for the announcement of our good news?’

He was asking her, giving her a choice. ‘Yes,’ she found herself saying to both his questions. And for the first time, she wasn’t thinking of science.

The Duchess clapped her hands to gain everyone’s attention. ‘I’ve wonderful news to share.’ Her gaze swept the drawing room where everyone had gathered before dinner. ‘We have an engagement announcement I’d love to share before our evening meal! Our lovely Miss Nora Magarian and the Earl of Ralston are to wed.’

Guests clapped. On cue, liveried servers carried out trays of bubbling champagne. Nora’s mother smiled beside the Duchess.

Nora’s stomach was in knots again. She accepted a glass and swallowed the champagne. The bubbly drink tasted overly sweet. Her eyes met the Earl’s. He smiled as if this was planned all along, not a ruse, and he was thrilled to celebrate their betrothal. Everyone was behaving as if this was the most natural announcement in the world.

Her breath seemed to have solidified in her throat. Ralston moved to stand beside Nora and glanced at her. ‘I came to the house party not expecting to meet a lady who would charm me with her intellect and draw me with her beauty. I am in debt to Her Grace for the house party invitation. And even more indebted to Mrs Magarian as Nora’s mother.’ He grinned, flashing even, white teeth.

The Duchess beamed. Nora’s mother looked almost smug.

Nora felt faint.

As if he sensed the extent of her nervousness, Ralston reached out to take her gloved hand in his. ‘Everything is falling splendidly in place. Wouldn’t you agree, darling?’ he asked her.

His hand cradling hers sent a shiver down her spine. She was highly conscious of the scent of his cologne, his closeness and the warmth from his hand. She tried to focus entirely on him and not the eyes of the partygoers looking at her.

Still, her thoughts were a whirlwind. She reminded herself of his promise to fund her research and that their union would be a mutually beneficial arrangement. He’d offered her an escape from Baron Umbridge. Yes, she could do this. As for whether he upheld all his promises…well…she would have to take a leap of faith and believe him. She had little choice now.

She swallowed and focused on the comfort and reassurance he provided. Tall, lean and full of youthful rigor, he was the complete opposite of Umbridge. She could take some satisfaction in that.

He squeezed her hand, and she was relieved by a tentative trust. She was aware of everyone watching her, waiting for her to answer. ‘Yes, I agree,’ she said, her voice soft. ‘It’s splendid news.’

Candace and Sara came forth to congratulate them as guests chattered around them.

‘It’s a pleasure to have two sisters,’ Ralston said.

‘I know you will treat my sister well,’ Candace said. There was more behind her words and her straightforward blue gaze. Her middle sister was no fool and would always support Nora.

‘Please be assured, I will always do my best, Miss Candace.’

‘I’m sure you will, my lord,’ Sara said. Her eyes were wide with wonder as she looked up at him.

Lord Adler was next to congratulate them. He raised her hand to brush the back of her glove with a kiss. ‘Miss Magarian, may I offer my condolences. My friend can be quite prickly.’

Nora blinked. It took her a moment to realize he was jesting. ‘Why, Lord Adler, as Lord Ralston’s good friend, is there anything I should know?’

He winked. ‘Much. But I do not wish to ruin your evening.’

Nora let out a genuine laugh. It was as if Lord Adler understood she needed some relief and knew humour was the best way to attain it.

Ralston rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t listen to him.’

Adler touched his heart. ‘I, for one, know my friend could not have chosen a better lady. And I look forward to getting to know you more.’

He was indeed a charmer.

The rest of the evening was spent speaking with each house party guest. Nora’s cheeks ached from smiling and thanking everyone. All the while, she was grateful for Ralston standing by her side, his deep, timbered voice, soothing. Together they presented a united front to avoid scandal, despite neither of them wanting to marry. The engagement announcement had gone smoothly, but a wedding and lifelong marriage to the Earl…that remained to be seen.

Chapter Five

‘Good God, I never thought I’d see the day that my friend would be betrothed.’ The Marquess of Adler poured two tumblers of whisky and handed Ralston one. It was late that evening and the two were alone in the library smoking cigars. The rest of the house party had long since retired, and the engagement announcement had gone as planned.

Ralston cleared his throat. ‘Our betrothal came about out of necessity. You must have heard about last night.’

Adler’s lips twitched. ‘That you were caught in flagrante?’

Yes, they had been caught in a compromising position. He’d wanted Nora badly before they’d been interrupted. If he was any judge, she’d also been aroused. Then there was their brief shared kiss in the library earlier. She’d been a bundle of nerves before the announcement, and he’d wanted to put her at ease. For her, the kiss may have served its purpose, but it had only served to further inflame him. The thought of making love to her had consumed his thoughts more than he’d like to admit. He wasn’t a rogue, but neither was he a monk and he’d had his share of affairs with widows who’d sought a mutually satisfying sexual relationship. He never offered more and neither did they expect it. As for the announcement itself, he’d done his best to offer her comfort.

‘How did it happen?’ Adler asked.

‘She wanted to create a scandal to escape a match to an old baron.’ He kept it to himself that her scheme was to slip into Sir Simon’s bed rather than his. And, if he was truthful, he still felt bitter over this fact. Still, Ralston wanted to protect her reputation.

Adler let out a hoot of laughter. ‘You’re jesting?’

‘In hindsight,’ Ralston said dryly, ‘it was an unforgettable evening.’

Adler stopped laughing and turned serious. ‘From what I can tell, her mother is like an overprotective bear. You survived Mrs Magarian’s wrath?’

‘Yes, the woman found us. I believe she also happens to be thrilled at the match.’ If what Nora said was true and her mother had wanted her to marry the ancient Baron Umbridge, then becoming a countess was a much higher rank.

‘No doubt it will help her standing in Society, even open doors.’ Adler eyed him with a critical squint. ‘But you agreed to marry, even knowing this?’

Ralston sipped the whisky. ‘The scandal would have been horrendous. But convincing the lady was no easy task. She claims she is a biologist. I assured her I would not stand in the way of her scientific efforts and would allow her freedom to pursue her research. Even fund it.’

Adler set his empty glass down and gaped at him. ‘A biologist? Truly? I’m even more intrigued to learn more about her.’

Ralston still found it unusual. Nora may have placed a shell on his desk, but in his mind, she did not fit the mold of a scientist.

She was too passionate. Unpredictable. Dangerous.

He grew aware of Adler staring at him. ‘Like I said,’ Ralston argued, ‘I cannot afford a scandal. My bill is set for the first reading in the House. A stable marriage of convenience can only help my image as a politician.’ He had begun reading newspapers and pamphlets as a young man. One of the newspaper articles mentioned the harsh conditions of child labor at the cotton mills. The pamphlets covered it even more, and Ralston grew more interested in the topic. It wasn’t unusual to see the factory smoke when his family travelled through London.

‘What about you?’ Adler asked. ‘Other than continued respectability for your politics, what do you get out of this union?’

‘What do you mean?’

Adler shrewdly regarded him. ‘Miss Nora is beautiful. It won’t be a hardship to bed her to get your heir.’

‘No, it won’t.’ Ralston’s blood heated just thinking about her. She was as bold as a skilled courtesan but kissed like a virgin. An arousing contradiction. But desire was not to be confused with emotion. He knew better than anyone never to risk his heart. He had been young, only eighteen, when Margaret had cheated. In hindsight, she’d done him a favor. If he hadn’t found her with her lover, he would have married her thinking the baby was his own. He had taken the cheating hard, but learning the baby was not his had been much, much worse. He’d been young and surprised when she’d told him she was pregnant, but after taking time to think and accept that he was to be a father, he’d wanted the baby and had grieved to know it wasn’t his. It was for the best he’d learned the truth about Margaret early on.

Even though he knew she’d undoubtedly cheat again, for months afterward, a permanent sorrow had seemed to weigh him down. The only thing left was the raw soreness of an aching heart, and he’d learned not to trust again. No, love was a fickle, foolish emotion that only brought heartache. Marriage did not have to involve matters of the heart.

Adler’s normally amused expression turned serious. ‘And what of love?’

Ralston drained his glass and set it down on a dainty end table. ‘What about it?’

‘Your union with Nora may not have come the traditional way with courting and flowers and chocolates, but what if you fall in love?’

Ralston glowered. ‘I won’t. Love is for poets and fools. I don’t have room in my life for it now or in the foreseeable future.’

Adler sat back in his chair, and his normal mocking expression returned. ‘There are still days remaining of this blasted house party. Seeing the two of you together will be more entertaining than anything the Duchess has planned.’

Ralston scowled. ‘You will be disappointed, my friend. Like I said, it will be a businesslike union that will serve both of our purposes. Nothing more and nothing less.’

‘Did you know the auger shell is the home of a carnivorous snail?’ It was the following afternoon and Nora was in her bedchamber reading from one of her research books, Lovell Reeve’s Conchologia Iconica, as she paced her room. Candace sat at the window seat.

‘I didn’t know,’ her sister said absentmindedly as she scanned the pages of a gossip sheet that had arrived from London that morning. ‘But I’m certain you will educate me on the topic.’

Nora turned the page of the thick book and read, ‘The snail uses its venomous barb to immobilize and stun its prey.’ Reeve’s book was one of Nora’s favorites and she’d often study his sketches of shells.

Candace lowered her sheet to look at Nora wide-eyed. ‘Goodness. That’s quite barbaric.’

‘It’s fascinating. It also says the shell can be found in Cornwall.’ Nora shut the book. ‘The coast is calling. Maybe I’ll find one along with the other shells I’m searching for.’

Candace’s lips parted. ‘You can’t be serious! The Duchess has scheduled a visiting pianist this afternoon.’

‘It’s an opportunity for me to sneak away,’ Nora said.

Candace shook her head. ‘I’m not able to accompany you.’

‘I wasn’t asking,’ Nora said.

Candace blinked. ‘You think to go unaccompanied?’

Nora set the book atop the chest of drawers. ‘As far as I’m concerned, a chaperone is not necessary to visit the seaside.’

Candace’s eyebrows drew together. ‘Mother would not agree.’

Frustration welled in Nora’s chest, and she rubbed it as if doing so would make it go away. ‘My research is the reason I agreed to this dreadful house party. And I won’t be long. As for Mother, she won’t even notice if I slip out. She’s been busy cozying up to Lady Ardmore and Lady Worth.’

‘What about the Earl?’ Candace asked.

‘What of him? Ralston claims to support my scientific studies. It was why I agreed to marry him.’

Candace stood. ‘Yes, but you are not married yet and still have to deal with Mother.’

Nora bit her lower lip. If marriage meant not having to deal with her mother, she was almost looking forward to it.

Candace sighed. ‘If Mother asks for you, I’ll do my best to distract her and tell her you are strolling the gardens.’

Nora kissed her sister’s cheek. ‘I knew I could depend on you.’

‘Just don’t be long searching for that poisonous shell or any others,’ Candace said, a note of warning in her voice.

Together the sisters made their way down the main staircase and headed to the music conservatory. Chairs were arranged in rows in the room and a pianoforte was in the center. Others had already arrived. The Duchess sat in the front row, along with Lady Worth, Lady Ardmore and Nora’s mother. No doubt her mother would be thrilled to be seated with the trio, and hopefully, she would not pay Nora much attention when she slipped out of the concert.

The men sat in the row behind the ladies—the Marquess and Viscount, along with Ralston and Adler. Other guests, including the wealthy Baroness, took places alongside Mr and Mrs Mercer and the widow, Mrs Charlston. Sir Simon selected a seat beside the young widow.

Nora strategically chose a chair in the back row closest to the door. Candace sat beside her. ‘You’re fortunate,’ Candace whispered. ‘Mother is already occupied.’

Nora shifted in her seat just as Ralston turned in his chair to look at her. One dark eyebrow rose in an inquiring arch. Her insides warmed, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he could read her thoughts and knew she planned a quick escape, then dismissed her concerns. Thankfully, the pianist began to play, and Ralston turned away. She sat still, not daring to move, looking at the back of his dark head.

He was too much of a distraction. The pianist’s music should be soothing—instead she was on edge. And the longer she sat, the more she felt the restless urge to leave for the seaside. Fresh air would do her good. She squeezed her sister’s hand, and Candace nodded in understanding. Nora pushed back her chair, careful not to make a sound on the hardwood floor, then slipped from the room.

Once she reached the marble vestibule, she looked both ways to ensure no servants were about, then retrieved a basket she’d stowed in a cupboard under the stairs and walked out the front door.

It was a lovely afternoon, and puffs of clouds floated in the sky. Sunshine warmed Nora’s cheeks. Birds chirped and the fragrant perfume of the Duchess’s prized rose bushes scented the air. The perfect weather contrasted with the churning emotions in her stomach.

The country sojourn should be a success–-the only wrinkle was her current fiancé, the Earl of Ralston. Would she ever get over the shock of her engagement? She had been nervous, but she’d been surprised at Ralston’s presence by her side last night. Anyone looking at him would never expect he did not wish to marry, or that they’d end up together in the most unusual way. Even more surprising was her own attraction for her soon-to-be husband. It started from the kiss in the library, which had left her breathless to his words and steady hand at the betrothal announcement, which she did appreciate.

She took deep breaths as she walked. She’d use this time alone to think things through, to accept her future and focus on what mattered most to her. Her science, her research of Cornwall shells and any future presentation to the Scientific Society. She’d read articles written by the Society and begun to dream of presenting to the leading scientists on the committee. It would be a personal acknowledgement that she was a true biologist and that her study of seashells was worthy.

And one other small issue nagged her thoughts: How to become a countess and share the Earl’s bed.

It was all so overwhelming.

She approached the top of the shell driveway that led to the coast. A brisk fifteen-minute walk later, the sound of ocean waves breaking on ragged rocks beckoned her. Tall grass danced in a sea breeze on dunes that shielded her view of the ocean. Tucking her basket under her arm, she stepped onto a path of worn wood boards that led through the dunes and to the beach.

At last, the ocean came into view—a magnificent blue spanning the horizon. She experienced a thrill of excitement at the sight of the ocean, which she rarely saw. The sun was a brilliant orange ball high in the sky. On one side, waves crashed against shiny jagged rocks, the air thick with sea spray. But the path she’d taken had led to a small isolated beach with briny sand and seashell fragments. The waves were gentler here and swimmers could enjoy a dip in the ocean. Gulls cried and soared above.

Removing a blanket from her basket, she spread it on the sand. She untied her bonnet and placed it on the blanket beside her. Then she slipped off her shoes and removed her stockings. Wisps of hair blew free from the bun at her nape. She breathed in the intoxicating scent of ocean air and tipped her face to the sun.

London could be stifling. Too much rain and smoke from the factories clogged the sky. But here, by the sea, she could breathe, her lungs could expand and whatever tension she’d felt in the warm conservatory eased away. The vastness of the ocean reminded her of how small her troubles truly were.

She could stay here all afternoon, but she knew her time was limited before others noticed her absence from the house. Removing a small canvas sack from the basket, she slipped it over her head and arm. Tucking her skirts in her waistband, she waded into the shallow surf. The water was cool, not frigid, and the refreshing waves lapped at her calves. Excitement trickled in her veins. The Cornwall coast had even more shells than reported in Reeve’s scientific book.

Scanning the surf, she searched for specific shells—an auger shell, common cockle, or whelk. Bending down, she plucked a colourful shell before the receding wave could carry it away. She kept searching, tucking shells in her bag as she went. Then she spotted it—an ordinary shell but not so ordinary. She slipped it into her pouch and planned to draw it and make notes in her journal.

The water grew cold as she walked in the surf, and eventually she waded from the ocean. She’d sunbathe for a few precious moments before returning to the manor and facing her future.

She froze as she turned towards her blanket. Someone was sitting there. Not just someone.

The Earl of Ralston.

Chapter Six

Ralston was riveted. He’d seen Nora sneak out of the manor and had followed her at a discreet distance to discover her wading in the surf. He’d settled on her blanket and observed her. Her skirts were hitched in her waistband, as she searched for something and his gaze was drawn to her slender ankles and shapely calves. The sight instantly brought back memories of her legs pressed against him in bed. He knew the smoothness of her skin. He’d had the privilege of touching it, of running his hands over her calves, then trailing his fingers along her soft inner thigh.

Her auburn hair shimmered beneath the sun as she approached, eyes wide. She wasn’t freckled like other women with her vibrant hair colour, but she had a lovely dusty complexion. Her eyes, a vivid green, reminded him of the ferns from his summer home in Hertfordshire. The combination was striking. He could sit and watch her for the entire afternoon.

She stopped in front of him, not bothering to let down her skirts. Placing a hand above her brow to shield her eyes from the sun, she asked, ‘What are you doing here, my lord?’

He stood. His manners had been ingrained since childhood. ‘I saw you depart from the manor. I was worried you were ill.’ It was the truth. He’d thought she’d slipped from the house to be sick in the gardens. Then he’d seen her walk down the shell driveway, away from the manor. Cornwall was safe, but there was always a chance of harm.

‘Ill?’ She lowered her hand, and a guilty flush rose in her cheeks. ‘There’s no need for your concern. As you can see, I’m perfectly well.’

She was completely unlike the women he knew. Those prim and proper London misses would not be caught alone on a beach, wouldn’t take off their stockings, wouldn’t wade into the surf. Tendrils of auburn hair had escaped her pins to curl about her cheeks and his fingers itched to reach out and tuck the errant strands back in place. He was swiftly becoming fascinated, and he was disgruntled at his own reaction. They were to have a business-type relationship, dammit. He changed the topic of conversation. ‘What are you searching for?’

‘I told you about my interest in biology, specifically shells.’

‘Yes, I recall the shell you placed on my escritoire.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, well, Cornwall has an abundance of them. But there is one on my list that I was searching for.’

He was curious. ‘Did you find it?’

A glimmer of satisfaction lit her eyes. ‘Yes. Do you want to see?’

‘Show me.’ He wanted to spend more time with her. If looking at sandy shells was a way, then he’d agree. It wasn’t just to be near her physically, he told himself, but to understand her mind.

She slipped the canvas bag from around her shoulder and set it on the blanket. As if realizing her dishabille, she pulled her skirts from her waistband, allowing the fabric to fall to cover her legs, then sat on the blanket. Glancing up, she patted the spot beside her. ‘Aren’t you going to join me?’

He wondered if it would always be like this with her. She’d turn his orderly life upside down in a heartbeat.

He sat, stretching out his long legs. His valet would have a fit when he returned with sand on his polished Hessians. Ralston took care with his appearance, not as a dandy would, but because a politician must appear properly attired at all times. One never knew who he would run into in Town. Nora, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care. His gaze dropped to her bare feet. They were slender with a delicate arch and perfect toes. He’d never noticed a woman’s toes before. Rather than feel disapproval at her state of undress, he wanted to ease her back on the blanket and kiss her.

She reached inside the sack to pull out a shell. Yellowish with brown, it was unimpressive and had a crack down the center.

‘This is a cockle shell,’ she said. ‘It’s distinctive with its heart shape and strong radiant ribs. It can be found in warmer water as well as colder water like Cornwall and even Iceland. It’s described in detail in a book in my bedchamber.’ There was passion in her tone, and she held up the sandy shell as if it were a prized possession. ‘But this specimen is more fascinating in life.’

‘The one you found is cracked and damaged.’

She turned her face to his, her eyes wide, her full lips tilted in a grin. ‘Damaged? No! It’s a wonder. This shell was marred from a fisherman’s net and mended itself. See how the crack is fully sealed.’ She ran a finger across the imperfection.

He leaned close to study it, and the distinct scent of lemongrass mingling with the scent of fresh ocean teased his senses. ‘Is it what you were looking for?’

‘Yes. Please pass my basket,’ she said.

‘Why? Is there wine in there?’

She laughed. ‘No, silly. My journal.’

He reached for the basket and she pulled out a well-worn leather journal. ‘I need to record my findings.’ She swiftly flipped through pages, each filled with sketches of shells and scribbled notes he couldn’t make out. She stopped until she came to the desired page. ‘Here!’ She pointed to a cockle shell, except it did not have a crack. More scribbled notes filled the page.

‘The specimen I found proves my theory that the mollusk that lived inside this shell produced an element such as calcium as well as others that prevented the crack from fully breaking the shell. The mantle of this shell most likely continually repaired itself over months, even years.’

Her enthusiasm was inspiring and he was struck by her intelligence. When she’d first told him she was a biologist, he could not envision it. He’d believed all scientists were males or unattractive, bespectacled wallflowers. ‘I’ve never heard of a shell healing itself.’

‘It’s fascinating, isn’t it? The tiny mollusk that lived inside this shell was more advanced than anyone could imagine.’

‘I’ll never look at a shell the same way.’

‘They are all unique. Did you know mollusks never leave their shells? They start as a small creature. As they grow, their shell must grow with them. They are smart and hardworking enough to expand their shell, their home, as they mature.’ She reached for a charcoal pencil and scribbled a couple notes in her journal as she spoke.

‘They are smarter than some humans,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘Some mollusks are even deceptive and poisonous. I’ve read about them.’

‘As are some people.’ He thought of his rival at the House of Lords.

Nora took the damaged shell from him and set it down on the blanket. ‘I must modify my sketches.’

He watched as she sketched. Sunlight heightened the colours of her hair as she worked. Red, soft brown and deeper auburn. He spotted an enticing freckle by her bottom lip. He hadn’t noticed it before and wanted to flick his tongue over it before he kissed her.

Too soon, she was finished and she returned her journal to the basket. He found himself not wanting their time to end. ‘What do you aim to do with your findings?’

She let out a sigh. ‘Like I told you earlier, my goal is to present my research to the London Scientific Society one day. I’ve even heard of a specific contingent of scientists studying abroad. What a dream that would be!’

‘Does the Society have an interest in shells?’

‘The Society has an interest in many things.’

If the stuffy scientists were exposed to her enthusiasm, he had no doubt they would be interested in her work.

She pushed her basket aside. ‘And you?’ she asked. ‘I told you about my goals. I know you are a politician, but I know nothing about your bill.’

He was surprised she’d asked about it. ‘The bill is to limit child labor in London’s cotton mills.’

A glimmer lit her eyes. ‘A good endeavor. But if I am to be honest, I would not expect you to take an interest in child labor or sponsor a bill to address it.’

His curiosity was piqued. Her mind was unpredictable to him. Did she truly think it a worthy bill or that it was somehow self-serving? ‘Why?’

‘I thought you would say your bill would somehow benefit wealthy landowners or those who owned a certain number of acres in the country.’

His lips quirked. ‘In other words, you believed it would benefit those that do not need it.’

She gave him a sheepish look. ‘Guilty. However, a bill to reduce child labor intrigues me.’ She shifted an inch closer to him on the blanket. ‘How did you get interested in it?’

He hesitated. An ocean breeze cooled his face and ruffled his hair. He didn’t know whether it was the beach or Nora sitting close to him that made him want to tell her more. ‘I read newspapers and pamphlets about the harsh conditions of child labor as a young man.’

She pursed her lips. ‘That’s it?’

Tell her. He took a deep breath of briny ocean air. ‘One day, when I was about fifteen, I was travelling with my parents in their fancy crested coach through London. Our driver shouted and our carriage came to an abrupt halt. I lifted the tasseled shade to look outside. Commotion ensued. Then I saw it. Or I saw her. A young girl, who could not have been more than eight, was on a cart cradling her arm, crying, and screaming in pain. Her hand had been severed off. Blood was everywhere. An accident had occurred at one of the cotton mills where she’d worked.’

Nora gasped and placed a hand across her mouth.

The pit of his stomach churned at the memory. ‘The horror of the scene struck me. To make matters worse, a man driving a brewer’s cart shouted for the girl’s cart to get out of the way so he could pass. It was heartless. It was then that my mother grabbed my hand from across the leather bench. I remember her words clearly. “My son, you will one day have position and much wealth. Use it wisely.”’

Nora lowered her hand. ‘She must have been a special mother.’

The ironic thing was that his mother had never been overly affectionate, but thinking back he’d always known she loved him. ‘For days afterwards, I scoured the papers for any information about the young girl. Then, I found it.’

‘What happened?’ Nora’s eyes were wide with interest.

‘She died from blood loss.’

‘That’s terrible!’

He let out a harsh breath. The image of the girl’s face was something he’d carried with him for years, along with his mother’s words. ‘That’s why I’m sponsoring the bill. It could save lives. There will be many who oppose it. The cotton mills hold power and immense wealth. That’s why no hint of scandal must reach London.’

She nodded slowly. ‘It won’t, remember? We are to marry.’

He was surprised he’d shared as much as he had with her. It truly must be the sun, the sand and the ocean. The words about his past had come easier outdoors than if he’d spoken them in a stuffy drawing room. Then there was Nora herself. Her allure had drawn him from the start. But now, here, with the ocean breeze and the fresh air, he still longed to lie back on the blanket and finish what she’d started when she’d slipped into his room.

‘You are looking at me funny,’ she said.

Funny? He was looking at her lips. Full. Kissable. Lovely.

‘How do you mean?’ he asked.

Her voice was whisper soft. ‘Like you want to kiss me.’

‘Perhaps I do.’

Her tongue passed over her lower lip, wetting it. ‘We shouldn’t. Haven’t we kissed too many times already?’

He looked into her eyes and saw a curious need. His own need was not out of curiosity, but out of desire to kiss her again. ‘We are betrothed. I don’t believe there is a count.’

Her eyes lowered to his mouth. ‘I haven’t heard of a count either.’

‘And there is no one here,’ he pointed out.

She leaned towards him, pressed a hand on his chest. ‘I suppose you’re right. There is no one here, my lord.’

His breath stalled in his lungs as she pressed her lips to his. He met her kiss and took what he wanted from the first moment he’d spotted her wading in the surf. She tasted like summer sunshine and burgeoning passion. It was a sweet kiss, a searing one which too easily set his blood on fire. And when her tongue tentatively brushed against his, it took all his control not to pull her to him and ravage her mouth. She wasn’t wearing stockings, and his fingers itched to lift the edge of her skirts to touch her naked skin.

Madness.

It took all his self-control to break the kiss. ‘I suppose we should return before we are missed.’ He looked deep into her eyes and felt his resistance begin to crumble. What was it about her? She made him as randy as a youthful boy.

She let out a little sigh. ‘You’re right. My mother will be looking for me.’

They stood and, after she’d packed her basket, he shook the blanket away from the wind so the sand would not spray them. He took the moment to collect himself before turning back to her. She picked up her basket, shoved her stockings inside, then slipped into her shoes.

He halted. ‘Aren’t you going to dress?’

She gave him a curious look. ‘Why? No one will know I’m not wearing stockings.’

Good God. He would know. He was right. If he allowed it, she would unravel his orderly world. Once they were married, he did not intend to change his habits or his work ethic. Just as he did not expect her to change her daily routine, whatever that was. He had work to do, political allies to meet, all in preparation of the first reading of his bill. He couldn’t allow her to alter this course no matter how easily she seemed to muddle his brain.

As if oblivious to his thoughts, she tugged on his hand. ‘Let us hurry, my lord, before tongues wag even more than they have.’

‘Ralston! Join us for billiards.’ Adler had spotted Ralston on his return from the beach and called out to him. Nora had already dashed off to find her mother.

‘Perhaps another time,’ Ralston said. After being at the beach with Nora, he sought to change in his room and have time to himself. But his friend had other ideas.

Adler halted before him. ‘You cannot abandon your friend. The men are in the billiards room and I don’t want to get stuck with Brooks as a partner.’

Ralston gave him a cynical look. ‘And you think I’ll be any better?’

‘I know you will.’

His friend was persuasive and by the time they arrived in the billiard room, all the men had gathered. The Duke handed him a cue stick. ‘Ralston, I never had a chance to congratulate you on your engagement.’

‘Thank you, Your Grace. It was long in coming.’ A lie. It was unexpected. He’d been taken by surprise by an auburn-haired vixen.

A scientist.

He still had trouble reconciling the two. An image of Nora with her skirts tucked into her waistband, her glorious legs glistening from ocean spray was an image he’d be hard-pressed to forget. Then she’d sat next to him, opened her notebook, and her enthusiasm as she’d pointed to her sketches of shells and the slimy mollusks that inhabited them was even more vivid in his mind. He’d underestimated her, and her beauty and intelligence were a heady combination.

Many men would not find a woman with brains desirable as a wife. Title, dowry, family influence and attractiveness were sought after. Even submissiveness.

He was not one of them. He could never stand an empty-headed woman, no matter how beautiful. Their nonsensical chatter, their giggling at any mundane joke, made him uncomfortable.

As for the last trait of submissiveness? He almost laughed out loud when he thought of Nora. She was too independent, too stubborn to exhibit that trait.

Their shared kiss by the ocean sprang to mind. It had been unexpected and even more passionate than the others. The more he learned about her, the more he found attractive. Yet he must remind himself to keep an emotional distance. A betrayal like the one he’d lived through was hard to forget or forgive and he had no desire to go through that ever again. No, it was best if he kept a businesslike relationship at all times.

The crack of the billiards balls drew his attention back to the game.

‘I say all the gentlemen should get together when we return to Town to celebrate Ralston’s good fortune,’ Sir Simon said.

Ralston’s fingers tightened on his cue stick. He’d dismissed the rake soon after arriving at the house party as a coxcomb. He’d had little in common with the man. After learning Nora had intended to slip into the rake’s bedchamber rather than his own, his dislike for the for Sir Simon had tripled. The idea that he would want to get together to celebrate his engagement with the man made Ralston want to jab him in the gut with his pool stick.

‘I second the idea,’ Lord Ardmore said. ‘I enjoy a reason to celebrate.’

Lord Worth chimed in. ‘White’s has fine whisky.’

Adler clapped him on the back. ‘I agree! We should celebrate my friend’s remaining single days as a bachelor when we return to Town.’

Ralston forced a grin. For a man who’d never meant to marry this quickly, he was still coming to grips with his future. ‘I look forward to it.’

‘Look on the bright side, Nora. You won’t have to see Lord Umbridge when we return to London,’ Candace said as she knelt behind her sister, working deftly through the tiny row of pearl buttons on the back of Nora’s evening gown. Nora had dismissed her lady’s maid for the night—much to their mother’s dismay—and insisted her sisters help her dress for the evening meal. The company of her sisters offered a temporary balm against the gnawing unease in her chest.

Her anxiety had returned after their intimate moment on the beach. Their passionate kiss was not far from her mind. And then she’d learned about the reason behind his proposed bill. It made him dangerously more human and added a level of interest she did not want or wish for. She’d realized it would be much more of a challenge to keep him at bay and focus on what mattered most—her science.

Her stress level rose.

‘And Ralston is much more handsome,’ Sara chimed in, twirling one of Nora’s ivory-handled hairbrushes between her fingers. She sat perched on the edge of Nora’s dressing table. Dark curls framed her face and her chocolate eyes were lit with mischief.

‘But I did not want Umbridge or Ralston,’ she said evenly. She had never planned to marry but to devote all her time to her work. Now she would be a countess. Despite Ralston’s agreeing to fund her research, she would still have to spend time learning how to be a good countess. During the Season, there would be balls, parties and any other mundane activities the beau monde could think of to ease their boredom. How was she to pull it all off and keep true to her goals?

Sara’s hand stilled mid-motion. ‘But think of it,’ she said with a hushed sort of wonder. ‘You will be a countess, Nora!’

Nora turned her head, pinning her youngest sister with a sharp look. ‘Goodness, you sound like Mother.’

Sara raised her chin and met her sister’s gaze with defiance. ‘If Mother can find me a man as young and handsome as your Lord Ralston, I wouldn’t be opposed.’

Candace, ever the peacemaker, interjected before sparks could fly. ‘Sara! There is more to life than marriage.’ She stepped back from Nora and folded her hands across her front.

Sara’s eyes narrowed. ‘That is your opinion. I’m not opposed to marriage and children.’

‘What about your own dreams of designing dresses?’ Nora asked.

‘I do not see how one cannot have both,’ Sara said simply.

Both Nora and Candace eyed her. ‘You have always been too naive, Sara,’ Candace said gently.

Just then, the door swung open, and their mother swept into the room. Her hair, still thick and dark despite her age, was twisted high with ivory combs and a spray of jet beads that matched the beads of the bodice of her gown.

‘Girls!’ she exclaimed, clapping her hands with dramatic flourish. ‘The Duchess of Everly has arranged for us to attend the village fair tomorrow before we return to Town.’ She fixed her gaze on Nora, her expression tightening just perceptibly. ‘And once we’re home, we have a wedding to plan.’

Nora’s heart clenched, and her fingers curled into the folds of her gown. The argument with Sara was instantly forgotten. ‘And how soon thereafter will the wedding take place?’

Her mother cocked her head to one side like a falcon eyeing a small bird. Nora tried not to squirm beneath her stare. ‘Immediately after the banns are read. Unless the Earl is successful in gaining a special license.’

Nora gasped. ‘A special license? Aren’t they difficult to—’

Her mother’s lips thinned into a single, disapproving line. ‘Ralston wishes to avoid any additional scandal.’

Any additional scandal.

The words hung heavy in the air. Her mother’s judgement was sharp as a steel blade. In Nora’s opinion, it was unwarranted. She was disgusted that her daughter would slip into a bachelor’s bed yet simultaneously thrilled that Nora had captured an earl and his title. The irony was not lost on anyone.

But what of Ralston? Could he truly gain a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury? That required influence, connections of the highest order. He’d never mentioned it, and she should not jump to conclusions. Still, he had surprised her before.

As for Umbridge, her mother would have ensured she accepted his offer. Predictable, tedious Umbridge, with his thinning hair and opinions about almost every aspect of her life. He was concerned with propriety and made it clear he wanted a young bride and an heir in exchange for his name and title. As arranged by her mother, he would expect to propose upon her return. Thankfully, her mother would speak with the baron and tell him she was no longer available.

Instead, she was now to wed Ralston, whose presence stirred her blood and unsettled every carefully arranged plan she had ever made.

The thought was mind-boggling and a cold knot formed in her stomach. She needed more time to adjust, to accept her new fate. She’d considered her future for so long. Every detail was outlined in her notebook, and she could picture the pages, even the notes in the margins. There were drawings of shells and the mollusks who inhabited them. Other pages listed specific shells to search for and what evidence she needed to prove any theories or hypotheses. Dozens of observations.

She’d also carefully chartered her goals on the pages. By October, approach the Scientific Society. By January or earlier, present her findings to a panel of like-minded scientists. And if all went as designed, request membership soon after. By next spring or early summer, join a travelling expedition of scientists to the Continent. She hoped to travel to Spain or Italy where the shells were different, so like the ones her father had brought her growing up, and she could walk the surf at her leisure in the day and talk with scientists about her findings in the early afternoons. She would develop new skills and have a chance to work with leading scientists from a new perspective. What a dream that would be!

And now? She must think of a wedding.

Candace placed a calming hand on her shoulder. Sara looked up with worry.

Nora’s betrothal to Ralston had completely upended her well-plotted plans. He’d promised to support her work. But how long would that last in the face of Society’s expectations?

Either way, there was a ripple in her timeline—a large gaping hole—and she would have to pivot, rechart and essentially start from scratch. Her summer and fall would be busy moving to the Earl’s estate, learning how to run a large home full of servants, and most difficult of all, becoming a countess.

Would all her dreams come crashing down?

Chapter Seven

That night, the ladies gathered in the drawing room while the men smoked cigars and drank whisky in the library. Excusing herself from the retiring room, Nora sought a breath of fresh air on the terrace.

Slipping outside, Nora deeply inhaled the night air. It was a beautiful evening with a crescent moon and the cool breeze felt wonderful on her heated cheeks. She needed more time to herself to think of her future, and the terrace was the perfect respite.

‘There you are, Miss Magarian.’

Nora’s stomach dropped as she turned to see Sir Simon step onto the terrace. Her solace was not to last long.

Swallowing her disappointment, she stood straight as he joined her at the railing. ‘Sir Simon.’

‘Good evening. I’ve been hoping to speak privately with you.’

She blinked. ‘Why?’ She hadn’t spoken to him since the fiasco of that night. Rather, she’d avoided Sir Simon like one did a bad meal.

‘You never came to me as promised.’

She shifted uneasily. She knew what he meant. She was supposed to go to his bedchamber that fateful night, was supposed to be found by her maid and mother in his bed. Instead, her future had taken a different turn.

She met Simon’s bold stare. ‘It was a confusing evening.’

‘Ah, yes. Ralston was fortunate to receive your affections rather than myself.’

Goodness. What was she to say to that? Her purpose was to escape a betrothal to a much older baron back in London, not to spend a lustful evening with Sir Simon.

Unaware of her thoughts, Sir Simon stepped forward and brushed her hand on the railing. ‘Dearest lady, it doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done. We are free to continue where we left off.’

She pulled her hand back and fully faced him. She should be alarmed. She wasn’t. Men like Sir Simon needed to be put in their place and she had an abundant need to do so at that moment.

‘You misunderstand,’ she said. ‘Things have changed. I’m now betrothed to the Lord Ralston.’ Sir Simon’s cologne wafted to her, a cloying scent of cloves.

His smile deepened and he shrugged his shoulder. ‘I’ve never been one to focus on the past. Only the present.’

If his reputation was true, then she believed what he said. Sir Simon’s list of conquests was long. It was the main reason she’d chosen him in the first place. He’d never wish to marry. Neither had she. Then why did she now want to escape his presence as fast as possible?

He shifted at her side. ‘You are lovely, Miss Magarian. I’ve always had a fondness for auburn hair.’

‘Like I said, I am engaged. I must return to the drawing room. My mother will be looking for me.’

‘Before you depart, how about a kiss?’

Her right hand fisted at her side with the urge to give him a solid wallop. She shook her head instead. ‘That would be inappropriate.’

His lips twitched. ‘Then I shall take whatever affection you can spare.’ He lifted her left gloved hand and brushed his lips against the satin.

She felt nothing but the pressure of his touch. No tingling. No catch of breath. Not even a quiver. Completely unlike when Ralston sat beside her on a sandy beach, touched her hand, kissed her…

The thought confused her more.

‘You must leave or I will,’ she said, her voice firm.

‘I shall leave. But think of what I can offer.’ Simon bowed, then departed the terrace, the strong scent of his cologne went with him.

Letting out a long sigh, she rested her forearms on the railing.

Another male voice penetrated the quiet. ‘What were you doing alone with Sir Simon?’

She didn’t need to turn to know who was speaking.

So much for a needed respite. Her heart pounded once again, this time in anticipation as she turned to face her interloper. Ralston stood there, distractingly handsome in his black and white evening attire. His hair the colour of a starless night, shiny and curling around his neck. His dark eyes, brimming with suspicion and irritation. She didn’t find him the least bit intimidating. She knew she shouldn’t goad or engage him in his current high-handed mood. She shouldn’t. Yet, something wicked simmered in her blood at his outrageously maddening assumption.

She rested her back against the iron railing and arched a brow. The question slipped from her lips before she could bite it back. ‘Pray tell me, what do you think occurred between us, my lord?’

Ralston immediately knew he’d overreacted. He knew, but damned if he could stop himself from charging forward after Sir Simon had departed the terrace. He’d seen Nora slip outside earlier. He’d been aware of her all evening. And now, finding her alone on a moonlit terrace perfect for a rendezvous, his blood pounded hot in his veins. For someone who prized his self-control, Nora Magarian appeared to be his one exception, his weakness.

A niggling in his brain was hard to ignore, and his chest tightened in a deeply buried anxiousness. What were Nora and Sir Simon doing alone together on a dimly lit terrace? He’d ignored his first’s fiancée’s wandering eye. Would Nora be the same? After all, Nora had initially intended to slip into Sir Simon’s bedchamber. Not his own. Would history repeat itself?

Not again.

Nora let out a long sigh. ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Your accusation is as outrageous as it is insulting.’

He was drawn to her side. ‘Is that so? Then why would my fiancée be unchaperoned with a notorious rake?’

She pursed her lips. ‘You are acting high-handed.’

He stared are her, incredulous that she was blaming him. Even if he were high-handed. He had a right to be. She was his betrothed, dammit. ‘Is that so?’ he repeated.

‘Yes.’ She faced him, her green eyes bright. ‘If you must know, I sought fresh air. Sir Simon’s appearance was coincidental. I hardly think a moment on the terrace with the man was a risk to my reputation.’

If it had been any other man from the house party, her argument might have had a hair’s weight. ‘Just as you thought an afternoon alone by the ocean was safe?’

She placed a hand on her chest. His eyes were immediately drawn to the movement and the tops of her breasts from the heart-shaped bodice. What was wrong with him? He was never one to ogle a woman when they spoke.

‘I assure you that nothing happened between myself and Sir Simon,’ she said. ‘And had he attempted anything untoward, I am entirely capable of handling myself.’

He imagined her kneeing the blackguard in the groin. Still, she shouldn’t have to do that. It would be his pleasure to punch Simon square in his too perfectly formed nose.

‘I’m certain you are capable. But I will not allow infidelity.’ The statement came out in a low growl. He hadn’t meant to say it. That fact made him more frustrated.

Her clear gaze travelled over each of his features. ‘Goodness. What happened to you?’

He wasn’t about to tell her about Margaret. Or the time he’d found her lover between her plump thighs. Their moans of pleasure had taunted him for years. ‘As my wife, you will no longer engage with Sir Simon.’ Now he sounded like a curmudgeon. A very jealous one.

‘Anything else?’ she asked.

‘Do you require a list?’

‘Perhaps that would be helpful.’

Was she making fun of him? ‘You do not lack intelligence, Miss Magarian. In fact, I believe you know precisely what you are doing.’

‘Good of you to acknowledge it,’ she said. ‘My intelligence, at least.’

‘You are twisting this conversation to make it seem as if I am at fault.’

She gifted him with a smile. ‘Aren’t you?’

‘You should apologize, Miss Magarian.’ Now he sounded childish, as well.

She arched a delicate brow. ‘Me? Fine, I’m sorry you took what you saw incorrectly.’

‘That’s hardly an apology.’

Her smile deepened. ‘Your turn.’

He gave her an incredulous look. ‘You want me to apologize?’

‘Yes. You spoke quite rudely to me and, as I said, you insulted me.’

He sighed. ‘Fine, I shall not speak rudely. Meanwhile, stay away from the likes of Sir Simon.’

She blinked long lashes. ‘For how long?’

‘Forever,’ he ground out.

She tilted her head to the side, revealing her slender neck. ‘That may be difficult as there are less than a dozen guests at this house party.’

She had a good point, but she also knew what he meant. ‘The house party will end soon and we will return to Town.’

‘Yes, to marry.’ Her voice lowered, soft and sultry.

His thoughts immediately turned to the wedding night. For a man who had never wanted to marry her, he’d envisioned her in his bed one too many times. She’d be soft and willing after he’d seduced her. He’d take his time initiating her in the act and drawing out her pleasure. Knowing her, she’d also be an active participant in the bedchamber. The images made his mouth dry and aroused him more.

‘And if I run into Sir Simon in Town?’ she asked.

He was beginning to feel like an idiot. ‘Ignore him.’

‘I see. Is there anyone else I should ignore?’

He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Not that I can think of.’

‘Good to know. Now, if you will excuse me, my lord, I believe the terrace air has become even more stifling than inside.’ She swept by him and, without looking back, returned to the house.

Ralston gripped the banister as he watched her disappear through the French doors. She was outrageous and unexpected. Frustrated longing commingled with ridiculous jealousy had made him act like a cad. Would it always be this way with her? Christ, he didn’t trust himself in her presence.

Another question sprang to mind, one even more devastatingly intriguing.

What else would she make him do?

Chapter Eight

Excitement thrummed in the air the following evening at the village fair. Carriages lined the drive, ready to take the house guests for a night of revelry. Nora stepped inside a carriage with her mother and two sisters.

‘I hope they have cider and spiced gingerbread,’ Candace said.

‘I’d like new ribbons to match a few of my dresses,’ Sara said.

Nora leaned forward on the bench, practically feeling her sisters’ excitement. ‘I hear there is cake judging.’

‘Cake!’ Both Candace and Sara cried out.

‘Girls! Remember to act with decorum,’ their mother admonished.

By the time the carriages arrived at the edge of the village green, the sun had dipped towards the horizon, the last rays streaking the sky in soft amber and rose. Nora descended the carriage alongside her sisters to join the other guests and countryfolk.

The village green had shifted into its most magical hour and was abuzz with activity. Lanterns floated like stars on strings above bustling stalls, casting golden light on the crowd. Vendors sold everything from gingerbread and spiced cider to children’s toys, clothing, music boxes and trinkets, and paste jewels that looked real beneath the lamplight. The scent of spiced ale, mincemeat pies, sugared nuts and roasted apples scented the air. Children chased hoops between the stalls, dogs barked, and the mood of the fair was light with laughter.

Wide-eyed, Nora took in the scene, debating which stall to visit first. Candace was drawn to an artist as he sketched the figure of a young girl with a basket of flowers. Sara stopped by a stall selling ribbons in every colour of the rainbow.

Nora turned to spot the Earl of Ralston strolling alongside his friend, the Marquess of Adler. Ralston, normally impeccably dressed, looked slightly different. He’d loosened his cravat and his dark hair ruffled sightly in the breeze. He laughed at something his friend said and, even though she was too far away to hear the sound, the change in his expression caused her breath the catch. His attention turned to a booth selling children’s toys. He picked up a miniature wooden train, running the tiny wheels across his palm. She was fascinated by him. Just when she’d thought him uptight, he played with a child’s toy at a village fair.

At that moment, he looked up and noticed her watching him from across the square. His dark eyebrow arched in inquiry. Her face grew warm, and she quickly turned away, embarrassed to be caught watching him, and pretended to be interested in a stall selling colourful scarves.

A fiddler struck up a lively tune and a space was cleared for dancing. Villagers, young and old alike, twirled hand in hand as laughter spiraled into the night air. A young girl, no more than five years old with a smear of blackberry pie on her cheek, came up to Nora and took her hand. ‘Dance!’

Nora smiled. She needed a distraction, and the rhythm of the music called out to her. Taking the girl’s hand, she joined the revelers.

Ralston stood on the outskirts of the fair, watching the festivities. The amber light of the lanterns cast a glow on the dancers in the center of the square. Feminine laughter mixed with the strains of the fiddler.

He immediately spotted Nora at the center of it all. She spun and caught hands with a neighbour boy before twirling away again, her laughter mingling with the others but distinct to his ears. She wore a lavender gown, simple but well-fitted, and the reddish highlights of her hair shimmered beneath the lanternlight. As she turned, her hem lifted just enough to reveal slender ankles and shapely calves. He was struck by her gleeful enjoyment, her green eyes alight with absolute abandon and joy.

Ralston couldn’t tear away his gaze. There was something unguarded about her at that moment, just Nora Magarian, without pretense, who was enjoying all life had to offer. Young, beautiful, alive…yielding a siren’s power she didn’t know she held.

‘Careful. You look like a starving man.’

Adler arrived to stand by his side. Ralston barely gave him a sideways glance.

‘Is it that obvious?’ Ralston asked.

‘Go dance with her.’

‘I don’t dance at county fairs.’

‘Make an exception. Before a young, randy farmer does.’

Ralston did not need further encouragement. He found himself at the edge of the circle of dancers. The fiddler’s song ended, and Nora spotted him and approached. ‘Lord Ralston! Are you enjoying the fair?’ Her face was flushed from dancing. Auburn curls had escaped from her ribbon in the evening’s humidity and brushed her slender neck.

‘I am, but you seem to be enjoying it more.’

‘I got caught up in the dance.’ Her eyes seemed to be laughing and he was entranced. Had they been alone, he’d sweep her into his arms and kiss her hard right here and now.

She tilted her head as she watched him. ‘You look a bit different tonight.’

‘How so?’

‘Your cravat is loose. Your expression not as serious.’

‘You believe me too serious?’ he asked, surprised.

Her eyes sparkled. ‘You are a politician. I’ve come to believe you are always thinking as one.’

No one had said that to him. Not even Adler. He’d never thought about how he acted in public. Perhaps she was right, and he was always thinking about his appearance.

Perhaps it was the magic of the night with the shimmering lanterns and laughing merrymakers. Perhaps he wanted to keep things light and make up for his behavior the prior evening after their discussion about Sir. Simon. Perhaps it was her.

Whatever the reason, he found himself holding out his arm. ‘Shall we stroll the fair together?’

Nora nodded then placed her hand on his sleeve. They walked towards the market stalls. ‘Since we are to wed, maybe you can tell me something about your life in London.’

‘What is it you’d like to know.’

‘Well, for one, tell me about your estate and home life.’

They passed several stalls, one that roasted chestnuts and another that sold colourful scarves. ‘My Berkley Square home has a full staff. It has been efficiently run by my housekeeper, Mrs Hanning, since I was a child. After we wed, you will be mistress there.’

Nora’s eyes widened. ‘Goodness, I know little about running a large home and will rely on Mrs Hanning for all matters of advice.’

He nodded. ‘She will gladly help.’

‘What of your country home? Is there one?’ she asked.

‘Yes, Ralston House is in Derbyshire and is over fifteen thousand acres.’

Her step faltered and he immediately reached out to cover her hand.

‘Fifteen thousand acres! I cannot imagine owning that much land,’

‘It’s been passed down for generations. I’m the sixth Earl of Ralston.’

Her brow furrowed. ‘I fear I’m dreadfully unprepared.’

‘I’m not concerned. Like I said, both homes have a full staff. And if you can find specific seashells among many on a Cornwall beach, then you have much more attention to detail than any lady I’ve ever met.’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘That is one of the kindest things you have said, my lord.’

‘Good. I must make up for my bad behavior from the prior evening when I told you to stay away from Sir Simon.’

She tilted her head back and laughed. ‘It was bad behavior. But forgiven.’

His heart hammered at the pleasant sound of her laugh. It wasn’t high-pitched, but husky and reminded him of long, lustful mornings they’d soon share after they wed. ‘Anything else you’d like to ask?’

‘Your bill to improve child labor. When will it pass?’ she asked.

This was a familiar topic. ‘Ah, passing a bill is a long process. It must initially have its first reading where debate is not usually allowed. Then the second reading where a full debate is expected. A final passing of the bill in the House comes later. Then it must go to the Commons.’

‘Surely it will pass.’

He did not want to ruin the light mood with talk of politics or his adversaries. Not when he was enjoying their time together beneath a string of lanterns at a festive fair.

They approached another booth. ‘Would you like to judge the pie competition with me? The Duchess asked me earlier. Her head housekeeper entered the contest with her blackberry pie.’

Nora’s eyes lit as she smiled up at him ‘Yes!’

He offered his arm, and they headed for a long table filled with pies of different flavours—apple, blackberry, strawberry, cherry and even rhubarb. The Duchess stood by her head cook, Mrs Hemsworth, and sampled her blackberry pie.

‘Delicious!’ the Duchess said.

Both Ralston and Nora were handed plates with samples of three different pies, including the head cook’s. The strawberry pie was Ralston’s favorite—sweet and crusty, he could easily eat more. Mrs Hemsworth eyed them, and both his and Nora’s forks froze in mid-air.

Nora tugged on his arm and when he lowered his head, she whispered in his ear. ‘I think it will be rigged in favor of Mrs Hemsworth.’

His lips twitched with the need to smile. ‘That woman could frighten Parliament and any seasoned politician.’

‘She may poison us at our next meal if we vote against her,’ she said.

Their eyes met in humour over their raised plates, and a sensuous glance passed between them.

Mrs Hemsworth cleared her throat, and the moment was lost. Their attention returned to her. They filled out their ballots and stuffed them in the ballot box, then hurried off together. Once they were out of sight, they both released laughs. It was a rare moment between them, and Ralston watched as she wiped tears from her eyes with her sleeve.

‘That was unexpected,’ Nora said.

‘It was. Shall we walk more?’ Once again, he offered his arm, and she took it.

He didn’t want to leave her, not when the magic of the fair was still alive. They were to depart for London tomorrow. Too soon, everything would change. The atmosphere would not be relaxed. The rules of polite society could be oppressive and there was much to do. His work at the House of Lords would come first. Second, he had an upcoming wedding. He had no intention of changing his daily routine. He knew, looking at Nora now, under the twinkling amber lights, this was fantasy, not reality.

His past hovered deep in the recesses of his mind like a gloomy specter. As his wife, he’d never open his heart to another. He’d respect her, just as he’d expect her to respect him. But he couldn’t let her in—he would never do that again. Mutual distance would be easy to maintain once they were back in the city.

‘Nora!’ The shout pierced the night air.

Nora stiffened by his side and dropped her hand from his sleeve. ‘It’s my mother.’

‘You should go.’ Even knowing the fantasy had to end, he was reluctant for her to leave his side.

She raised thick lashes to look up at him. ‘I had a lovely time.’ Then, as if realizing what she’d said, she blushed and she quickly lifted her skirts and ran off to her family.

The moment was broken. He watched as she joined her mother, then was led off to catch up with her sisters.

Ralston reluctantly turned away. Not for the first time, he wondered at his fascination with her. It was too easy to forget himself when she looked up at him. It didn’t matter whether her gaze was inquisitive, flashing with anger or brimming with humour.

Turning away, he found Adler drinking a tankard of ale by a stall selling refreshments. Ralston paid for his own tankard and drank.

Adler gave him a sideways glance. ‘You may need something stronger than the ale.’

Ralton lowered the tankard. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You seemed to be enjoying yourself tonight. Will you miss your fiancée? Once we return to Town, you will not be able to see the lady as easily as you can here.’

Ralston’s lips flattened at his friend’s comments. Adler could be a nosy gossip. Still, Ralston looked across the green to where Nora stood with her mother and sisters. Nora appeared in conversation with her parent. Not for the first time, he realized it wasn’t just Nora he would be marrying; her family would become his own. From the encounters he’d had with her sisters, he liked the ladies. Nora’s mother, however, was still a formidable force.

Ralston’s jaw tensed when he thought of returning home. ‘London will come soon enough.’

Chapter Nine

Nora parted the curtains of the coach as the wheels hit another rut in the road.

‘I fear I’ll be sick,’ Sara said.

‘Breathe in deeply and look outside,’ Candace said.

‘Don’t be dramatic, Sara. We have a while to go before we reach London,’ their mother said.

Nora bit her lip to keep from responding. An angry retort wouldn’t help her sister. She understood her mother had had to fend for herself since becoming a widow. But she also wished she could show more softness at times.

From the pale tint of Sara’s complexion, her sister was in need of rest and fresh air. The temperature in the crowded coach had increased as the afternoon sun blazed outside.

Nora, too, was overly warm. She could blame the condition on the road, the heat or the fact that her sisters were crammed against her. None of those factors were what upset her disposition. The wheels of the coach hit another bump and jostled the riders. Sara moaned. Candace gasped. Nora wanted to throw open the doors and jump out.

They were drawing closer and closer to Town.

And her wedding.

Her thoughts turned to Ralston who was riding in his crested carriage with Lord Adler. Was he feeling the effects of the journey? Or was he conversing with his friend regarding their return to Town and to their clubs.

So much would change. Nora would have to move from her childhood home, the only home she’d known, to the Earl’s Berkley Square mansion. He’d told her about his long-time housekeeper, and Nora would depend on the woman’s competency after she wed and became a countess. But what would his staff think when he returned with news of a soon-to-be mistress of the manor? As for the Earl, would he properly introduce her to his household? Would they welcome her or look upon her as an oddity when they learned of her scientific interests. To make matters worse, what did she know of running a large estate? She’d never bothered to listen to her mother. She’d never intended to marry. Heavens, everything would change, and fast. Her anxiety tripled.

‘As soon as we return, we must visit the modiste.’

Nora gave her mother a blank look. ‘Pardon?’

‘The modiste. Did you not hear me, Nora? We have little time to spare.’ Her mother’s lips pursed in exasperation. ‘We have a wedding to plan.’

Nora felt sick, and it wasn’t entirely due to the swaying of the carriage. ‘Must we consider it so quickly?’

‘Yes, we must.’ Her mother tapped her chin with a forefinger. ‘There is the wedding dress, of course. In addition, you need an entire trousseau.’

A tingling of dread made her shiver. She’d stowed all the details of an upcoming marriage far away in the recesses of her mind. Now, with each passing mile that brough them closer to London, a different panic welled in her breast.

‘Blue would look good with your hair. Don’t you agree Sara and Candace?’ her mother asked the sisters.

Candace met Nora’s eyes, and a mutual understanding of distress passed between them. Sara clutched the cushions, her face looking more puce coloured than before.

The wheels of the coach rumbled over the cobblestone streets as they entered the city, and traffic slowed the carriage. Soon, Nora recognized her neighbourhood, and they arrived home.

The ladies filed out of the coach one by one. Sara alighted first, taking in deep gasps of air. Their mother was second. Then Candace and Nora. As they climbed the steps into their home, Nora’s mother’s voice rang out.

‘Hurry, girls! Not a minute to waste until the wedding!’

Madame Fleur’s dress shop on Bond Street was where the ton’s daughters were transformed into visions of fashion. The scent of rosewater and pressed linen filled the air as Nora stood on a dais before a cheval looking glass in the elegant salon.

Blue satin shimmered from the morning light streaming from a tall window and hugged her curves. Elegant lace imported from Brussels edged the sleeves and neckline. Nora took a deep breath and tried to expand her lungs an extra inch. The dress felt too tight, constraining. She would not have picked satin. Silk would have been her choice. She’d agreed to marry Ralston, but nothing in the weeks since had been her choice.

Not the quick betrothal, the dress or the wedding breakfast to occur at the Earl’s massive pile of stone.

It was now two days before their wedding. Much of her insecurities had to do with the fact that since her return home, she’d barely spoken to Ralston. Without a special license, they’d waited until the banns were read. She’d seen him at church each Sunday. She’d glanced at his hawkish profile after the service before her mother had ushered her away.

He’d come calling twice.

Once, he’d brought flowers. The second time, a box of chocolates. He’d stayed precisely half an hour. Both times, her mother had remained in the room as a chaperone and had acted as if they’d begun courting. She’d insisted that since they were back in Town, everything had to appear proper. Their conversations had been stilted and uncomfortable. Thereafter, he’d been in touch with her mother through correspondence to make all the arrangements. Three weeks of the banns had painfully passed.

He’d been different upon their return. During their short visits, even his tone had been cooler, more formal. His stiffness was nothing like the relaxed Earl at the village fair who’d laughed with her after judging a pie contest. His cool glance lacked the twinkle in his eye beneath the fair’s lamplight. She wondered if this was who he’d be as a husband.

Now, with each passing day since returning home, her insecurities had arisen. What if he’d lied? What if he’d claimed he would support her scientific interests just to get her to marry? His fear of scandal was self-serving.

Nora bit the inside of her cheek. When did she become so jaded? She must give him the benefit of the doubt. She should enter into marriage with a positive attitude, certainly not a suspicious one.

‘Stop fidgeting,’ her mother said.

‘It’s too tight.’

‘No, chérie. It’s a perfect fit.’ Madame Fleur adjusted the bodice. ‘You will be a lovely bride and will charm the Earl.’

Ralston did not act charmed around her. He appeared to act out of duty and an immense dislike of scandal.

‘You will have to return tomorrow for a final fitting before I have the dress delivered,’ the dressmaker said.

‘She can come with her maid,’ her mother said.

The dressmaker nodded as she adjusted the gown’s hem. ‘Soon you will be a countess, Lady Ralston.’

Lady Ralston. The name sounded foreign to her ears, like a borrowed title that she’d eventually have to return. He was a wealthy man of the beau monde, an influential member of the House of Lords, and an earl. Who was she? A proud daughter of English and Middle Eastern parents and a scientist. She’d never aspired to be a countess, let alone a politician’s wife.

Madame Fleur stepped back and eyed the gown with satisfaction. ‘Now for the rest. I have a nightgown of my own design.’ The measuring tape ever-present around her neck flapped as Madame Fleur turned and snapped her fingers. An assistant appeared to bring forth a nightgown so sheer one could see too much. ‘It’s the finest silk.’

Nora would finally get something made from silk, only this was not what she had in mind.

‘The Earl will find you irresistible,’ Madame Fleur said.

Irresistible.

Nora swallowed. She wasn’t certain she wanted him to look at her that way, especially not on the wedding night. She’d feel like a woman playing a part she hadn’t auditioned for. The dressmaker nodded, then left the fitting room for more supplies.

Madame Fleur meant to compliment her by calling her irresistible, but her words had a different effect. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she glanced from the sheer nightgown to the door. Would it appear cowardly if she sprinted out of the dress shop to burst onto Bond Street, then hailed the first hackney she saw to take her home?

Her mother must have sensed her unease. ‘You will be fine, Nora.’

‘How do you know?’ It was an honest question, and her voice sounded weak to her own ears.

‘I was married once, remember?’ her mother said.

‘Yes, but Papa.’

Her mother’s voice was soft, but crisp and clear. ‘Was a man, just as the Earl is.’

She looked at her mother, really looked at her. They hadn’t had an earnest conversation in a long time. Not since her mother had wanted Nora to marry after her first coming out three seasons ago and they’d butted heads at the suitors Nora had rejected. When her mother had decided upon Baron Umbridge they’d nearly stopped speaking.

She imagined her mother as a young woman, near to her age. Had she been nervous when she’d tried on her wedding dress? During her vows? Or when she’d left her home to move into a new one with her husband? Nora had never thought of her that way. She’d always been…well…just her mother.

Now that she was to get married, Nora looked at her parent in a different light. She supposed many young women on the cusp of marriage, the birth of a child or any other life-changing event did the same.

Conscious of the pins in her dress, Nora carefully stepped down from the platform. Satin whispered around her ankles, ‘Did you love Father when you wed?’

Her mother let out a long sigh. ‘I did. I know it’s different for you, Nora. I had other difficulties. My parents did not approve of Armen Magarian. He was not English, not titled and not rich. Even worse, he worked in trade. I met your father when he delivered a rare Turkey carpet to my friend’s home. We talked and I found his travels fascinating. He was different than the stuffy, boring Englishmen at dances and balls. He was darkly handsome, educated—not from Oxford—but from an overseas monastery, and he had potential. When he proposed, my parents refused his suit.’

‘Then how…’

Nora’s eyes widened when she realized a fact that she’d never considered before. Perhaps it was because she’d never wanted to consider it. Nora was twenty-six years old, and her parents married twenty-seven years ago. Which meant…

‘You were pregnant with me,’ Nora said matter-of-factly.

Her mother’s normally stoic façade altered a bit. Her cheeks reddened. ‘Yes, it’s true. We shall not talk of it further.’

Well, if her mother was embarrassed by it after all these years, who was she to bring it up? Her sisters were wise enough to do the math, but they had never thought to do so. Nora would respect her mother and would not speak of it.

Then, even more unexpectedly, her mother stood and placed her hands on her shoulders. Looking into her eyes, she said, ‘Like I said, you will be fine, Nora. I have no doubt you are stronger than I was when I wed.’

After leaving the dressmakers after her final fitting with her maid in tow, Nora stepped onto Bond Street.

‘Are you thirsty, Jane?’ Nora asked her maid.

The woman eyed her. Jane was a few years older than Nora and a widow with brown hair and eyes. She was quiet and took her duties as a lady’s maid seriously. Rosey happened to be a maid for all sisters and had attended the house party, but Jane had been with just Nora for two years now.

‘Thirsty, miss? Perhaps we can visit Gunther’s. Or hurry home.’

‘I was thinking of another establishment. One across the street.’ Nora pointed to where a wooden sign for the White Bear tavern hung.

Jane let out a visible gasp. ‘A tavern? But that establishment is not…wouldn’t be at all appropriate for a young lady like—’

‘It will satisfy our thirsts.’ She grabbed her maid’s hand. ‘Come along then. I won’t tell Mother if you don’t.’

The drink Nora had in mind was whisky. Or a good gin. After spending days in Madame Fleur’s dress shop being poked and prodded for her wedding gown and trousseau, she believed she was entitled to one drink.

They entered the tavern. Men in corduroy jackets as well as finely tailored coats eyed the pair. The women in the establishment were limited to barmaids and two others in brightly coloured gowns with low bodices. Nora ignored them all and moved towards an empty table in the corner. It was perfect. The lighting in the place was dim and the corner even dimmer and isolated. She’d wait for the barmaid to approach to serve them.

Perched on the edge of her chair, Jane scanned the room with the frightened look of a rabbit being hunted by a dog.

‘Relax,’ Nora said. ‘It’s the middle of the afternoon. There are no brigands here.’

‘Brigands?’ Jane’s brown eyes widened in her pale face, and she looked around even more frantically. This time she reminded Nora of a bird in a cage with a hovering house cat.

A buxom red-haired barmaid approached. ‘What would you two lovelies be having?’

‘A whisky, please,’ Nora said.

The barmaid propped a hip on the table. ‘Oh, a bad day or a good one?’

‘A long one,’ Nora admitted. ‘And I’d like a drink to commemorate the end of my freedom.’

The barmaid gave Nora a sympathetic look, as if she understood her predicament. ‘I’ll be sure to bring the best the house offers.’ She turned her attention to the maid. ‘And you, miss? What will you be having?’

‘Water,’ Jane said. ‘But first, is there a retiring room in this place?’ She looked as if she might be ill.

The barmaid laughed. ‘An outhouse for the men. But follow me and I’ll show you where the ladies use. No one will disturb you and you can return on your own.’

Nora was left alone in the corner and let out a sigh. Jane would return soon enough. Until then she had a private moment to herself to—

‘What are you doing here?’

She looked up at the stern, masculine voice to see Ralston standing before her. He stood with his legs spread and his jaw tense. His dark hair looked even darker in the sparse lighting of the tavern. She was so surprised at his unexpected appearance, it took her a moment to answer.

‘What are you doing here?’ she responded with a question of her own.

‘I asked first.’

From her seat, she craned her neck to meet his gaze. ‘I’m thirsty.’

His eyebrows drew downward into dark slashes. ‘There are numerous establishments where a lady could go. May I ask why you are alone and unchaperoned in a tavern?’

‘No, my lord, as we are not yet married, I don’t believe you have the right to ask. But to put your mind at ease, my maid accompanied me and will return at any moment.’

His unreadable dark stare should have put her on guard, but the truth was she’d never feared him. Still, it would be foolish to irritate him on the eve of their wedding.

The barmaid sailed over with a tray full of tankards and a glass. She placed a whisky on the table. ‘To the end of your freedom, miss.’

Nora felt a tingling from her scalp to the pit of her stomach as Ralston pulled out a chair and sat beside her. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘I’d also like a whisky to celebrate with the lady.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Ralston smiled at the barmaid, and she hurried to do his bidding.

His calm demeanor was more intimidating than any show of anger. ‘You do not have to stay,’ she said.

‘You prefer to drink alone?’

‘I’m not alone. My maid is with me, remember?’

Just returning, Jane spotted Ralston sitting with Nora and scurried back to the bar.

‘Oh, dear. You’ve upset my maid,’ Nora said.

He responded with a slow, devilish smile. ‘I’ll apologize to her later.’

The barmaid returned and set his whisky before him.

Nora swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and raised her drink.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘You wanted to celebrate.’

She shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean it.’ At least not with him. How could she drink to the last day of her freedom with him sitting beside her?

‘Well, now that we are sitting here,’ he said, his voice even, ‘let’s celebrate together. How about a toast?’

‘To what?’

‘To finally being alone before our wedding.’

This was a simple request. They hadn’t been alone since the village fair. His visits at her home had always been chaperoned and his behavior had been proper and stiff. Seeing him in a non-formal setting could be welcome. Would he act differently?

Still, her suspicions arose. He must be angry at finding his fiancée drinking in a tavern. She wouldn’t let down her guard. ‘I suppose we have not spoken privately since returning to Town. My mother is ever-present and watches us like a hawk.’

They both sipped their whisky. The liquor burned her throat and settled low in her stomach.

His dark eyes studied her. ‘Are you nervous to marry?’

She lowered her glass. ‘What bride wouldn’t be? Are you?’

He shrugged. ‘What groom wouldn’t be?’

The warmth in his voice sent her heartbeat into dangerous territory. She was also surprised at his honesty.

‘Marriage has us both feeling uneasy,’ he said.

Once more, she admired his confession. There was a budding honesty between them at the moment.

‘I know my attention has been split between the wedding and the first reading of my bill,’ he said.

Her interest was piqued by this. ‘When is it?’ A month had passed since the house party and it was now May.

‘I fear the timing isn’t perfect. Parliament is in session until it winds down come mid-July. The reading of my bill is the day after our wedding.’

The timing did not bother her, but it must be stressful for him. ‘So soon? I wish you the best.’

He smiled. ‘And I’ll be sure to stand by your side at the wedding. And afterwards at the wedding breakfast. If it is too much, you must let me know. There is no set rule that we must stay until the very end. Our guests can enjoy themselves without the couple.’

Her gaze lifted to his, to the dark enigma of his eyes. He was trying to quell her worries and she appreciated his support, more than he knew. ‘Thank you.’ The simple words were the only ones that came to mind.

‘Enjoy the rest of your drink, Nora. If you don’t mind, I’ll wait until you’re finished with the whisky and escort you home myself.’

Chapter Ten

Sunlight spilled through the mullioned windows of Ralston House’s dining room casting a warm golden light over a table laden with fine china rimmed in gold, silver chafing dishes and crystal goblets. The wedding breakfast had begun, and guests mingled with champagne flutes in hand talking and laughing.

‘I agreed with the dressmaker. You look lovely in the blue,’ Sara said as she adjusted a piece of lace at Nora’s sleeve.

‘You should eat something before you indulge in a second glass of champagne,’ Candace said.

‘I’m not that hungry.’ Nora touched her stomach. Her nerves had been strung tight the moment she’d arrived at the church. The ceremony at St George’s Church had been a blur, and she could hardly recall the priest’s words. She’d been too aware of Ralston standing beside her. Tall and confident, if he’d been even a bit nervous it hadn’t shown. When it was her turn to speak her vows, her voice had been a low murmur. In contrast, Ralston’s voice had been loud and clear.

She was now a married woman in her new home. She scanned her surroundings. The room felt too grand. Velvet drapes held back with tassel fringe revealed a glimpse of manicured gardens beyond. A portrait above the fireplace of a dark-haired man with a serious expression wearing a ruffled neck ruff and velvet doublet stared down at the guests. Something about the man’s nose reminded her of Ralston’s and she suspected it was an ancestor, possibly the first earl. He’d told her the ancient title had been passed down for generations. The thought made her chest feel as if it would burst.

Goodness, how would she fit in here?

‘It was a beautiful ceremony,’ Candace said.

Nora’s voice was whisper soft. ‘I wish I could remember more of it.’ She scanned the opulent room and the richly dressed guests and took a shaky breath. ‘What if I don’t belong here?’

‘You belong!’ Sara surprised her by gripping her hand. ‘Do not let the wealth intimidate you. Papa may not have had a title, but he was just as worthy and so are you.’

‘She’s right,’ Candace chimed in. ‘It’s just a house, no matter how large.’

Nora wasn’t so sure. They lived in a rented townhouse in Picadilly. It was a fine home in a fine area of London in her opinion. But this house, this mansion, in Berkley Square dwarfed hers. It boasted a dozen bedrooms, not including the staff’s quarters, the kitchens, an orangery and garden. There were more than two dozen staff, and with Ralston by her side, she’d made an effort to greet each one earlier in the day as they’d lined up to welcome their new mistress. She’d paid the head housekeeper the most attention and she knew the competent woman was one she’d want on her side.

And then there was the Earl of Ralston himself.

Her husband.

Her gloved fingers closed around the delicate stem of her glass, as she glanced across the room. He was especially striking in his black coat and snowy cravat. He carried himself with confidence as if he knew his place in the world and everyone should respect it. Men must envy him. She knew firsthand his tailor did not need to pad the shoulders of his coat.

He spoke with his friend, the Marquess of Adler.

As if sensing her attention, his eyes met hers across the room. He raised his glass to her, and his full lips tilted in a grin.

Tingling from head to toe, she released a slow breath. She was all too aware that tonight was their wedding night. She breathed lightly between parted lips and felt a curious swooping pull in her stomach. Would he always unnerve her with a simple glance?

‘He’s coming your way,’ Sara said.

Her pulse leaped once again. She was vaguely aware of her sisters moving away and leaving her alone with her husband.

‘How are you faring?’ he asked, his voice low. ‘Not too overwhelmed, I hope?’

‘It is all a bit overwhelming. Your house is grand, much grander than what I’m accustomed to.’ Was she meant to belong here in the Earl’s world of gilded mantel clocks and ancient portraits of ancestors watching her from the walls?

‘It’s no longer mine, but ours. I hope you will be comfortable here. I know the staff is happy to have a mistress.’

He held her gaze a moment longer, then brushed her back with his fingers. ‘Come. Let us greet all our guests together.’ Warmth followed the path of his hand, comforting and possessive at the same time, and a tiny shiver travelled down her spine. Could he tell her reaction?

She’d agreed to a businesslike marriage of convenience without emotional entanglements. But she’d also agreed to an heir.

Which meant she would share his bed. Her heart did a pitter patter. A different nervousness settled low in her stomach. Which made her ponder.

Were her nerves due to being with a man or to being with him?

What on earth was taking Ralston so long? Was his toilette with his valet some grand and ceremonial affair that required longer than an hour? Surely, he understood that his new bride would be waiting. And that she was a bundle of nerves.

The soft tick of the mantel clock in her bedchamber became unbearable. She had watched the long hand inch forward for what felt like an eternity. The coals had died down in the brazier and settled to a quiet amber glow, casting flickering shadows along the damask walls. Never in her wildest dreams did she think her wedding night would be filled with silence and solitude.

Her gaze wandered to the door that connected their rooms, and an intriguing thought crossed her mind. Was he waiting for her to come to him? That couldn’t be proper…could it? Of course, she hadn’t received a proper education on wedding nights. Her mother had been of no help, saying in passing that the man would take care of things. Well, at this point, Ralston had not taken care of anything.

Her lips flattened with determination, and she stiffened her spine. She was not a woman accustomed to being ignored, certainly not by her husband on her wedding night. And in truth, she was currently too anxious to sleep. Not bothering with a robe, she approached their adjoining bedroom door in her nightgown, the fine silk whispering around her ankles as she moved. Her bare feet made no sound on the thick Aubusson carpet. When her fingers curled around the brass handle, her heartbeat tripled.

She turned the handle and pushed the door open. The room beyond was dimly lit by the red glow of coals in the grate.

‘My lord?’ Her voice was whisper soft.

No answer.

‘Ralston?’

Still nothing.

She stepped over the threshold.

His bedchamber was masculine and richly appointed. A towering four-poster bed, its dark velvet hangings drawn back, dominated the middle of the room. A tall mahogany wardrobe, a chest of drawers and a writing desk flanked the walls. The scent of shaving soap and sandalwood lingered faintly in the air. But the bed was untouched. The coverlet hadn’t even been turned down.

He wasn’t there.

Nora stood frozen as myriad thoughts crossed her mind. Where on earth was he? Her nervousness shifted to annoyance. Had he gone out? Was he at one of his clubs, meeting with friends? Either way, he was elsewhere and ignoring her.

With her jaw set, she returned to her chamber and shut the adjoining door with a firm click. If he wouldn’t come to her, then she would find a way to calm herself. Warm milk might soothe her into sleep. On second thought, a dram of whisky would do it faster. Her father had always kept a sideboard full of liquor in his library and it was a good guess the Earl did the same.

Lighting a candle, she left her room and padded silently down the grand staircase. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of a loose floorboard. She passed portraits of long-dead relatives in the shadowed corridors and a painting of sporting animals, a white horse and hunting hound.

The library door was ajar.

Ralston was inside.

He sat before the low-burning coal brazier, his profile bathed in copper light. A glass was cradled in his hand, the amber liquid inside catching the glow of the fire. He looked thoughtful, as if he were considering a complex problem. The crisp white of his shirt was undone at the neck, his waistcoat abandoned, and his dark hair slightly mussed, as though he’d been running his fingers through it.

He stood the moment he noticed her.

‘Nora.’

She blurted out the first thing that came to mind. ‘I realize our wedding was unusual—’

‘The ceremony was perfectly normal,’ he said with a shrug, ‘so I assume you speak of our arrangement.’

‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘You did not intend to marry.’

‘Neither did you. At least…not how it came about. But here we are.’

‘Yes. And it’s our wedding night.’ She eyed the whisky on the sideboard. ‘And yet here you sit. Alone.’

His eyes followed hers to the decanter. ‘You needn’t worry. I do not intend to visit your bed tonight.’

She gave a dry little laugh. ‘I came to that understanding. But why?’

He looked into the fire for a moment before turning back to her. ‘You need time to adjust to our…to your…situation.’

‘I do?’ she asked.

‘Yes. I have never forced a woman,’ he said, his voice low but firm, ‘and I won’t start with my wife.’

Uncertain how to respond, she decided to be grateful and yet she could not quite rid herself of an odd flicker of disappointment. What was wrong with her? She should be relieved and appreciative of his consideration. Still, she acknowledged she was wildly curious.

‘Is it something I’ve done?’

‘No. It’s not you. Never you. Like I said, our circumstances are different than the typical marriage.’

He did not need to explain more. ‘Thank you,’ she said finally, though her voice lacked conviction. She didn’t trust herself to say more.

Instead, she walked to the sideboard and surveyed the colourful bottles. ‘May I have a drink?’

‘Madeira?’ he offered.

‘Whisky,’ she replied.

His only response to the strong drink was a slight twitch to his eyebrow. Without comment, he met her at the sideboard and poured a finger’s worth into a crystal tumbler and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed, briefly, and it startled her more than it should have.

She crossed to an armchair opposite him and sat with her legs folded beneath her. Ralston waited until she was settled before returning to his chair. She sipped her whisky, which burned down her throat then settled warm and low in her belly.

She was aware of him watching her, his dark eyes unreadable. What was going through his mind? Did he resent having a wife? Was she an inconvenience, a burden? As they sat together in the library on their wedding night, she had no idea what her husband was thinking.

Ralston watched Nora lift the crystal to sip her whisky. A single drop clung to her bottom lip before her tongue flicked out to capture it. He shifted in his leather armchair, forcing himself to remain still. Did his bride know how much he wanted her?

When she’d first entered the library, she’d stood before the marble hearth, framed by the flickering firelight, completely unaware that the sheer silk gown clung to her slender figure and revealed far too much to his hungry gaze. He could see the outline of a long, shapely leg, the gentle curve of her hip, and, to his dismay and fascination, the shadowed peak of one breast.

Good God.

Did she have any idea how difficult it had been for him not to seek her out tonight?

It had taken every shred of discipline he possessed not to stride across the room, open the door that adjoined their bedchambers and join her. Make love to his wife on their wedding night and give in to the fierce desire he’d felt for her ever since she’d slipped into his bed at the house party. They were married now, in name and law. Still, he wasn’t a cad, and he’d decided to act honorably and give her time to adjust to a married life she hadn’t wanted. But at this moment, his honor, felt like a cumbersome and inconvenient virtue.

It had been this way during the wedding vows and the breakfast afterwards. He’d snuck glances at his wife, had worked hard to keep the longing out of his eyes. Surely, all the guests would see. He was even having a difficult time thinking of his bill. Would she distract him like this forever?

He cleared his throat, more harshly than he intended. ‘Tomorrow is a new day. You must be curious about your new home and anxious to resume your work.’

She glanced at him over the rim of her glass. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

‘As am I,’ he said, trying to recover some formality. ‘The first reading of my bill is tomorrow. I’ll be gone most of the day. I apologize for the lack of a honeymoon. I didn’t expect to marry, let alone so swiftly.’

She gave a small nod. ‘I understand. Any travels together would be awkward.’ Her voice was calm, but she worried her bottom lip again, a nervous habit he had begun to notice. His eyes, against his better judgement, were drawn once more to her mouth.

‘If you are gone tomorrow, may I go shopping?’ she asked, her voice lighter.

‘You want to buy dresses?’

‘No,’ she said, setting her glass down carefully. ‘I’d like to purchase a microscope and other supplies.’

That was not the reply he’d expected. But then, Nora had never been predictable. ‘I have no objection.’

Her green eyes watched him. ‘A microscope is costly.’ Her voice held the quiet reserve of someone accustomed to being denied.

‘I expect it is.’ Was she worried about the expense? She had no reason to be. His was a wealthy man, and her scientific pursuits would barely dent his accounts.

‘Do I have an allowance?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he replied simply. ‘It is not necessary.’

One delicate eyebrow rose. ‘You do not fear I’ll drain your coffers? Run up ruinous debts in pursuit of lenses and specimen trays?’

He let out a gruff laugh. ‘No. I doubt you could empty my accounts if you bought a dozen microscopes. Or a dozen ballgowns for that matter.’

Her lips parted, and her eyes widened with something like wonder. Other than her father, had no one ever been generous or supportive of her before?

‘I told you it was part of our arrangement, and I intend to keep my word,’ he said. ‘You married me under unusual circumstances. I’d not renege on what I promised.’

‘I know…it’s just—’

‘Just what?’ he asked gently. He wanted to know. He wanted to know everything about her. Did she truly not believe him? Or did she think he’d establish limitations?

‘Lord Umbridge would have never allowed it.’ Her voice dropped, and she looked away.

‘Who?’ he asked, before the name sparked recognition. ‘Ah. Yes. The Baron your mother tried to pair you with.’

She nodded, folding her hands in her lap. Her voice was low. ‘He’d often remind me he was quite frugal.’

For some reason, the reminder of the Baron did not sit well with him, and his jaw clenched at the thought of that pompous man anywhere near her, dictating terms.

‘There’s no need to speak of him now, is there?’ he said, more sharply than intended.

‘You’re right. There’s no need. Especially on our wedding night.’

She might be uncomfortable discussing money. Meanwhile, he struggled because of a different matter—suppressing the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless until her worries were eased and she thought of nothing but him. Would her nipples be rosy or a dusty pink? Would the curls between her legs match her auburn hair? The erotic images would invade his dreams.

His restraint, he told himself, was for both their benefit. She never wanted to marry, and they both had work in mind. She needed time before they embarked on their agreement to produce an heir. As for himself, his past was not easily forgotten no matter how young he’d been. Matters of the heart were not for him and he had no interest in love. Why would he? Love was a foolish emotion and a distraction from what truly mattered. He’d had his heart broken once and only once and would never let it happen again.

As his wife, he’d give Nora every respect. He’d uphold his promise to fund her science. But he’d never give her his heart.

Lust was a different matter.

Lust was not love. And he did desire her. Badly.

‘I was thinking about my role as Countess,’ she said, her voice steady again. ‘When will we be introduced to Society?’

He was grateful for the change of topic. Speaking of mundane Society events would cool his heated thoughts. ‘We’ve received an invitation to Lady Leticia’s garden party.’ He poured himself more whisky. ‘It’s less formal than a ball. She’s eccentric, but very well-connected. It will be a good place to start.’

She bit her lip again. ‘A garden party? I’ve never attended one. My father was a tradesman, and we rarely received invitations.’

He studied her face. ‘We could always decline.’

She shook her head quickly. ‘No, you’re right, we should attend. We need a love story.’

He set his glass down on an end table. ‘A love story?’ The topic was not the distraction he desired. Didn’t she know how the silk clung to her curves and that she was only an arm’s length away. The garment was designed to tempt a man.

She met his gaze. ‘Yes. That’s what they’ll ask about. How we met. How we fell in love. They will all be curious, don’t you think?’

He paused. She was right. He could just imagine the ton’s rabid curiosity. ‘Tell them we met at the house party.’

She blinked. ‘That’s it?’

‘It’s the truth. Or at least, part of it. A convenient truth.’

She leaned forward, a gleam of excitement brightening her green eyes. ‘We can say we danced at the Duchess’s first ball, then took walks in the garden under the watchful eye of my mother as a proper chaperone, of course. Perhaps we discovered a shared interest in gardening.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Gardening?’

She grinned. ‘Yes, the Duchess’s rosebushes. It’s better than admitting I snuck into your room.’

A low chuckle escaped him. God help him, she was enticing.

She seemed satisfied, as if the tale had soothed whatever social anxieties she harboured.

‘It’s getting late,’ he said. ‘Please go to bed, Nora. Rest. I give you my word that I will not come to your chamber until you are ready.’

He stood and offered his hand. His chest tightened when she slipped her hand in his, completely trusting. Her fingers were slender and her skin smooth.

He walked her to the door like a proper gentleman. A husband. All the while aware of her lush body next to his.

When the door closed softly behind her, the scent of her lemongrass soap lingered in the air. He stood alone in the library once again, staring into the fire, acutely aware of the fact that only a single door separated their bedchambers.

And that he would not sleep a single damn hour tonight.

Chapter Eleven

The following morning, Ralston stepped into the House of Lords in Westminster. With his scarlet fur-trimmed coat he blended in with the other lords seated on red-leather benches. Sunlight from the stained-glass windows streamed across the magnificent chamber. At the upper end stood the king’s throne, a gilded and carved chair. Situated beside it was the woolsack, the seat of the Lord Speaker of the House. Colorful tapestries depicting the battle in which the English defeated the Spanish Armada decorated the walls.

It was the first reading of his child labor bill, simply a time to introduce the measure, and he was prepared. The first reading was a formality, and debate was usually not allowed. Afterwards, he knew he would have to garner support for the second reading.

He’d left Berkley Square well before Nora had arisen. He understood she would be exhausted after a long wedding day, and he’d left his staff instructions not to disturb her. He hoped she’d slept well on her first night in her new home. He, on the other hand, hadn’t slept much at all. Rather than think of his proposed bill, he’d thought of his bride asleep a chamber away. He’d sworn marriage would not change his normal routine, not even a wrinkle, yet here he was on the cusp of the bill’s introduction, and he was thinking of his wife and if she’d slept well.

He forced himself to focus as the Speaker made the announcement. ‘My lords, the Earl of Ralston requests the floor.’

All eyes turned to him as he rose. ‘My fellow lords, I hereby introduce my bill to address the exploitation of our society’s most vulnerable, our youth. The Cotton Mills Act proposes that no child under the age of nine shall be employed in textile mills and no child from the ages ten to sixteen shall work more than twelve hours a day. This bill is a compassionate, modest measure and long overdue.’

Lord Weber, a fair-haired man of average height and weight, close to Ralston’s age, rose and was called to attention. ‘My lords, Lord Ralston, though well meaning, is proposing a bill that should cause alarm and should not have made the docket today. It is fiscally irresponsible and in direct conflict with our free market. I say his “modest measure” would cost us all inordinately high coat prices at our tailor’s.’

A good number of lords laughed at Lord Weber’s statement.

Ralston was surprised, not at his opponent’s argument but at the timing. Debate was usually reserved for the second reading of a bill. As for the man, Ralston knew Lord Weber. They’d gone to Oxford together and Weber was a snob. He frequently opposed bills that aided the lower classes of society. He’d opposed a bill to increase funding to the Royal Hospital Chelsea where many elderly veteran soldiers resided. Another to ban bone crushing in poorhouses and a third to prohibit factory smoke on Sundays. Weber was also closely aligned with the owners of London’s textile mills.

Ralston kept his voice firm as he responded. ‘Lord Weber, are you suggesting our lucrative mills would cease to exist without the backbreaking labor of children? If so, then perhaps you own one coat too many.’

More chuckling from the lords.

‘There are other reasons to consider.’ Weber’s smile did not reach his eyes. ‘These children you champion—poor, orphaned and without prospect—do not require the interference of Parliament. They require work and discipline. The mills provide both which they do not receive at home. Otherwise, they will resort to beggary and in many cases crime.’

Ralston had anticipated this weak argument. He also understood that the vote would be split. If Lord Weber garnered additional support, Ralston would have an uphill battle.

‘You suggest that employing a five-year-old child for fourteen hours a day in soot and filth and dangerous conditions is discipline? Or is it exploitation?’ Ralston faced the other lords, making eye contact with several as he spoke. ‘England is the leader of the world. Can we not do better? Can we not offer compassion with commerce?’

‘Here! Here!’ other lords shouted.

The Speaker cleared his voice. ‘Lord Ralston’s bill shall be entered for the second reading. You can further debate the merits of the bill before voting.’

On the way out of the chambers after the session ended, Ralston ran into Lord Weber.

‘You are championing a losing cause,’ Weber said.

‘Oh? Are you concerned? What textile owner has paid a visit to your home?’ Ralston asked.

Weber scoffed. ‘I wouldn’t admit to anything even if it were true. You know what you propose is unpopular.’

Ralston was curious but kept his voice calm. ‘With whom?’

‘I have more lords on my side,’ Weber said with confidence. ‘Withdraw the bill before you are humiliated.’

‘You are that concerned I’ll win, aren’t you?’ Ralston knew Weber disliked being challenged and he hated being taunted. He’d watched his nemesis for over a year when he’d stood in front of the lords to argue or debate.

Lord Weber’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t say I didn’t give you proper warning.’

Ralston watched his adversary turn and walk away. He believed in his cause, but he also knew never to underestimate a snake like Lord Weber.

A microscope arrived in a wooden box a few days later. Nora had been fortunate that whoever had placed the order for the instrument no longer had the funds to purchase it and she was able to obtain one so swiftly. The housekeeper, Mrs Hanning, was the first to notify Nora of its delivery.

‘What is it, my lady?’ Mrs Hanning asked.

Nora had established a good rapport with the head housekeeper, and she knew she would rely on her expertise to run the household smoothly. ‘It’s a microscope,’ Nora explained. ‘I want to study shells as well as some mollusk specimens.’

The housekeeper blinked. ‘Pardon?’

‘Seashells.’ Nora described her interest as simply as possible. The two women had learned how to get along since the wedding. Mrs Hanning was competent and professional. Nora was happy not to intrude with her duties. It gave her time to pursue her science.

Mrs Hanning hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. She eyed the wooden box. ‘Where should I have a footman store it?’

It was a good question. One Nora hadn’t considered the answer to. She cleared her throat. ‘My bedchamber.’

She could set up the microscope on her escritoire and open the drapes to let in sunlight so she could clearly see her specimens and make her notes. Her books had already been delivered and were currently in a crate in the corner of her room. Her precious shells had been carefully packed in paper and were stored in another crate. Her bedchamber was spacious, much more so than her bedchamber at home, but once she unpacked everything, it would quickly become cramped. At home, Nora had ‘inherited’ many items after her father’s death and had stored them in crates. There had been books, more precious shells, along with items he’d traded during his career, vases, snuff boxes and bronze bowls. No one else in her family had wanted the items. She’d kept a mother of pearl jewelry box for herself.

Mrs Hanning called over a footman and instructed him to deliver the box to Nora’s bedchamber.

‘Thank you, Mrs Hanning,’ Nora said. ‘I am grateful for your assistance.’

‘Of course, my lady. There is the garden party later today. His Lordship will return to escort you. Shall I have Jane lay out a suitable dress?’

Nora paused. The mention of Lady Leticia’s garden party sent a flutter through her chest, not of excitement but anxiety. At least it wasn’t a ball—those were much more formal, but a garden party was no refuge. Members of the ton would still be present, still watching, still whispering.

They would want to know how she, the daughter of a Middle Eastern merchant, had come to bear the title Countess of Ralston. They’d want to know details about how she and Ralston had met. Her concocted story, so unlikely and so at odds with their expectations, would surely invite scrutiny. She’d rarely associated with the ton and had little in common with the ladies.

And yet, her circumstances had changed.

Realizing Mrs Hanning awaited her reply, Nora composed herself. ‘Yes. Please ask Jane to expect me shortly.’ She’d brought her maid with her when she’d moved into her new home.

When Jane dressed her later that afternoon, Nora allowed herself to admire the gown—purple silk with slashed sleeves and embroidered roses adorning the hemline. Her auburn hair was upswept at the sides, held in place by twin pearl combs, with the rest left to cascade down her back. She studied herself in the looking glass and, for the first time since her wedding, acknowledged that she did, in fact, look the part of a countess.

Still, looking the part and feeling it were two very different things.

Ralston arrived just after the hour. The sharp lines of his navy coat emphasized his broad shoulders and his buckskin breeches hugged muscular thighs. His gaze swept over her slowly, appreciatively.

‘You look lovely,’ he said, voice low and warm. ‘The ladies will all want to meet you.’

She gave a nervous laugh. ‘Heavens, I fear I’m not prepared. What if they find me lacking as a countess?’

He smiled gently. ‘Society ladies are not so different from you.’

Her mouth thinned. ‘I doubt they spend their days cataloguing shells.’

‘They are no different.’ A mischievous gleam lit his dark eyes, ‘Although perhaps a little less interesting. Still, they will be curious. The new Lady Ralston—beautiful, mysterious and clever. Who could resist?’

Her pulse quickened at his smooth words. He could easily distract her. Perhaps that was his goal. For her to forget her anxiousness over the party.

‘Society ladies are different in that they are too quick to judge.’ She thought of Candace. Her sister’s heartbreak at the hands of Society still stung. Poor Candace had suffered what felt like a thousand whispered speculations that had left her bereft. It had taken months to ease her melancholy. ‘They devoured my sister after her fiancé jilted her. They treated her as if she had failed him.’

Ralston’s gaze sobered. ‘As a politician, I’ve learned something invaluable.’

Her interest was piqued. ‘Do share it.’

He paused, then said, ‘Most people are too self-absorbed and occupied with themselves to notice you.’

She considered this. ‘An intriguing theory. I shall try to remember it. Although it will be difficult if all eyes are on me.’ She disliked that kind of attention.

He offered his arm. ‘Then let me bear some of the weight. Trust me.’

Trust him?

She hesitated for a moment. Was she ready to take that step? She hadn’t known him long and she wasn’t one to trust easily. Then she placed her gloved hand upon his sleeve. ‘Very well.’

Together, they left the estate for the neighbouring home and soon stepped through the iron gate into Lady Leticia’s garden. The air was sweet with the scent of roses and summer blossoms, and laughter mingled with the faint strains of a string quartet from the terrace.

‘Lord Ralston!’ A middle-aged woman in a towering powdered wig and bright yellow gown waved them over. As they approached, Nora’s eyes widened at the woman’s appearance. Her gown had a gold gauze overskirt. A ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg sparkled from the hollow of her throat.

‘Lady Leticia,’ Ralston said with a graceful bow. ‘May I present my wife, Lady Ralston?’

Lady Leticia’s painted lips curved. ‘You always were dangerously charming.’

Nora dipped into a polite curtsy. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. Is that a Chinese pagoda I see in the distance?’ A four towered structure of overhanging eaves made of wood stood out.

Lady Leticia beamed. ‘Indeed! An original. I had it shipped from the Orient.’

‘It’s exquisite,’ Nora replied honestly, ‘as are your gardens.’

The lady fluttered her fan, clearly pleased. ‘Now tell me, my dear Lord Ralston, wherever did you discover such an enchanting creature?’

Ralston winked and flashed a wolfish grin. ‘We fell in love at first sight.’

Lady Leticia gasped with delight, pressing her bejeweled hand to her corseted chest. ‘Oh, I do adore a love match!’

As they left their host and strolled on, Nora whispered, ‘She’s smitten with you.’

‘She’s one of my favorites,’ he replied with fondness. ‘She may dress flamboyantly, but she is delightful, and she hosts the best gatherings. The ton never dares miss her invitations and all the Society ladies attend.’

Her pulse quickened as she glanced at a group of well-dressed women gathered beneath the shade of an oak tree. She had never been part of high society. But then again, she had never been a countess.

‘Shall I introduce you?’ Ralston asked. ‘It will be brief.’

‘Anything I should know?’ Information could only help.

‘Lady Weber and Lady Modal are close friends of Lady Jersey, one of the patronesses at Almack’s. They wield a great deal of influence. The other ladies follow their lead.’

Nora made a mental note of all he’d said. She nodded and steeled herself. With her hand on his arm, they approached.

‘Good day, ladies,’ Ralston said.

The women all turned, wide-eyed at the appearance of the Earl. One fanned herself. Another fluttered her lashes. All three smiled at Ralston. When they turned to look at Nora, she could almost feel the collective scrutiny settle upon her shoulders.

‘Lady Weber, Lady Modal, Lady Smithson,’ he said smoothly. ‘May I introduce my wife, Lady Ralston?’

‘We’ve been most eager to meet you,’ Lady Weber said, her dark eyes inquisitive. She was a pretty brunette.

‘She is a scientist,’ Ralston added, without preamble.

Nora turned to him, surprised. She wasn’t ashamed of her profession, but she would not have said it so boldly and swiftly. What was he thinking? She braced herself for disapproval.

But Ralston, ever composed, continued. ‘She captivated me when I first saw her collecting seashells on a beach in Cornwall.’

Nora blinked. That wasn’t their agreed story. Hadn’t they agreed to dancing at the Duchess’s ball and then spending time together properly chaperoned? He was diverting from their agreed script.

But he looked so earnest, so sure. And undeniably handsome in his navy coat and dark hair. The ladies responded just as he must have predicted with sighs, wide eyes and murmurs of delight. There were more fluttering fans.

‘You must visit and see her collection,’ Ralston continued. ‘Who doesn’t love the sea and colourful shells? It was love at first sight on that beach.’ He turned to look at Nora with such devotion, his lips curving in a bemused smile, that her heart tripped a beat. A traitorous part of her wanted to believe him. To have a man accept her for herself, her intelligence, even her peccadillos, and to still adore her.

Goodness, what would it be like?

Lady Modal, a fragile blonde, sighed. ‘Oh, I do enjoy a love story.’

Lady Smithson, a tall brunette with crooked teeth, squealed. ‘And I adore anything from the sea.’

Lady Weber, elegant and poised, nodded. ‘Lady Ralston, I would very much like to see your collection.’

A fourth lady, who must have overheard and appeared, agreed. ‘Me, too!’

Nora was surprised at their enthusiasm. She suspected it had much more to do with Ralston’s support than her collection of shells. ‘I’d be happy to show you all. Perhaps I’ll host a science salon.’

Nora blinked. Had she said that aloud? She glanced up at Ralston, but he didn’t seem concerned.

‘A science salon,’ Lady Modal repeated, dropping her voice. ‘I for one would welcome something new. This is our fourth garden party this month.’

At the chorus of agreement, Ralston interjected, his voice smooth. ‘Forgive me, ladies, but I must fetch my wife a glass of lemonade. I shall return her to you shortly.’

As they walked to the refreshment table, Nora looked up at him.

‘Love at first sight?’ she murmured.

He smiled sidelong. ‘Why not? Let them believe it.’

And they would. She saw how easily he persuaded and charmed people. For the first time, she could see him as a persuasive politician arguing his case on the House floor. A politician through and through—and yet, for a moment, she wanted to believe him. That perhaps some part of him had meant it.

Later, as the party continued and he mingled with the gentlemen, she returned to the women and was surprised to find herself welcomed with genuine curiosity. She listened to the ladies all the while sneaking glances at Ralston from beneath lowered lashes. He had an easy familiarity with the men. When he spoke, they maintained eye contact and listened.

She grudgingly acknowledged he hadn’t abandoned her to the women but had ensured she was accepted and felt a level of comfort before leaving her to join his friends.

Then she noticed a fair-haired man approach Ralston with a somber expression. Ralston’s brow furrowed. His stance stiffened. She suspected he was neither a friend nor that it was a pleasant conversation. She waited until the man departed before approaching him.

‘Who was that?’ she asked when they were alone again.

Ralston’s jaw hardened. ‘Lord Weber,’ he said tersely. ‘A political adversary. He opposes my current bill.’

Nora was grateful he felt comfortable enough to share this information and to know Weber could affect his career. Looking up at his handsome features, she appreciated his sharing, but it caused other concerns, as well. Nora’s stomach dipped. It explained the icy demeanor between the men. It also caused a dilemma of her own. ‘Oh. I hope I do not cause additional stress between you two.’

His brow furrowed. ‘Why would it?’

‘Because I invited Lady Weber to my salon.’

A pause. Then he chuckled softly, brushing a knuckle over her gloved hand. ‘Then I suppose she’ll learn a thing or two. Perhaps about seashells. And perhaps about you.’

Nora adjusted the brass screws delicately, her fingers steady as she brought the mollusk into sharp focus beneath the microscope’s polished lens. Her mind grasped what she observed. The slide revealed a world invisible to the naked eye. She marveled at an intricate lattice of shell and membrane, spiraling in perfect, fragile symmetry. The microscope magnified the specimen four hundred times its size. Her breath caught slightly as she studied it. For such a tiny specimen, it was fascinatingly complex.

A voice, low and unexpectedly near, broke through her concentration.

‘What do you see?’

Startled, she straightened, one hand still resting on the table. She hadn’t heard the door open. Turning, she found Ralston leaning against the door-frame. Her pulse quickened. For such a large man, he moved silently. How long had he been watching her?

‘You startled me,’ she said, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly as she stepped away from the microscope. ‘It’s a mollusk. Would you like to see?’

‘Yes. I admit I’m curious.’ He stepped forward to stand beside her. His scent, a pleasant sandalwood and linen, was warm and clean and entirely male. His sleeve brushed hers, and she found herself stealing glimpses of his profile.

She moved aside and gestured to the scope, her fingers briefly grazing his as she showed him the adjustment screw. The contact, however brief, made her breath catch. She shouldn’t like it as much as she did.

She cleared her throat. ‘This one came from a shell I found on the Cornwall coast,’ she explained. ‘Look closely. You can see the internal structure.’

He bent to the eyepiece. She watched him as he concentrated. His brows narrowed slightly and his mouth curled in subtle surprise.

‘Interesting! It looks nothing like it does with the naked eye,’ he murmured.

‘That’s what I love about it. Microscopes have benefited from the manufacture of high-quality lenses. I’ve always wanted one.’ She was grateful for his generosity. She’d never had the benefit of using one and had never been able to afford one on her own. It was thrilling and she’d marveled over the device ever since she’d opened the wooden box and removed it. She wondered if she’d ever get over her fascination. She’d been fortunate to get one so swiftly and he hadn’t protested the cost.

He looked away from the microscope to glance at the tidy row of slides she’d prepared with interest. ‘What else can you put under here?’

‘Many things,’ she said. ‘But preparing the specimens for viewing is the true art. It makes the difference between seeing something of interest or nothing at all. Just blur and shadow.’

She slipped a new slide beneath the lens and stepped back. ‘Here. Look at this.’

He bent to the microscope again.

‘What is it?’

‘An eyelash.’

Looking into the eyepiece, his voice was muffled. ‘Yours?’

‘Yes.’

He was focused on the slide. ‘It’s oddly elegant.’

‘Even the smallest parts of us are more than they seem,’ she said.

He looked up slowly, his gaze resting on her face with a intensity. ‘And to think,’ he said, voice quiet, ‘I came here to show you something.’

His look and nearness made her senses spin. ‘Now I’m curious.’ Her voice sounded shaky to her ears.

He smiled broadly and her heart thumped an irregular beat. He suddenly appeared like a cat with a bowl of cream, and she was curious. What was on his mind?

‘Come along and I’ll show you.’ He extended his arm. Was he taking her outside? She felt like a breathless girl of eighteen, and she hesitated only a moment before resting her hand lightly on the fabric of his coat. Beneath his sleeve, she could feel his warmth and solid strength. He did not move immediately, only looked down at where her fingers touched his sleeve. Then, as if recalling himself, he guided her from the room.

They walked in silence down the corridor. When they reached the end of the hall, he paused before a door she did not recognize. He opened it and stepped aside to let her enter first.

It was a modest chamber, plain, yet clean and well-appointed. A bed stood against one wall, a chest of drawers beside it. The air smelled faintly of lemon polish and oiled wood. Clearly, it was not occupied.

She turned to him, brows drawing together. ‘What is this place?’

He stepped inside, his eyes not leaving hers.

‘It’s yours.’

A stillness settled between them. As she looked around the room, her mind whirled with confusion and a sickening disappointment. ‘I… I don’t understand.’

Was he having her bedchamber moved? Was he upset she hadn’t shared his bed? They hadn’t yet been married for a full week. Had he given up on the other part of their agreement, the one for an heir?

She glanced around the room again, confusion rising in her chest. Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. ‘Am I to switch bedchambers?’

He turned towards her fully, his tone immediate and steady. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Why would you think that?’

She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

She straightened and smoothed her skirts in an attempt to collect her composure.

He stepped further into the room and gestured around with a sweep of his hand. ‘This isn’t to replace your chamber but for all your items. I’ve noticed there is not enough space for your crates of shells, and your books are tucked wherever they fit. And now your microscope. This is a dedicated space for your scientific work.’

He glanced at the bed and dresser.

‘These will be removed. Shelves will be installed, perhaps a long worktable by the window for natural light. This will be your study. Your domain. I have mine—why shouldn’t you have yours?’ He looked to her, suddenly uncertain. ‘What do you think?’

What did she think?

She was speechless. Whatever composure she’d collected crumpled. The weight of the gesture caught in her throat. No one had ever carved out space for her. Not once in all her years. Even at her childhood home, her mother would never allow it. She’d always kept her most precious shells packed with paper and stored in chests in the attic. Her books had been crammed on one shelf in her room and those that overflowed were hidden beneath her bed. Her scientific endeavors had been dismissed as impractical, or worse, unfeminine. As for purchasing a microscope, it had been a dream. Until now. Her appreciation for what he offered only served to increase the attraction she’d felt for him earlier.

Her lips parted and a soft breath escaped. Heart pounding, she looked up at him. ‘I… I—’

‘I know. It’s not big enough.’

She couldn’t get the words out fast enough. There was only one way to show him. She crossed the room in two quick steps and threw herself into his arms, burying her face against the hard plane of his chest. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you, thank you, my lord.’

He stiffened.

A moment passed. Then two. His arms wrapped around her, holding her close. His body was solid and warm, and his breath stirred tendrils of hair at her temple. Her pulse thudded wildly. She tilted her head up and met his gaze. His face was inches above hers. This close, she could see the faint creases around his dark eyes. And something else within the dark depths—a flash of undisguised desire. A twinge of pleasure went through her, igniting an instant heat. At that moment, she wanted him to kiss her.

Then he came alive and she had what she wanted. Pulling her closer, he lifted her to her toes and kissed her with scalding heat and urgency. She melted against him and returned his kiss. Her lips parted and his tongue swept inside to meet hers. Her world faded beneath the onslaught of his lips. Her defenses crumbled completely. All she could think of was his scent, his heat, his touch. A delicious need unfurled within her, which had nothing to do with gratitude and everything to do with the man holding her.

Her fingers curled in the fabric of his coat as he deepened the kiss. His fingers skimmed down her arms then his strong hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer. Her breasts brushed against the hardness of his chest and her breath caught. It was too easy to lose herself to the moment, to forget the time and place and kiss him in an empty room in the big house.

Mrs Hanning burst into the room with two burly footmen in tow. ‘My lord!’ She froze, her face turning beet red, as she spotted them. ‘Oh! Pardon me!’

Ralston’s arms fell away from Nora. She stepped back at once, breathless, her lips tingling from his heated kisses. She smoothed her skirts and gathered her composure. ‘It’s all right, Mrs Hanning.’

The housekeeper cleared her throat. ‘The footmen are here at your request, my lord. To remove the furnishings.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Hanning,’ Ralston said.

With a brief nod, Mrs Hanning ushered the footmen inside to work.

Ralston stepped into the hallway, and Nora followed, her cheeks still flushed. They stood in silence for a moment. She was uncertain of what to say. She decided on honesty. ‘I’m grateful. As I said, I’ve never had a room for my work.’

He looked at her for a long beat, then cleared his throat. ‘No need to thank me. I’m merely upholding our agreement.’

The words landed like a stone in her stomach. Whatever special moment had passed between them dissipated at the mention of their agreement. It was as if the air cooled and he’d returned to the formal Earl. The proper, collected man who she’d first met in the country.

She told herself she should be pleased. He was keeping his word and sticking to his promises.

Then why did she feel an odd sense of disappointment?

Chapter Twelve

Jonathan’s Coffee-House in Change Alley was bustling with its usual morning traffic. As soon as Ralston entered, the scent of roasting beans made his mouth water. He was to meet Adler here. Spoons clinked against porcelain cups and newspapers rustled as Ralston made his way through the crowd.

He sat at a table near the window waiting for his friend for their weekly meet. He glanced outside where a brewery cart clattered over the cobblestones.

Adler arrived soon after and took the seat across from him.

A server arrived, balancing a pewter tray, and placed two cups of coffee before them. Steam curled upward as Ralston picked up his cup. He preferred the drink here over the tea served in Mayfair and Picadilly drawing rooms. Adler reached for the sugar tongs and dropped two cubes into his drink. Ralston preferred his black and unsweetened, savoring the dark brew.

‘The first reading of your bill should have been a formality,’ Adler said as he leaned forward. ‘But Lord Weber overstepped.’

Ralston’s mouth was grim. ‘He did. But in hindsight he did me a favor. Now I have a better understanding of his argument and the others who will align with him.’

Adler nodded. ‘He claims limiting child labor is too costly.’

Ralston’s lip curled. ‘Costly for whom? The mill owners who I suspect are lining his pockets?’

‘Either way, Weber’s a formidable force. You need to persuade the members who are on the fence.’

‘Lord Barnes is one.’ Ralston rubbed his chin with a thumb and forefinger. ‘You had mentioned he’s wavering.’

Adler nodded. ‘I overheard him speaking to Sir Reynolds at White’s. He didn’t speak against the bill. Rather, he called it morally overdue.’

Ralston’s interest flared at the news as he sipped his brew. ‘Then he’s an ally. I need more of those.’

‘You should expect fierce argument at the second reading of the bill.’ A breeze passed through the coffee house as the door swung open. Adler glanced over towards the door then back. ‘Meanwhile, I arranged for another to meet us here.’

‘Who?’ Ralston asked.

‘His Grace, the new Duke of Huntington.’

Ralston arched an eyebrow. ‘He recently inherited the dukedom after the passing of his father. He’s young and ambitious.’ There were other rumors about the Duke. That he’d been a young libertine when he’d left London for the Continent and only returned when he’d learned of his father’s passing. Ralston was never one to pay attention to gossip, but he couldn’t help but wonder if the Duke had changed his rakish ways.

The Duke was tall with dark hair and green eyes. His cravat was crisply tied and his navy coat finely tailored. At first glance, he looked barely thirty, perhaps five years younger than Ralston, but he carried himself with assurance and confidence. Upon inheriting the title, he was known as an eligible bachelor.

‘Your Grace,’ Ralston said, gesturing to an empty chair. ‘Please join us.’

‘I cannot stay. I’ve an appointment with my father’s solicitor. But I wished to introduce myself.’ He nodded politely. ‘Adler and I met already at Brooke’s.’

‘Our condolences on your father’s passing.’ Ralston recalled that Huntington’s father had been an avid gambler and often missed House sessions.

A brief shadow passed over Huntington’s face. ‘Thank you.’

‘I understand you have been inquiring about my sponsored bill.’

‘I have. I support it,’ Huntington said. ‘But I have also been approached by those who do not.’

Ralston gave a knowing glance. ‘I can only guess.’

The Duke didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.

‘I’m well aware that my father had a certain…reputation as well as sporadic attendance in the House,’ the Duke said. ‘But I take my participation and vote seriously.’

Adler gave a brief nod. ‘Good to hear.’

‘I must take my leave,’ Huntington said, ‘but before I go—your fiercest opponent just walked in.’

Ralton’s gaze snapped to the door to see Lord Weber at the entrance. His eyes scanned the room, looking for someone, then landed on them. The Duke turned to leave and waved on his way out the door.

Lord Weber approached through the tables to halt by theirs. ‘Ralston. Adler.’

‘Weber,’ Ralston replied curtly.

‘Were you two talking politics with the new Duke of Huntington?’ Weber asked.

Ralston raised his cup. ‘Just sharing a cup of coffee. And you? Are you here to meet a mill-house owner or two?’

Weber’s smile did not reach his eyes. ‘Your weakness is showing, Ralston. Your bill is nothing but sentimental drivel, and you know it.’

Ralston wanted to argue with the man but he knew better than to show emotion or to lash out. That was precisely what Weber wanted. No, the bill meant too much to Ralston and he wouldn’t appear as if he had no control over himself. He eyed his opponent, and chuckled. ‘Why do you hate children, Weber?’

‘I don’t hate them,’ Weber said tersely, ‘I believe they should work.’

Ralston leaned forward. Weber, like himself, came from a world of privilege. The difference was Weber refused to acknowledge it or to use his influence to do any good. ‘Work or labor until they die young? There’s a difference between employment and losing a hand or being crushed in weaving machinery before their ninth birthday.’

Weber scoffed. ‘You always were too easy on the purse, especially when it’s the Crown’s.’

Ralston’s tone sharpened. ‘The Crown’s? Aren’t the mill owners padding your purse to vote against the bill?’ Ralston would not take hush money from the mills, whereas Weber welcomed it.

‘I relish your demise on the debate floor, Ralston,’ Weber said.

‘I relish your expression when my bill comes to pass,’ Ralston said.

Weber turned on his heel and joined a table of other men in the corner of the room.

Adler exhaled and whistled between his teeth. ‘Why argue with the man? You’ll never change his vote.’

Ralston scrubbed a hand down his face. Despite his resolve not to engage with Weber, his control had slipped a notch. ‘He agitates me.’

‘He wanted to agitate you.’ Adler set down his cup. ‘You have to keep a level head for your upcoming debate.’

Ralston let out a long sigh. ‘You’re right.’ He knew his friend spoke the truth, and Ralston had intended to keep his emotions guarded. But there was something about Adler that got under his skin.

‘Go home to your wife,’ Adler advised. ‘Spend time together and enjoy being a newlywed couple.’

At the mention of his wife, a different type of frustration rose within his gut. He didn’t want to go into detail with his friend. He was still navigating his own relationship with Nora and giving her time to adjust to marriage. He would never bang on her door and demand his rights. He wouldn’t even use a master key. He wanted her to want him.

Their shared kiss was fresh in his mind. She’d been excited about the microscope and happy when he’d shown her the designated room for her work. She’d hugged him out of gratitude and how had he responded? Like a starved man and kissed her. She’d been soft, enticing, and passionately responsive. What had happened to his restraint?

He had little when it came to his wife. He’d never forget her look of wonder when he’d gifted her a simple, empty chamber. When she’d looked up at him, he’d sworn he’d seen longing in the green depths of her eyes. Her face had been flushed with happiness. He wondered again at her not having that support earlier in her life. He relished his ability to give it to her now. He wanted to make her happy, wanted to have her kiss him again with eager passion.

What the hell was wrong with him? What about his vowed restraint? A fierce longing after a fervent kiss resulting from gratitude was not how he would achieve a marriage of convenience.

Adler gave him the knowing look of a long-time friend. ‘You’re thinking of Margaret, aren’t you?’

Once more, his agitation arose at the mention of his past. It was a prickly subject, and he’d shoved it behind him. ‘Don’t be an idiot. I haven’t thought of Margaret in a long time.’

‘Not Margaret in general, but the damage she did. You don’t want to risk your heart.’

His friend had hit a nerve. It was true. He would never risk heartbreak again. Trust was not easily earned, and love was for fools. Rather than argue with his friend, he went on the offense. ‘You’re one to talk. You’ve had a string of mistresses and balk at the mention of love.’

‘Precisely. Listen to me.’ Adler pointed to his chest. ‘You can forgot the past and focus on the future. It will help you think clearly when it does come time to debate.’

Once again, he vividly recalled Nora flinging herself into his arms. His friend was wrong. Nora was a distraction that he couldn’t afford. His bill and the upcoming debate had been the focus of his attention long before she’d entered his life. Their arrangement had not changed. He’d best remember that fact.

Nora lifted the brass knocker on the Picadilly townhouse door. She no longer had the key to her childhood home and waited anxiously for the butler, housekeeper, or another staff member to appear. Just as she reached for the knocker a second time, the door opened.

‘Miss Nora!’ A tall, thin butler with greying hair and age spots on his hands stood in the doorway. He gave her a sheepish smile. ‘My apologies, Lady Ralston.’

Nora stepped inside the vestibule. ‘No apologies needed, Dodd. It’s wonderful to see you.’ The butler had been hired by their father and had served the family for years. ‘Are my sisters present?’

‘They are in the drawing room. I shall tell them you are here.’

‘That’s not necessary.’ She smiled at him. ‘I want to surprise them.’ Nora hurried down the hall, a sense of excitement rising within her. Even though she’d only been married a week, she had missed her sisters. She pushed open the drawing room door.

‘Nora!’ Candace and Sara cried out in unison and ran to embrace her.

Nora’s heart swelled as she hugged them back. ‘I’ve missed you both.’

It was true. Her life had been a whirlwind since she’d married. The drawing room was familiar with its blue sofas and matching blue-and-gold-striped drapes. The furniture was simple, and other than the peacock bookends on the mantel, which her father had purchased on his travels, the space lacked the opulence of the Earl of Ralston’s mansion.

Memories of her youth came back in a rush. She recalled sitting on the Oriental carpet, legs crossed, as her father read them stories from The Arabian Nights. Years later, when he was no longer with them, she recalled sitting on a sofa while her mother tried to teach all three of them needlepoint. Only Sara was talented with a needle and thread. Nora and Candace would make faces over their raised hoops. And later, she recalled her mother, the only one with musical ability, playing the piano as the girls listened.

Another memory arose of Baron Umbridge visiting to court her. He’d inch closer to her on the sofa while her mother, the ever-present chaperon, would pretend to be occupied with her book. Nora’s marriage to the Earl of Ralston may have been unexpected, but so far, he had been considerate and had not visited her chambers.

As the days and evenings passed, she still was unsure how she felt about that fact. When he’d stepped close to her to look into the eyepiece of the microscope, she found him disturbing and exciting. And when he’d looked at her with admiration, her pulse skittered, and her heartbeat throbbed in her ears. For a woman who lived for science, it was unnerving.

‘Come join us.’ Candace patted a spot on the sofa. ‘Ellen will bring tea.’

Nora sat in between her sisters.

‘How is marriage to the Earl. Tell us everything,’ Candace said.

Where to start. ‘It has only been a week. We are both still adjusting.’

‘But how was the wedding night?’ Sara leaned forward. ‘My school friend, Amanda, said it was painful and sweaty, like riding in an overcrowded coach in the heat of summer.’

‘Sara!’ Candace admonished. ‘Don’t be so brash.’ She turned to look at Nora. ‘But how was it?’

Nora felt her face grow warm. ‘We haven’t…um…shared a bed yet.’

Both sisters looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’ Candace asked,

‘Ralston has not demanded his marital rights. He says he wants to give me time to adjust to married life considering we lacked a courtship.’

‘Truly?’ Sara asked. ‘Is that normal?’

‘No, I don’t believe so,’ Candace said. ‘You are incredibly fortunate. I always thought men’s consideration just an excuse to hide their selfishness or inadequacies.’

Inadequacies. She didn’t believe that the Earl had anything to worry about in that regard. She’d caught the heated looks he’d given her. As for intimacy, her sisters had different viewpoints. They also had different life experiences. Candace had her heart broken. Sara had stars in her eyes. Nora wondered if the truth was somewhere in between. So where did that leave her?

Was Ralston simply being considerate? Or was there another reason. Did he find her lacking and perhaps was using his ‘considerateness’ as an excuse to avoid consummating their marriage? After all, neither of them had intended to marry each other. Her head began to spin with doubts and fears.

As if sensing her unease, Candace said, ‘Let us talk of more pleasant things. Have you met any Society ladies?’

Nora nodded, feeling relieved at the change in topic. ‘I attended a garden party. It was not as fearful as I’d imagined.’ The ladies had accepted her after her husband had smoothed her way with his introduction. She turned to Sara. ‘I know you love fashion, Sara, and their dresses were lovely. Our hostess’s dress, however, was quite gaudy.’

‘I would have loved to see all of them,’ Sara said. ‘Meanwhile, I have something to show you of my own that I’ve secretly stowed away.’ She rose and went to the far corner where a small closet, which held mops, brooms, and dusting cloths for the maids, was hidden behind an armchair. Sara wheeled out a drape-covered object, then whisked the sheet away to reveal a seamstress’s mannequin.

Nora covered her gasp with her hand. A frilly piece of black silk was on full display. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s a lady’s undergarment.’ A black corset with a bow at the bust and buttons down the front. Frilly black garters accompanied it.

‘The French call it lingerie. I believe when a lady feels lovely underneath, she will feel beautiful in her dress or gown,’ Sara said.

It was too lovely to be scandalous. Her mind bloomed and she imagined Ralston’s reaction if she wore such an erotic piece. If she was honest with herself, she had thought of visiting his bed. What would a dominant male like Ralston be like? Her pulse quickened at the thought.

‘You should approach the French Bond Street dressmaker, Madame Fleur. She’d be a fool not to purchase your designs,’ Nora said. As for her sister, she was surprised by her interest in designing lingerie. Nora had always known she had a talent for fashion, just not this type. She looked at her younger sister differently.

‘You think so, Nora?’

In this, she was sure. She could imagine all the ladies at the garden party visiting the shop to order the unique designs. ‘I do. All ladies of the beau monde will flood her shop to buy your pieces.’

Sara’s face beamed. ‘I also have designs of day dresses, walking dresses and riding dresses. I dislike frilly bows and excessive Brussels lace and have different ideas.’ Nora knew her sketchbook was filled. ‘But let’s not just speak of me. You should see what Candace has done.’ Sara covered the mannequin, returned it to the closet, then joined them on the sofa.

Nora looked at her sister. ‘Candace?’

‘It’s nothing.’

‘Don’t be shy,’ Sara said. ‘I haven’t sold any of my designs, but Candace has sold her work.’ She poked her sister in the arm. ‘Show her.’

Nora was infinitely curious. She’d only been gone a short time and had missed all of this with her sisters. ‘Yes, Candace. Show me.’

Candace reached for a sketchbook on an end table and opened it. For the second time, Nora gasped. Seconds later, she tossed her head back and laughed.

‘You drew this?’ The caricature was of Prinny sitting around a dinner table with three of his friends. A gluttonous feast was set before them, but rather than mutton or fowl, the spendthrift regent was spooning gold coins into his mouth.

Candace shrugged. ‘You know how I feel about our regent’s excessive lifestyle while many go hungry in the streets of London.’

Nora pointed to the bottom of the piece. ‘You signed it using a male name.’

‘A nom de plume. I had three names in mind and settled on this one. This sketch is a copy of what I sold. The printer would not purchase a political caricature from a woman. I told him it was from an ill uncle who wishes to remain anonymous. I was paid ten shillings for it.’

The caricature had remarkable detail and Nora suspected the printer had sold it for much more. ‘You are as clever as you are talented.’ Nora was proud of both her sisters.

Candace’s brow furrowed. ‘It’s traitorous to criticize our regent. Mother would have apoplexy if she found out.’

Nora smiled. ‘I’ll never tell. She may be happy I’m a countess, but she would still discourage my science even though Ralston does not.’

‘He has kept his promises then?’ Sara asked.

Nora’s stomach fluttered every time she thought of her science room. She’d never had a space of her own in her family townhouse. ‘He had no objection when I ordered a microscope.’

Both sisters stared. ‘Aren’t they costly?’ Candace asked.

‘Yes, they are.’ She’d been surprised when he didn’t give her a monthly allowance, as well.

‘I’m also hosting a science salon and invited the ladies I’ve met at the garden party. I’ll display my shells and the microscope in our drawing room,’ Nora said.

Now that her plan was becoming a reality, she was excited but also nervous. Would influential ladies of the ton be interested in seashells and science? In her mind, she’d already begun to select which shells to display that would impress and interest them. Pretty shells, but also ones of scientific interest. Shells from faraway seashores given to her from her father and others that she’d collected from Cornwall. There was so much to do!

Candace’s face brightened. ‘A science salon? How different! You will soon be the talk of the ton.’

‘What’s this about the talk of the ton?’

All three sisters turned to find their mother standing in the drawing room doorway. Still in her bonnet and holding her reticule, she had clearly been out. ‘I returned from the milliner’s and heard you were visiting. How are you, Nora?’

‘Hello, Mother.’ Nora rose to embrace her.

Her mother held her away from her and looked over her features. ‘Marriage suits you, my dear. You look well.’ Nora was pleasantly surprised by her mother’s compliment.

She was also aware of Candace discretely closing her sketchbook. Her mother turned her attention to her other two daughters. ‘I have a gentleman caller for you later this afternoon, Candace.’

Candace paled a shade. ‘Me! Why?’

Their mother pursed her lips. ‘Because you are next, dear. With Nora settled nicely, we need to focus on you.’

Candace fidgeted on the sofa and smoothed her skirts. ‘I tried that once, Mother. It didn’t work.’

‘Don’t be dramatic, Candace. That was long ago and a lady must put the past behind her.’

Candace’s voice dropped an octave. ‘A year is not that long ago, Mother. And Society has not forgotten.’

A heaviness centered in Nora’s chest for her sister. She hated that her sister’s heart had been broken. Nora had never taken her mother’s side before, but maybe, just maybe, Candace needed to set the past aside and disregard the vicious gossipmongers and focus on her happiness.

‘There is a man worthy of our dear Candace, Mother,’ Nora said. Of that fact, she was certain.

Candace looked at Nora with gratitude and relief.

As for herself, it was too early to judge her own fledging marriage.

Chapter Thirteen

The science salon arrived two days later. Preparation had brought the drawing room to life. Other than the velvet drapes and gilded candelabra on the mantel, the room had been transformed. A small table bearing the brass microscope was placed where the morning light would strike it. Seashells Nora had collected from English shores as well as those her father had given her from his vast travels were artfully displayed on other tables. She’d even added other items from her father, a small starfish, a fossil and the delicate skeleton of a seahorse, it’s curled tail still preserved, in a curiosity cabinet in the corner of the room.

For the fifth time, Nora moved the largest shell, a giant spider conch from the Indian Ocean her father had traded for, to a different table. Her nerves were tense. Would the ladies enjoy a science salon or hate it?

The scrape of footsteps sounded outside before Ralston stepped into the room. He glanced about, his eyes resting on the microscope then the shells on display.

‘It looks remarkable,’ he said, his voice warm. ‘The ladies will be fascinated.’

She tilted her head, unsure. ‘Do you think so? Or will they think I’m eccentric…an oddity.’

‘They did not think so at the garden party, remember?’

She wasn’t as certain as he was. Her nerves were tense, but she had little time to fret because the ladies arrived on time and Mrs Hanning saw them to the drawing room.

They settled onto the drawing room’s padded chairs and button-tufted sofa. Silk skirts rustled and fans fluttered. The same ladies that she’d met at the garden party were all in attendance. Lady Weber was dressed in a blue gown with a ruffled hem, Lady Modal in puce satin, and Lady Smithson in yellow with scarf held in place with an amber brooch. Two others, whom Nora had briefly met at the garden party, had arrived to make a group of eight. Her sisters did not want to attend and thought it best if Nora hosted her first event on her own as a new countess with fellow titled ladies.

Ralston stepped forward and bowed. ‘Good day, ladies. I’m certain you will find everything as fascinating as I did when I met my lovely wife.’

The ladies sighed and laughed. His grin was as charming as his demeanor. Sunlight from the open curtains glinted off his dark hair. His teeth flashed white in his attractive face and the women in the room appeared just as captivated as Nora.

She nearly forgot it was all for show.

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and the women appeared to watch enviously. With a sly wink, he departed the room.

‘Is that a microscope?’ Lady Modal spoke first, squinting towards the contraption. ‘I’ve heard of them but have never seen one.’

‘It is.’ Nora was happy to speak of her new scientific device. ‘This microscope can magnify an item up to four hundred times its actual size. Would you care to see for yourself?’

She slid a prepared slide into place with practiced hands. She understood a microscope, like a telescope, was meant to impress one who engaged with it, just as one would a painting from a master artist like Reynolds or Gainsborough.

The women gathered around and, one by one, leaned forward to peer into the curved eyepiece. ‘It looks like a jagged piece of metal,’ Lady Modal said.

‘What is it?’ another asked.

‘A hat pin,’ Nora said. ‘One I received from Madame Fleur on Bond Street.’

Others chimed in. ‘Indeed! I own several!’

Soon the ladies moved to the seashells on the tables. They picked them up and fingered their smooth curves and ridges. Nora explained where they were from, some from Cornwall she’d collected, and the others from shores as far away as Greece, Persia, and the Great Barrier Reef in Australia.

‘People have been collecting shells since before the Egyptians. They have been used for jewelry, headdresses snuffboxes, even architecture,’ Nora said.

Lady Modal’s expression brightened. ‘I visited Goodwood Park in Sussex last summer. There is a little pavilion there lined entirely with shells. It’s charming with shining white, pink and mauve seashells. It’s said that it took the second Duchess of Richmond and her daughters seven years to complete.’

‘I’ve heard of it, and I hope to visit one day,’ Nora said. ‘There is another shell grotto at Oatland’s Park where the Duke of York entertained the emperor of Russia and other victors of Waterloo for a grand supper. The walls are encrusted with glistening cowries and white and pink shells. One of the corridors leading to the grotto is lined with the teeth of horses killed on the field of Waterloo.’

‘Really! The things men will do to showcase their victories,’ Lady Weber said.

Lady Smithson picked up the giant spider conch. Nora recalled the day her father had presented it to her.

‘It’s huge! I’ve never seen such a seashell. Is it real?’ Lady Smithson asked.

‘It’s from the Indian Ocean and measures twelve inches,’ Nora said. ‘If you press it to your ear, you can hear the sea.’

Lady Smithson held up the shell to her ear and her lips parted in surprise. She laughed. ‘I can hear the ocean! A sort of rushing of the waves!’

Women crowded around her all wanting their turn. Several ladies picked up the shells on display and asked questions about them. Nora couldn’t answer questions fast enough.

‘Did you find these shells?’

‘Are they all real?’

‘Did animals live in them?’

‘Were there pearls inside them?’

Nora answered patiently, thrilled with their enthusiasm. ‘Only certain mollusks yield pearls, and not every one. Yes, they are all real. And yes, mollusks inhabited the shells long ago.’

While the ladies asked questions, Mrs Hanning wheeled in a tea tray. No one paid her much attention. Nora nearly missed Lady Weber drifting away from the crowd, drawn to a bowl on an end table. The elegant piece was ceramic with a scalloped edge painted in lapis blue, purple and yellow flowers.

‘This is exquisite,’ Lady Weber said, fingering the bowl. ‘Is it Persian?’

Nora approached the pretty brunette. She was surprised at her knowledge. ‘It’s Armenian. My father received it from Middle Eastern traders. It’s dated back to the fifth century.’

‘It truly is lovely. I have an interest in collectables, though nothing so ancient. At least not yet.’

Nora smiled. The bowl had special meaning. Her father had gifted it to her on her sixteenth birthday.

Just then Mrs Hanning reappeared to deliver freshly baked scones. Tea was poured into delicate porcelain cups and the ladies gathered around to enjoy her flaky, warm scones with Devonshire cream.

‘As I’ve said before, I’ve grown weary of garden parties and soirées,’ Lady Smithson said as she took a bite of her scone. ‘This was refreshing and stimulating, Lady Ralston.’

Others agreed in approval.

Two hours later, the ladies departed and the last carriage rolled away down the drive. Nora withdrew to her bedchamber, her mind awhirl with thoughts of the afternoon. The salon had been a success and she could not have been happier.

In fact, she could not recall a time when she had been as happy.

Before Ralston, there had been the looming betrothal to the elderly Baron Umbridge. Her mother had been serious about the match. Nora shivered. What if her mother had succeeded? What would her life be like now? Dull and dutiful.

A slow death of her mind.

Umbridge certainly would not have given her funds to purchase a microscope or the freedom to host a salon. And she could not envision the Baron charming Society ladies on her behalf.

This afternoon’s gathering had invigorated her, making her all the more determined to focus on her work. And her goals. If the ladies of the ton were interested in her work, perhaps the London Scientific Society would be too. It was all so confusing. She was grateful to Ralston but still determined to keep her distance. Their arrangement was never far from her mind. No matter how tempting and considerate she was finding her new husband to be, she must never allow him to distract her from her work. Her dream to present her findings to the Scientific Society had not changed. Maybe she would even travel one day.

Meanwhile, she owed Ralston her gratitude. Even affection. She could do both, couldn’t she? Show her thanks while keeping her distance. How hard could it be?

‘Can you spare some time this afternoon for an outing?’ Nora had been working in her room when she heard Ralston’s voice in the doorway.

‘What type of outing?’

‘I have a subscription to Hookham’s Library. Would you like to attend?’

‘I’d love to.’ It was the day after her science salon, and it was as if he knew just where she’d love to spend a relaxing afternoon. He hadn’t offered to take her to another garden party, stuffy tea or a drive in an open barouche at the park during the dreaded promenade hour, but a library.

She closed her workbook where she’d been sketching shells and describing their unique physical attributes and reached for her reticule. Her family had never paid for a subscription to the circulating library. Her father would have enjoyed it, but he’d travelled too often to make it worthwhile to pay the annual fee. Her mother would consider it a waste of money and would rather spend it at the dressmaker or milliner.

A quick carriage ride and they were at the Bond Street establishment. He opened the heavy oak doors, and she swept inside. The place was a hubbub of activity. Ladies and gentlemen perused the shelves and spoke with clerks. The smell of leather-bound books was as comforting as a pot of hot tea on a cold winter day. She glanced up at the tall rows of bookshelves, the leather spines a kaleidoscope of colour. Tall, wheeled ladders allowed clerks access to the top shelves.

A yearly fee of forty-two shillings entitled a member to take out twelve books from the circulating library. Visitors could browse the collection, and if they found a novel they wanted to own, a special arrangement could be made with the bookseller to purchase the book. It was beneficial for both the patrons and the bookshop.

It wasn’t just popular novels that were available for borrowing. The library collection included a vast number of research books. Nora already owned two treatises on shells, both gifts from her father. Approaching the library clerk, she eagerly requested Sir Hans Sloane’s, A Voyage to the Islands of Madeira, Barbados, Nieves, St Christopher and Jamaica; and Martin Lister’s Historia Conchyliorum.

Ralston wanted to read the many newspaper subscriptions. They made their way to a reading room where tables and comfortable armchairs and settees were arranged before a fireplace with a marble mantel. A large window allowed for plenty of sunlight. Patrons could peruse newspapers, magazines and books in casual comfort here. And any books they’d requested were fetched by a clerk and delivered to the reading room.

The door opened and a servant wheeled in a tray and offered both coffee and tea to those reading or waiting for their reading material to be delivered.

Nora could spend an entire afternoon here, drinking tea and flipping through books on seashells. Ralston waited for her to be seated on a sofa and then sat beside her. His thigh brushed her skirts, and muscles she wasn’t usually aware of tightened inside her. Her skin tingled as if he had caressed her flesh. Desire hummed though her, making her shift on the cushion. What was it about him that caused her to react so swiftly? Whatever it was, these powerful feelings occurred too easily and too often. They made her tremble and struggle to find solid ground, even though she was sitting.

A clerk with ink-stained fingers delivered their books and papers and just as quietly left the room. Nora flipped through the book by Martin Lister first.

‘Did you know the Dowager Duchess of Portland had the largest collection of shells in Europe?’ Nora asked.

Ralston lowered his paper. ‘Wasn’t she quite eccentric?’

‘Quite so. Upon her death, her estate had over four thousand separate lots for auction.’

‘Hmm,’ he said, his attention returning to his paper. ‘This caricature of the Prince Regent is quite entertaining.’

Nora leaned close to look at what had captured his attention. Her eyes widened at Candace’s artwork in The Morning Post. Prinny sat at his dining table with friends stuffing coins into his mouth, his fleshy jowls drawn even larger. Candace had said she’d sold her work under a nom de plume to a printer, but she’d never thought that printer would turn around and swiftly sell it to a major publication like the one Ralston was reading. She sucked in a breath in surprise. She wondered if even Candace knew it was in today’s publication.

Nora swallowed, holding back any audible gasps. She’d promised to keep her sister’s secret. Taking a quick breath, she said in a controlled voice. ‘The artwork is amazing.’

‘And quite humourous,’ Ralston drawled.

They spent a good part of the afternoon sharing what they’d read. He flipped through the Saint James Chronicle, New Lloyd’s Evening Post and The Observer. Her book were thicker and took her more time to browse. All the while, she was highly aware of him—the scent of his sandalwood cologne, the touch of his thigh as he reached for another newspaper, the curve of his lips as he found something else humourous in the pages. Even the rumble of his voice when he leaned close to share what he read.

If he looked at her with the slightest hunger, she wasn’t certain that she’d be able to resist him. It wasn’t just lust either. It was even more dangerous. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she liked their time together—how much it made her feel connected to him. These unwanted emotions tugged at her chest, treacherous. She needed to get up and step away from him.

She closed her two books and rose. ‘I’m going to request another, and I hope they have it.’

He glanced up. ‘Shall I go with you?’

She shook her head. ‘Thank you, but no. I’ll be back soon enough.’

She took a calming breath as she waited for an available clerk at the circulation desk. Looking up with wonder, she admired the books on display. A feast of available knowledge.

‘Miss Nora Magarian.’

She turned to find Baron Umbridge standing behind her.

‘Pardon. I believe I should say Lady Ralston.’

She blinked, still not quite comprehending that he was in the library. She found her voice. He looked older to her, his belly bigger beneath his coat, and crow’s feet by his eyes. He’d combed strands of his thinning fair hair across a shiny scalp. ‘Lord Umbridge. Are you borrowing books?’ It was a silly question. Why else would he be here?

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m selling them. I do not need them in my home any longer. I’m newly married.’

She blinked once again, not making the connection. Why would he no longer need books because he’d wed?

As if he read her mind, he explained. ‘I found my wife reading novels too many times. I do not wish to fill her head with ideas.’

‘I don’t understand, my lord. What possible ideas?’

‘She should be focused on giving me an heir and her duties to me, not reading petty romance novels.’

Nora felt nauseated for the new Baroness. Another emotion swiftly arose and took its place, a simmering anger. ‘I’ve never heard of reading preventing a lady from having children. Perhaps, it is due to the husband.’

‘What nonsense!’ His watery blue eyes flashed with annoyance in his fleshy face. Nora opened her mouth then shut it when the library clerk returned with her book. Baron Umbridge’s scowl of disapproval was unmistakable as he eyed the heavy book in her hands.

It was impossible not to compare the Baron with the Earl. It wasn’t just old versus young. Rather, the men’s actions displayed their true nature. Ralston had brought her here to read and spend a pleasurable afternoon together. Umbridge sold his books and prohibited his young wife from reading. He treated her like a brooding mare.

She’d escaped that fate. Before she said something she’d regret, she made her excuses and returned to the reading room and to her husband.

Ralston stood and his grin greeted her. ‘Good! They had your book.’ A lock of hair fell rakishly across his forehead and gave him a boyish appeal.

She wanted to hug him. To kiss him. Her lips parted. ‘Ralston, I—’

‘Yes?’

She did what she wanted. Standing on tip toe, she tugged his head to hers and pressed her lips to his. It was daring in a public place, but she didn’t care. Not after her encounter with Umbridge. Her fingers buried in the rich, thickness of Ralston’s hair as her lips brushed his. His arms came around her to hold her close and deepen the kiss. In the recesses of her mind, she knew they risked discovery.

It was scandalous. Exciting. And oh, so arousing. She kissed him as she longed to be kissed, slow and leisurely. When satin brushed against broadcloth, her nipples hardened beneath her shift. Desire hummed through her, making her weak.

A low growl emanating from his chest. He pulled back a hair’s breadth. ‘Nora, you will drive me to distraction.’

She felt a thrill that she could excite him the way she felt herself. His lips captured hers once more and devoured her. She shrank against him, grateful for the strength of his arms.

He abruptly pulled back. Nora blinked, slow to understand, then heard the sound of voices.

Just then two bespectacled white-haired ladies entered the reading room.

‘Good day,’ they said as they settled on comfortable chairs by the window and opened their books.

‘Good day.’ Ralston’s voice was smooth.

Nora’s heart raced as she struggled to gain her composure. Thank goodness, he’d heard them coming! He shot her a humorous grin, took her arm and returned her to the sofa.

‘They didn’t see anything. You have nothing to fear,’ he murmured.

As she looked into his eyes, she didn’t agree. She had much to fear. Not discovery by two elderly matrons, but by the handsome, intelligent man sitting beside her. Her husband.

Nora gathered herself.

‘I spoke with one of the patrons about your work with seashells while you were gone. I hadn’t had a chance to tell you before that kiss.’ His expression was devilishly charming.

‘Oh? What did the patron say?’

‘He suggested a visit to the British Museum.’

‘The museum?’ He’d mentioned her work to others? She was still comprehending this fact when he added. ‘There is an exhibit of a traveler—Hugh Cuming, I believe.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Hugh Cuming! He is a renowned explorer and famous shell collector. His curiosity cabinets are overfilled with seashells from faraway exotic lands.’

‘Then it would be my pleasure to escort you to the museum one afternoon.’

Her breath stalled in her lungs. ‘I’d like that very much.’

Ralston stood and flashed a grin. ‘Are you ready to leave?’

A fluttering stirred deep in her chest. She was reminded that he had a busy schedule and had his own work to do to prepare for his bill. He’d carved time out of his day to escort her here for a pleasant afternoon. For her to read her books. Not for his wife to kiss him in a reading room. Still, she didn’t regret her actions. Not one bit.

As they returned to the carriage and the wheels of the conveyance jostled over the street, a tangle of confusion and emotions knotted in her chest. Protecting her heart was becoming increasingly difficult.

And that frightened her most of all.

Chapter Fourteen

Ralston was working in his study. He’d left instructions not to be disturbed by his staff. His speech for the second reading of his bill needed precision. Every sentence bore weight. He must parry Lord Weber’s inevitable objections, particularly those concerning the costs to mill owners should child labor be limited or curtailed. Besides the economic arguments, he needed to frame the inescapable inhumanity of toiling child labor and their responsibility to end it.

His blotter had splotches of black ink where he’d pressed too hard as he scribbled his notes. This was what he did best, what he enjoyed, but lately, his concerns that the bill would fail were growing. Lord Weber was a formidable opponent and with the support of factory owners, he had the means to garner even more support.

To make matters worse, his mind had wandered too easily lately.

His pen hovered above the foolscap when a knock on the study door broke the silence.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me, my lord. Nora.’

His wife.

He sat back slightly, his heart hammering at the sound of her voice. He’d been keeping his distance over the past couple days, especially the nights. He’d been focused on his work and knew she must be focused on hers. Spending time with her at the circulating library had made it worse. Memories of her initiating that kiss in the reading room haunted his waking moments and sleepless nights. He acknowledged his avoidance of his pretty wife was due to his growing desire for her. To make matters worse, he genuinely liked her. She was easy to speak with, and her sharp mind matched his own. It was a danger he hadn’t anticipated, and it made focus impossible.

‘Enter.’

The door opened and she stepped inside with the soft rustle of silk skirts. Her dress was yellow, the colour of the wildflowers that dotted his country estate. Most auburn-haired women would look sallow in the shade, but Nora glowed like a breath of sunshine. Her olive-toned skin, inherited from her Middle Eastern father, was warm and striking with her green eyes.

His heart pounded, and he clutched the pen harder than necessary as he met her gaze.

‘I know you’re working,’ she said softly.

‘Yes.’ The springs of his chair creaked as he leaned forward, and he folded his hands before him. ‘Is there something important?’

She blushed a charming pink. It climbed down her neck, and he imagined how far it went. Did it reach the swell of her breasts beneath her bodice? His gaze threatened to stray. He anchored it to her eyes. He needed to stop thinking of her in a sexual nature. It was good he was sitting, or she might realize how much she affected him.

‘The house is not on fire if that’s what you mean.’ Her voice was lighter.

He chuckled. ‘Good to know.’

‘Will you go to a tavern with me?’ she asked.

The request was a surprise. ‘A tavern?’

‘Yes, to share a meal.’

‘Do you not like Cook?’

The flush deepened. Her green eyes, flecked with amber, darted away before returning to his. ‘Cook is quite competent. The tavern I have in mind is owned by my father’s friend. I had written to him of our engagement and wedding.’

‘You want to visit this place?’

‘Well…yes. In the back of the tavern is a private dining room where they serve Middle Eastern food. Many of the dishes are from Aleppo and what we prepared in our home. I want to take you there and share a meal.’

He wondered if she would always surprise him. ‘Tonight?’

‘Yes, if you can spare the time. I enjoyed our outing at Hookham’s and I thought of arranging something myself. I also thought it might be a way to ease your tension from your work.’

He studied her for a moment. He was surprised at her offer and appreciative that she’d thought of him. She didn’t mention their heated kiss at the bookstore. Her hands were folded before her, and her fingers tangled in the fabric of her skirts. He could see her swiftly beating pulse in her neck. She was nervous.

He set down his pen. ‘I do need time away from my work. Shall we go, then?’

Less than an hour later, they were seated in his crested coach travelling across London. Soon the coach stopped before the Cock and Bull Tavern. The old wooden sign creaked on its hinges in the slight breeze. Ralston hopped out and, not waiting for the driver, he lowered the step and helped Nora alight.

‘I’m curious to see this fine establishment,’ he said.

She smiled then, and his gut tightened like a fist. ‘The food is divine.’

He was aware of the sway of her hips as she walked towards the tavern door. Once inside, his attention turned to the interior. The place appeared like any other tavern. Men in patched jackets and worn boots sat at tables drinking from tankards of ale or cheap gin.

A barmaid carrying a tray laden with tankards stopped when she spotted them. ‘Is that you, Nora?’ she asked.

‘Hello, Niari,’ Nora addressed the barmaid with a wide smile. ‘Is Berj here?’

The barmaid disappeared behind the counter and shouted out a name. Moments later, a short bald man with a belly waddled forth. ‘Nora! So good to see you again.’ He hugged her then proceeded to kiss each of her cheeks before turning to Ralston. ‘Is this the Englishman you married?’

‘It is,’ Nora said. ‘May I introduce the Earl of Ralston.’

‘A lord?’

She turned to Ralston. ‘This is Berj Gregorian. The owner of this fine establishment and my father’s friend.’

He was aware of Nora watching him. Clearly, she was nervous about how he would react to a family friend. She needn’t be. Ralston offered his hand. ‘Thank you for having us.’

Berj shook the Earl’s hand without preamble. ‘Come along then. There is a feast for you both.’

They passed through swinging doors into a private room where a small dining table was waiting. A single oil lamp cast a soft glow on the table and a vase of fresh flowers. Ralston stepped behind her to pull out a chair, his hand brushing the small of her back as she sat. His fingers itched with the need to caress the smooth skin at her nape. He took his seat across from her.

‘Are we the only ones here?’ he asked.

Her green eyes were bright. ‘Yes, Berj assured me we would have the room to ourselves. I’m eager for you to try the food.’

It was the second time she’d mentioned it. Something in the way she spoke—soft and expectant—made him suspect it was more than food she was offering.

A server entered and placed a small plate of what looked like two tightly wrapped cigars before them. Ralston leaned in, catching the unfamiliar scent of the dish.

‘They are grape leaves,’ she said, as she watched him closely. ‘They serve English fare in the tavern, but here, in the private room, they serve Middle Eastern cuisine. Food is important in my culture, and I want to share it with you. These grape leaves are stuffed with meat, rice and spices and served warm. The dish is called sarma. Don’t be shy and eat with your fingers.’ She picked up one, brought it to her lips and bit into it, the gesture oddly sensual. He couldn’t help but follow the movement of her mouth as she slowly chewed, seeming to savor each bite.

He selected one and took a bite himself. The tartness of the grape leaves combined with warm meat and rice was surprisingly delicious. He eyed the dish, wishing there were more than two.

‘What do you think?’ she asked, a hint of nervousness underlying her tone.

‘I like it. Is there more?’

She released a husky laugh. ‘There is much more, but I want you to sample different dishes. Like I said, food is important, and I have many memories of my father’s aunties and friends visiting and sitting around the table in our home eating while listening to their stories.’

‘Your parents came from different words. They must have been a love match.’

She released a sigh. ‘Yes, they were. My mother was happier when my father was alive. They had to convince both their families to marry, but by the time my sisters were born, our families had grown amicable. It was difficult growing up straddling both words, but as I’ve gotten older, I would not trade it for anything.’

He thought of his own childhood. His parents had not been a love match. They had not been overly affectionate towards each other or towards him and they’d died after he’d graduated Oxford. He’d known his mother loved him, but she was busy with her social agenda. When he was young, he’d stay with his governess during balls they hosted, and when he was older, he’d been required to attend them. It was a typical aristocratic childhood, different than Nora’s.

The next dish appeared. What looked like a pâté served with flat unleavened bread.

‘This is hummus, a staple in the Mediterranean and Middle East, and is made of ground chickpeas with tahini, garlic and lemon. The pita bread is hot from the oven.’ She tore a piece of the soft bread, dipped it in the hummus and held it out to him without a word.

He accepted it from her hand, brushing her fingers with his as he took the coated bread into his mouth. It was like nothing he’d eaten before. Creamy and full of flavour, he wanted to pick up the bowl and eat it with a spoon. ‘It’s unique and I want more.’

Her widened eyes flicked to him, as though unsure if he meant the dish or something else. His heart thundered at an unnatural pace.

The door opened once again. Skewers of roast lamb and chicken she called shish kebab were served on a bed of rice pilaf followed by a savory stew of lamb with honey and almonds. They ate slowly, intimately; the cuisine was unlike anything he’d tasted.

‘We don’t drink tankards of ale but ouzo, an anise-flavoured alcohol favored by the Greeks.’ She poured two small glasses of the milky-white drink and handed one to him, then raised her own glass.

He watched her lips as they touched the rim of her glass. He raised his own. The unique anise taste reminded him of licorice. He’d always loved licorice.

‘You’ve fed me far too much and ruined my expectations of tavern food,’ he said when they’d finished.

She laughed, a soft musical sound that wrapped around him. ‘I was nervous and not sure you would like it.’

‘I like it,’ he said, his gaze steady. ‘Very much. I believe Cook has much to learn.’

Her lips curled in a smile. ‘I thought you could use an evening away. You have been working too hard.’

The words hung between them. He’d buried himself in his study not only to work, but to escape her. The way she smiled. The way her green eyes lit with intelligence when she found something interesting. The way, even now, across a candlelit table with mouthwatering food he couldn’t pronounce, he was far more ravenous for her than for anything else on his plate.

His voice was hoarse. ‘You were right. I needed this. My work has been on my mind.’

Their eyes held for a long moment. ‘Tell me more about your child labor bill,’ she said.

He was grateful for the change in topic. He could talk politics and focus on something other than the vivacious woman sitting across from him. She’d likely soon grow tired of it and want to return home.

‘As you know, I’m hoping to reduce the hours of child labor in London factories. It applies to those under the age of nine years old.’

She looked aghast. ‘Eight years old! How young can they be employed?’

‘There is no age limit as it stands. Some are four.’

Fire lit her eyes. ‘Four! When you told me about it on the beach, I thought your bill was worthy then, but even more so now.’

‘There is opposition and not all of it is easy to overcome. Lord Weber says it is fiscally irresponsible and would be too costly for the factory owners.’

‘If they must rely on child labor, then they are earning too much themselves.’ She held out her glass and he refilled it.

He added another good amount of anise-flavoured liquor to his own glass. ‘Others say that the children need the work to support their families. Or that idle hands will commit crime.’

‘Idle hands of a four- to eight-year-old child?’ she asked. ‘You have a stronger argument. They will surely become sick from working in unhealthy factory environments. Or even injured. If their hours are limited, then they can work more as they grow older and stronger.’

He was surprised she knew this. He ran other arguments past her. Younger children are small enough to squeeze beneath factory equipment and fix looms, their parents need and want them to work, and others. She kept up with him and helped hone his arguments. She even played devil’s advocate and made him think fast on his feet. He was reminded of the time she’d first shown him her sketchbook at the beach in Cornwall. Once again, he appreciated her sharp mind.

‘Lord Weber is in contact with the London mills. I’m certain they are giving him money to oppose my bill,’ Ralston shared.

‘Is that ethical?’ she asked.

It was a good question. ‘Politics is a tricky world. The line between ethics and improperness is often blurred. Weber can easily claim he’s been speaking to mill owners to listen to their concerns, not to take a bribe. What they do behind closed doors is entirely private.’

When they were finished, he held her chair as she stood. ‘Thank you for bringing me here and sharing your food. I will forever crave hummus.’

She laughed up at him. ‘How else was I to drag you away from your study?’

He thought of many other ways. They each ended up with her naked in his bed.

That night, Nora tossed and turned. The sheets tangled around her limbs like the thoughts in her mind. She recalled Ralston in the private dining room of her uncle’s tavern, his lips parting as he tasted the hummus, the slow widening of his dark eyes, and the hum of pleasure that escaped him. She’d wanted to share her culture, and had been worried he’d dislike the food, only to be secretly thrilled he’d enjoyed it. As the evening progressed and the ouzo flowed, the more she longed to reach across the table and press her lips against his. The desire unsettled her, making her feel foolish and alive all at once.

She feared the pull between them. Feared how easily her heart pounded and her body grew warm when he was near. And when they kissed, she felt that heat in the strangest places. A tug in her chest and a wetness between her thighs. Such an attraction was perilous. She’d spent too many years protecting herself and working towards her own scientific ambitions. Her husband could undo all of it with a look, a kiss, a whisper of her name. It was a risk she could not take.

Yet, as he’d eaten each dish, an idea had taken root. She could cook her own meal for him, another Middle Eastern dish he had yet to experience. She was grateful to him for upholding his promises and there was a simple way to show him. She sat upright in bed. Of course, she’d never learned how to cook. But how hard could it be? And she knew just where to find someone to help teach her.

Her thoughts wandered back to the rest of their conversation that evening. His voice had grown fervent when he spoke of his bill. She knew how much the passage of his bill meant to him. His political career was at a precipice, and he would be devastated if Lord Weber prevailed and the bill failed to pass. She could sympathize and understand. If the London Scientific Society barred her from presenting her findings, her world would come crashing down. Her feelings were growing more confused. The more she learned of her husband and his passions, the more tempting he became.

Chapter Fifteen

Slipping out of the house was an easy matter. Nora headed out the servants’ entrance, walked down the street and hailed a hackney on the corner. A short ride later, she looked out the window to see dwellings in a working-class part of the city near the Baltic Exchange. She alighted and paid the driver. She passed Threadneedle Street and a coffee house where jobbers and traders of the London Stock Exchange gathered to discuss business.

Soon, the homes grew close together, and although well-kept, they were small and old. Here the streets were narrower but bustling with passersby—men in colourful patched jackets and fez hats, a young girl wearing a long tunic over baggy pants selling flowers, and an older woman selling figs and apricots. The diverse section of the city was like a thriving, colourful blanket and Nora identified a mix of languages—Arabic, Greek and Armenian.

Whenever Nora visited here, she felt a strong connection to her father. She missed him, and memories of him would arise at different times. As a trader, he often was away, but he made up for lost time whenever he was home. Nora and her sisters would rush to welcome him and gather around him to listen to tales of his travels. He’d bring home rare silk scarves and ribbons for Sara, who enjoyed anything to do with fashion, and charcoals for Candace, who was always drawing. And, of course, he’d bring home seashells for Nora. He knew how much she loved the exotic shells.

Nora passed a fishmonger and a shoemaker before coming up to the row of small homes. She stepped onto the porch, but before she lifted the brass door knocker, the door opened.

‘Nora!’

A woman in her late sixties with dark hair silvering at the temples stood in the doorway. She wore a green dress with a colorful patchwork apron. Her brown eyes brightened as she ushered Nora in.

As soon as Nora entered, the woman engulfed her in a hug and kissed both her cheeks.

‘Hello, Auntie Ani.’

Ani was her father’s stepmother, and they’d always considered her a blood relative. Growing up, Nora’s father would bring the girls to visit Ani weekly. The woman was a fabulous cook.

‘Come sit.’

Nora followed Ani to her small parlor. The furnishings were simple, a sofa and well-used rocking chair with a hand-stitched cushion. A knit blanket was draped across the back of the sofa. A cupboard held small demitasse cups and a jazzve, a special pot used to make Middle Eastern coffee. Nora’s father would bring home the dark, finely ground coffee from his travels.

‘Are you hungry? I’ll bring mezza. You must be tired of plain English fare.’

Nora smiled. Ani always thought English food was lacking. Nora would love to drink the velvety coffee and enjoy a sampling of Ani’s food, but that wasn’t the purpose of her visit.

‘Please do not trouble yourself.’

‘Hmm.’ Ani sat across from her. ‘Your sister was here yesterday.’

‘Candace?’

‘No, Sara. She asked for special cloth embroidered with peacocks to make a skirt. She is quite a designer.’ Ani leaned back in the rocking chair. ‘Now, as for you. You look well and marriage suits you, Nora. Tell me about your lord.’

‘He’s well.’ Ani always had a sense of knowing if something was off or if she was lying. It was why she could never steal an extra treat from her kitchens.

‘Hmm. Just well?’

What was she to say? He’d been more than considerate. He’d been generous with money and hadn’t protested—had even encouraged—her purchase of a microscope. He had provided her a room in which to keep her books and other scientific paraphernalia. Their outing to the circulating library had been perfect, except for her run-in with Umbridge. As for their more intimate relationship, he hadn’t yet opened the shared door between their bedchambers. It was confusing and she wasn’t sure how she felt about his consideration.

When it came to herself…well…she grew more and more conscious of him every time he entered a room. The more she learned about him, the more fascinating she found him. He was dedicated to his bill and concerned for the vulnerable children in the city. He was also mindful of his political career and would be under pressure if he lost. It made him vulnerable and made her care more for him.

‘That’s why I’m here,’ she said.

‘Ah, trouble?’

‘No. I took him to Berj’s tavern. He enjoyed our food.’

Ani arched a brow. ‘An Englishman liked hummus?’

She recalled his reaction when he’d first dipped the pita bread in the spread and tasted it. He could not have faked his pleasure. It would mean much if she could prepare similar food for him and for him to enjoy it. He’d done things for her and she wanted to do this for him. ‘Very much. I’d like to prepare a meal for him.’

‘That is a surprise. You have never expressed interest in the kitchen before. Rather, you’ve avoided it, your head always buried in a book. Or studying the seashells your father brought home.’

‘I know. I still love my shells. But I want to cook for Ralston. Can you teach me?’ She could painstakingly prepare slides for her microscope. In her mind, cooking was like a formula. She believed she could easily follow a recipe.

How hard could it be?

Cooking was hell.

Nora wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead. The kitchen was as hot as the oven itself. She’d asked Ani how to prepare boreg, an Armenian pastry filled with cheese and herbs and one of Nora’s favorite dishes.

Now she regretted her choice.

‘Mince the parsley.’ Ani handed her a knife. ‘Then we will mix the cheese with the eggs and herbs.’

Nora stood behind a worktable in her auntie’s kitchen. Nora had brought her notebook to write down the steps to the recipes, but she soon learned that Ani never accurately measured anything. She often used a pinch of this, a dash of that and a pour of something. Nora couldn’t imagine preparing her slides of specimens for viewing this way. It could make the difference between a scientific discovery or seeing nothing at all. In her mind, cooking without specific measurements would be just as disastrous.

She marveled at Ani’s talent. How on earth did her dishes consistently taste the same? And how on earth was she to learn?

‘I’m glad you are settled. We need to find Candace and Sara husbands,’ Ani said.

At the mention of her sisters, Nora’s knife halted. ‘I hope they will find love matches.’

‘And you didn’t?’

Oh, no. Ani was isolated from English Society and hadn’t heard about the country party. She also had a way of meddling without Nora realizing it until it was too late. ‘Lord Ralston is different.’

‘Why? Because he’s a lofty earl? We do not believe a title makes a man.’

In their culture, the English titles did not matter. Nora had always thought it refreshing. Her English mother, however, had other opinions.

‘I prepared the dough for the boreg in advance, but we must roll it out.’ Ani set a bowl and rolling pin on the worktable.

Nora gave an anxious little cough. Her parsley was not as finely minced as it should be but next came an even more difficult task. She’d seen this done before but never tried it herself. She soon realized why. She floured the table and set to work.

‘Each sheet must be as thin as a piece of foolscap,’ Ani instructed.

Her aunt made it look easy. It wasn’t. Nora had little luck rolling out the dough and kept tearing the thin, delicate sheets. She spent a good amount of time working with the rolling pin. After they had enough, a thin sheet of dough was cut lengthwise and brushed with butter. A full tablespoon of a mixture of shredded cheese, beaten eggs, finely chopped parsley and nutmeg was placed at the bottom of the sheet. Then each piece was folded like a flag and brushed with more butter. This task was just as difficult. If one didn’t fold and butter each piece quickly enough or left it exposed to the air, it would dry out and crumble.

Not for the first time, she wondered if she’d made a mistake in asking to be taught how to cook. Her interest in Ralston had her doing things she’d never dreamed of attempting in the past. Her desire to please him was frightening.

An hour later, and with much help from Ani, the trays of boreg were almost finished baking. The delicious smell of cheese-filled pastry pervaded the kitchen and made her mouth water. She couldn’t wait to taste the savory pastry.

Nora glanced at her notes as she waited for the trays to cool. The pages were messy and disordered. Ani hadn’t measured the amount of cheese, nutmeg or parsley. The only precise measurements were to use two lightly beaten eggs. And an egg wasn’t really a measurement, was it? An egg could be larger or smaller. Her logical mind rioted. She could never work this way. But she had to learn. She wanted to do this for Ralston.

Nora’s voice was laced with frustration. ‘How does everything taste the same each time if you don’t measure anything?’

‘I measure my way,’ Ani said nonchalantly. ‘You can learn, too.’

Nora wasn’t as certain. She was distracted when Ani placed a piece on a plate and handed it to her. ‘It will taste even better now that you helped to make it.’

Nora picked it up with her fingers and took a bite. Her eyes fluttered closed in delight. The combination of the flaky pastry with its herbed cheese filling was a savory delight. Auntie was right. It did taste better after toiling in the kitchen and making it herself.

An image of Ralston sprang to mind. He’d upheld his agreement so far. Even though she wanted to share this part of her culture with him, she recognized this was going further than she needed to go to thank him for his generosity.

Still, she was excited to spend more time with him. She pictured a private evening in the library. She’d ask the staff to set up a table and chairs for two. She’d wait in heightened anticipation as he’d taste what she’d prepared. Would he like it? Or pretend to enjoy it? He would be gracious either way. She wanted to make him smile.

She wanted him.

‘Are you certain you want to learn more?’ Ani asked.

‘Yes. Teach me how to make a full meal. Hummus first, then the dolma.’ Ralston enjoyed the hummus. Dolma was a Middle Eastern dish of stuffed tomatoes and peppers with meat and rice. If she learned how to make all three, it would be a full meal.

She’d have to convince Cook to allow her to use the kitchen. That was a different battle she’d have to tackle. She hoped Mrs Hanning would help once she explained her reasons. The irony was not lost on her that if she wasn’t in the kitchen preparing a meal for him, she would most likely be organizing her science room or preparing her findings for the Society. She grew aware that her professional timeline was slipping. She’d wanted to present in the fall, but she felt guilty that she’d neglected her research. Her maddeningly attractive husband was distracting her from her goal.

For the rest of the afternoon, Nora and Ani cooked together. Nora used a mortar and pestle to grind soaked chickpeas for the hummus only to have Ani tell her it wasn’t smooth enough. She furiously scribbled in her notebook, recording the pinch of salt, handful of garlic, spoonful of tahini, a pouring of olive oil and a good amount of squeezed lemon juice in the hope she could figure it out all later.

By the time Nora removed her apron, she was hot, her feet hurt and her back ached. She marveled at Ani’s stamina.

Nora kissed Ani’s cheeks before she departed. ‘Thank you. I’ll return to learn more.’

Ani eyed her. ‘He must mean something special to you.’

Nora felt a tug in her chest. He’d been stressed about his bill and she wanted to help, even though she knew she shouldn’t be so involved because it could lead to heartbreak or distraction from her work. He was special but that didn’t mean she would lose her heart. No, she was too smart to risk everything.

Chapter Sixteen

Nora returned home from her cooking lesson to find Mrs Hanning in the vestibule. Carrying an armful of freshly pressed linens, the housekeeper must have been on her way from the laundress.

‘His lordship has been waiting for you, my lady.’

Nora was taken aback. ‘He has?’ Normally Ralston would be ensconced in his study working this time of day.

‘He asked to see you in his study.’

Nora untied the strings of her bonnet and made her way down the hall. Knocking softly on the study door, she opened it.

Ralston looked up from behind his desk. ‘Nora! Good, you’re home. Shall we go?’

‘Go where?’ Clearly, he’d been working. Papers littered his desk. He’d taken off his coat and had rolled up his shirtsleeves. His broad shoulders strained against the cotton and her eyes were drawn to his muscular forearms sprinkled with hair.

‘The British Museum,’ he said, drawing her attention back to him. ‘I need a respite from my work, and I’d promised to take you. It will be a pleasant afternoon. You already have your bonnet and reticule in hand. Shall we go?’

She swallowed as emotions warred within her, and a tantalizing sense of something dangerous tugged at her chest. A second passed before she managed to find her voice. ‘Yes.’

If he had offered to take her to the dressmakers, milliners or shoemakers she wouldn’t have been as agreeable. She’d spent the early part of the afternoon on her feet in a hot kitchen. But the museum? She was infused with renewed energy. It was exciting and frightening at the same time. It was good of him to take an interest in her passion for science and plan an outing, but she must keep herself from falling for him. They’d made an agreement, a marriage of convenience that would serve both their interests. His work, as well as hers, would come first. She couldn’t forget it. Wouldn’t. Pining after her husband could only result in heartache. She had to be strong, even if it would be a constant battle.

The carriage was brought around and, fifteen minutes later, they arrived in Bloomsbury. Nora had never had the luxury of visiting the British Museum, and her eyes widened at the grand building. Inspired by classical Greek architecture and fronted by forty-three white columns, wide marble steps led up to its entrance.

Ralston helped her step down from the carriage and then mount the steps into the museum. Once it became known that an earl was visiting, a guide swiftly approached. ‘My name is Mr Dixon,’ he introduced himself, ‘and it will be my pleasure to escort you today.’ Short and portly, the guide possessed a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and wore tortoise-framed spectacles.

Nora and Ralston followed Mr Dixon as he showed them into a massive library. Nora’s mouth gaped as she took in the round room with its impressive domed ceiling. Row after row of mahogany bookshelves stacked with books from floor to ceiling covered each wall of the enormous room. The comforting smell of books and well-oiled leather furniture lingered in the air.

Nora couldn’t fathom the sheer size of the library. ‘There are so many books!’

‘Our reading room has a collection of over forty thousand volumes, maps, charts and atlases,’ Dixon informed them.

Nora shared a look of disbelief with Ralston. From his reaction, she knew that even he was amazed.

‘Come along. There is much to see.’ Mr Dixon ushered them from the room.

Ralston placed a palm on her low back. Warmth followed the path of his hand, heating more than just her back. She was eager for the tour and if she were honest with herself, she was glad her husband was accompanying her. There may have been a time she would have preferred to see this place as an unmarried scientist. No longer. The realization was both unexpected and faintly unsettling, and she pushed it aside, choosing to concentrate on the simple pleasure of being there.

‘The museum exhibits human culture from our beginnings to our present time,’ Dixon continued. ‘This wing includes objects from Captain James and his travels to the South Seas and faraway lands.’ They saw coins, prints, drawings and colourful rare gems. Another wing displayed Greek and Roman sculptures. Even marble sculptures from the Parthenon in Athens.

‘After the defeat of the French at the Battle of the Nile in 1802, King George II added the Rosetta Stone to our collection,’ Dixon said as he motioned to the ancient stone. ‘It is the key to deciphering hieroglyphs.’

It wasn’t just Nora who was interested. Ralston asked questions as they went along. Next came the massive bust of Ramesses II. Nora stared at it in fascination, knowing the ancient piece had a history of its own.

Dixon seemed to notice her interest. ‘He was known as Ramesses the Great and was one of ancient Egypt’s most powerful pharaohs.’

‘It’s all fascinating,’ Nora said, ‘but how did historical pieces of significance from faraway lands end up here? Did the people of those countries gift them?’

Dixon’s chest puffed with pride. ‘We are a proud country of colonization, my lady.’

Nora didn’t hold the same opinion. As a trader, her father had respected the people he’d traded with and never took anything others held sacred or that held cultural significance to those people with whom he traded.

Ralston moved to her side. ‘It’s not always something we should be proud of, Mr Dixon.’

Pleasantly surprised at Ralston’s statement, she was proud to stand by his side.

Dixon paled a shade. ‘Much was also donated,’ he quickly added.

They continued onward and Dixon led them to a large collection of curiosities from Sir Hans Sloane, a London doctor and scientist who married the widow of a wealthy Jamaican planter. ‘Sloane’s will established the foundation of the museum itself,’ Dixon remarked. ‘His collection includes a tremendous volume of dried plants from as far away as Rome, Greece, Sudan, Egypt, and the Far East.’

Ralston addressed the guide. ‘I understand there is an exhibit of Hugh Cuming, the shell collector.’

Dixon spoke up. ‘Yes, but that exhibit is not yet for viewing.’

Nora felt a twinge of disappointment. She’d looked forward to seeing the Cuming collection, but she refused to allow her frustration to ruin their afternoon.

‘I’m sorry, Nora. I know you wanted to see it,’ Ralston said. ‘We can return once the exhibit is open.’

Nora’s smile was weak. ‘It’s all right, my lord. There are many other wonders to see.’

‘Let’s continue then, shall we?’ Dixon said.

Dixon led them on to an alcove of Greek sculptures and tapestries of Greek gods. One tapestry caught Nora’s eye. Cupid, with his bow and quiver of arrows, above two lovers, the woman feeding the man grapes. After a minute gazing at the art, she realized Ralston wasn’t by her side. In fact, she appeared to be alone. Scanning the area, she saw neither him nor Dixon. Just as she was about to call out, Ralston reappeared from behind a marble bust of Apollo.

His lips curled in a mischievous smile. ‘Nora, come quick. I got us inside.’

‘Inside where?’

Ralston grabbed her hand and ushered her along. The exhibits blurring as she passed. More Greek gods and goddesses and colourful hand-painted pottery from the Far East. They stopped short at a door that read: CLOSED TO PUBLIC.

‘Wait!’ she said. ‘I don’t understand.’

He opened the door, took her hand once again, and led her through. Dixon followed.

She stopped short at the sight spread out before her. ‘Oh, my goodness!’

A splendid display of shells was arranged on velvet-lined drawers set out on tables. Somehow Ralston had managed to get them this clandestine entry into the not-yet-open Cuming exhibit. She looked at Ralston then Dixon. ‘I thought you said it was closed to—’

Dixon’s smile was broad. ‘Your husband can be very persuasive.’ He gestured to the room. ‘Come close and see, my lady. Some of these shells are from Hugh Cuming’s voyage to the Society Islands, colonized by the descendants of the mutineers of the Bounty.’

The air left her lungs, but her shock shifted quickly to curiosity as she approached to soak it all in.

Dixon continued. ‘Cuming befriended Queen Pōmare of Tahiti and spent a year at the coral reef islands, many of which had never been visited by a naturalist. His second voyage was to South America. He was a man of charm, and the Chilean government gave him access. He spent two years shell hunting, and many of his conchological novelties are here.’

She wandered about the space, reading the descriptions beneath each piece. There was a sacred chank, which was plated in gold and ornamented with rubies and had been part of the regalia of the kings of Burma. A melon shell from Australian waters had been used by the aborigines. And there were angel wings from the Americas, which became phosphorescent at night.

‘Here we have the snow-white and spiky shells from China—the spines of this shell encourage marine growth of all kinds to adhere to it, thus camouflaging itself. But my favorite is here,’ Dixon said, leading them to a separate shelf on which sat a single shell. ‘Cowries are plentiful, but the rarest is our most famous, the Cypracea leucondon. There are only two known specimens in existence, and we are fortunate to have one.’

Nora leaned close. It was a small oval shell with creamy spots on a buff background. It didn’t look like anything special, except for one trait. ‘Look at all the teeth on the shell!’

‘Yes, that’s correct.’ Dixon nodded. ‘The pronounced teeth are what make it unique. They are as plentiful as in the jaws of a shark, just not as sharp.’

‘Cuming’s collection was first exhibited in his London house in Gower Street and it kept naturalists occupied for years before it was donated to us,’ Dixon said.

‘Where is Mr Cuming now?’ Ralston asked.

‘Last I heard, Cuming is currently away on his clipper, the Discoverer, to the Philippines.’

After they’d seen all there was to see, Dixon left them at the entrance to the museum.

Nora looked up at Ralston as they waited for their carriage. ‘Tell me truly how you gained us admittance to the closed exhibit?’

‘I made a donation to the museum.’ He shrugged as if it were of no consequence.

‘You made a donation to gain us entrance? For me?’

‘What good is my wealth if I can’t spend it to please my wife?’

Her breath caught, and she felt a curious swooping pull at her stomach. Did he know the effect of his words? ‘I… I—’ Why was she finding herself speechless around him? She stared in shock and confusion as her heart galloped in her chest. How on earth could she show her gratitude for his thoughtfulness?

For some reason, she thought of how fortunate she was to be with Ralston rather than Baron Umbridge. Ralston shared her interests whereas she had no doubt that Umbridge would have forced her to give up on hers. The baron would never have escorted her to the museum, never paid to gain entrance to this room. The thought was laughable. An image of young wife, who’d been cut off from her passion of reading, resulted in a pang of guilt in Nora’s chest. Her heart went out the woman. But the thought of Umbridge again put Ralston in stark contrast. He was turning out to be a good husband.

‘No need to thank me.’

Yes, there is. Her next cooking lesson could not come fast enough.

‘I’d like to host an intimate dinner party,’ Nora told Ralston the following morning in the breakfast room.

She wasn’t ready to cook for him herself and she needed one, maybe two more lessons with Ani. This dinner was for a different reason. Something had been bothering her since their visit to Hookham’s library and Nora needed to see it through.

He looked up from his newspaper. ‘And the guest list for this dinner?’

‘My sisters, of course. Lord Adler.’ She hesitated. ‘And one more couple. The Baron Umbridge and his new wife, the Baroness.’

Ralston’s eyebrows drew together as he lowered the paper. ‘I did not know you were friendly with the Baron and his wife.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Should I be concerned?’ he asked.

She rose from the table and came around to his side and kissed him. ‘No. I have my reasons. You should know that I am immensely pleased that I married you and not the Baron.’

He placed his napkin on his plate and stood. ‘Then invite them. I trust your reasoning.’

Her heart buoyed at his confidence. ‘And you? Would you like to invite anyone else other than Lord Adler?’

‘Yes, come to think of it. Add the newly minted Duke of Huntington. He’s a political sympathizer to my agenda.’

‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘I’ll speak with Mrs Hanning and Cook.’

He grasped her arm as she moved past him. ‘Oh, and one more thing. Baron Umbridge better look at his new wife and not you.’

Rather than be alarmed, she felt a thrill at the outrageous possessiveness in his words and heated gaze.

Chapter Seventeen

‘We were pleasantly surprised at the invitation,’ Baron Umbridge said from his seat at the dining room table. His young wife sat beside him. Lady Umbridge was a pretty, petite blonde with cornflower blue eyes. She was shy and had barely spoken since the main course had been served.

Nora’s sisters and their mother were present. Adler had arrived as well as the Duke of Huntington. His Grace was handsome, tall with brown hair and striking emerald eyes. Both her sisters noticed. Sara smiled shyly as she addressed His Grace.

Candace, on the other hand, had a different reaction. Her eyes widened, then slightly narrowed when the Duke had first joined them. Nora didn’t think Candace had previously met the Duke and she made a mental note to ask her about him later. Nora was soon distracted, however, as the evening began awkwardly.

‘I ran into your wife at the circulating library.’ Umbridge’s pale blue eyes settled on her.

‘Oh?’ Ralston’s lifted his wine glass. ‘I didn’t know.’

‘It was a brief moment,’ Nora said. ‘When I returned to request another book, the Baron was in the vestibule.’ A tingle of nerves ran down her spine at Ralston’s look. Was he upset she hadn’t mentioned it? They were seated at opposite ends of the long table, and she longed to reassure him that he had nothing to fear. The Baron was inconsequential to her. His wife, on the other hand, meant more. She lifted her wine glass and smiled at Ralston across the expanse of the table.

He raised his own glass and the tension in her gut eased.

Adler and Huntington began speaking of politics while Nora and her sisters conversed with the shy Lady Umbridge.

‘What is your favorite pastime?’ Nora asked the lady.

‘I like to read and—’ She stopped short, daring a look at her husband beneath lowered lashes. ‘I enjoy nature and to walk in the park.’

‘I like both as well,’ Nora said. ‘Walking and reading, that is.’ Her voice was firm, and she intended for the Baron to hear it but at that moment he was occupied with the men.

The Duke’s voice travelled from across the table. ‘I sympathize with your cause, Lord Ralston, but I understand the opponent’s viewpoint, as well. The mill owners are worried about a shortage of labor.’

‘And you think children are the answer?’ Candace’s voice was loud and clear.

A moment of awkward silence passed at her sister’s comment. Nora hadn’t realized that Candace had been listening to the men.

Umbridge was the first to respond and he guffawed. ‘That’s what you get when women concern themselves with men’s matters.’

It was the wrong thing to say. Candace’s face turned beet red, and Nora placed a hand on her sister’s thigh beneath the table.

Ralston, sensing the tension, spoke up. ‘It would be foolish of me not to consider any opponent’s side, and I often play devil’s advocate.’

‘She has a right to her opinion,’ the Duke said, his green gaze resting upon Candace. It was a quizzical look and also one of keen interest.

Candace shifted in her seat. Others might think she was embarrassed by her outburst, but Nora knew her sister and understood her anger. Had the Duke done something else to offend her that Nora had missed?

Adler, always the charmer, cleared his throat. ‘Let us all take a respite from politics and enjoy the fine meal.’

Ralston grinned and raised his glass. ‘A toast to a pleasant evening with friends.’

The rest of the meal progressed slowly. Candace remained a bit sullen, and the Duke cast numerous glances her way. Worse, when Nora looked up, she caught Baron Umbridge watching her with interest. Nora felt her skin crawl. She experienced a stab of anger. His lovely wife sat beside him. Had he no decency?

She turned to Ralston, taking in his tight jaw, and she knew that he’d noticed.

After the last course, the guests pushed back their chairs. As was customary, the men retired to the study to smoke cigars and drink brandy while the women gathered in the drawing room.

Nora pulled her sister aside. ‘Candace,’ Nora said, her voice low so the other women couldn’t hear. ‘Why the outburst?’

Candace wrinkled her nose. ‘What do you mean?’

Nora rolled her eyes. ‘You all but threw your butter knife at the Duke of Huntington’s head.’

Candace looked away. ‘It is of no consequence,’

‘It is. Spit it out,’ Nora insisted.

Candace’s lips thinned. ‘I believe the Duke broke my friend’s heart. You know how I feel about rogues.’

This put Nora in an uncomfortable position. ‘He is a political sympathizer for Ralston’s bill. I understand how you feel, but he is also our guest tonight.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. Sara has warned me about my prejudice. I can’t blame every rake for my past, can I?’

‘There are always two sides to every story,’ Nora said.

Candace let out a long sigh. ‘I know.’

‘Meanwhile, I need you to do something for me. I want a moment alone with Lady Umbridge.’ Once Nora explained, Candace was more than happy to agree.

Ralston handed out cigars and poured brandy into glasses from the sideboard in his study.

‘Good cigar,’ Adler said.

‘And brandy,’ Umbridge said.

Ralston didn’t miss the flash of greed in the baron’s gaze as he scanned the richly appointed study. The large rosewood desk and furnishings. The expensive Wilton carpet. The malachite fireplace with solid gold bookends and gold mantel clock.

Ralston still found it hard to believe the baron was in his home as his guest. And he’d been caught off guard when it had come to light that Nora had run into Baron Umbridge during their trip to the booksellers.

Why hadn’t she said a word to him? When he’d met her eyes across the table, she’d clearly been worried about his reaction. He’d seen her bite her bottom lip and suddenly all he could think about was how it felt to taste her. And how he wanted to do it again. He’d raised his glass and smiled, hoping to reassure her that he wasn’t upset. He knew her and trusted she had her reasons for wanting to host guests. He suspected it had something to do with the baron’s wife.

So, what was going on?

The blonde baroness was pretty, too young for Umbridge. Still, Ralston didn’t miss the lustful look the baron had cast toward Nora during the meal. His jaw had stiffened and his fists had clenched beneath the table. It had taken him a good five seconds to calm. He was never one to exhibit anger, and his uncharacteristic rush of jealousy mixed with fury had been unnerving.

Slowly, his senses had returned. He had nothing to be jealous of. Nora was his wife.

Instead, he’d focused on Nora across the long table. She looked lovely dressed in dark green gown with a heart-shaped bodice. Her dark hair was arranged in curls that framed her oval face. She’d become an elegant countess, a brilliant hostess who charmed their guests, and at that moment, he couldn’t have been prouder to have her as his wife.

Now, as he sipped his brandy and watched Umbridge across his study, Ralston once again suspected his presence had something to do with the young baroness. He grew intrigued.

What are you up to, sweet Nora? There was only one way to find out.

Nora addressed the delicate blonde. ‘Lady Umbridge, will you join me for a moment?’

The Baroness followed Nora from the drawing room, two doors down the hall, to the library. The lady’s eyes widened as she took in the shelves of leather-bound books. ‘I was surprised at your invitation tonight,’ Lady Umbridge said. ‘I understand the Baron had visited your family home before your marriage to the Earl.’

Nora explained their brief courtship that her mother had arranged, dismissing it. ‘That was long ago. We are both married ladies now.’

‘Yes, we are.’

A flash of sadness lit her eyes. Regret? Distress? Nora couldn’t tell. Nora did not want to upset the lady and she quickly changed the topic. ‘The library is my favorite room in this house.’

‘It is lovely. The baron has a library, but there are a few books, and he’s sold many.’

‘Earlier you said you enjoy reading. What genre is your favorite?’ Nora inquired.

The lady let out a long sigh as she ran her fingers over the spines of a row of books on a shelf. ‘I have a fancy for penny romance novels. Silly, I know.’

‘Romance novels are not silly!’ Nora’s voice rose an octave. ‘They are full of excitement, adventure and most importantly, hope. What could be more inspiring?’

The Baroness’s lips parted in surprise. ‘I feel the same way. But Lord Umbridge does not, and he disproves. He calls them drivel and says they will give me false and dangerous ideas. He banned my books from the house. He insists upon an heir before the end of the year.’ Her voice choked at the last statement.

There was a sourness in the pit of Nora’s stomach and she felt ill. She couldn’t imagine what the young woman was going through, in and out of the bedchamber. In contrast, Ralston encouraged her interests and had not forced himself into her bed.

‘What does reading have to do with conceiving an heir?’

The lady’s voice lowered, as if in shame. ‘He says he wants me to focus on childbearing and nothing else.’

A spark of anger burned in her chest as Nora pulled books off the shelf. ‘His ignorant opinion does not matter, only yours does. I want you to have these. I will box them and send them to you. Hide them if you must and read when he’s out of the house. You are also welcome to visit this library and read whatever you wish without disturbance. Tell Lord Umbridge we are having tea.’

Lady Umbridge’s blue eyes watered with tears. ‘Thank you! May I ask is this why you invited us tonight?’

‘Yes, it’s true. I cannot fathom the thought of a woman denied the simple pleasure of books.’ If fate had gone another way, she could have been in Lady Umbridge’s shoes. After only a few weeks of marriage to Ralston, she couldn’t imagine such a stifled existence.

The lady hugged her, and Nora returned the embrace. And that’s when she noticed Ralston standing in the doorway.

Ralston wanted a reckoning with his wife, and he refused to wait until their guests had departed.

He pulled her aside and tugged her down the hallway until they were alone. Her full breasts brushed against his chest, and his heart hammered from holding her close. It was getting harder each day to resist her. ‘You gave the lady books because her husband took them from her?’

She looked up at him, her lovely face half lit in the dim corridor. ‘Yes. I should have told you. I shall pay for the books.’

‘I don’t care about the cost.’ His voice sounded gruff. She assumed he was angry. He was. Just not at her.

She bit her bottom lip. ‘And what about my subterfuge for inviting them?’

He stared at her mouth as her teeth worried her full lip. He began to sweat. He wanted to suck that lip into his mouth, kiss her hard. ‘You should have told me you saw Umbridge at the bookshop. But either way, your gift of books to the Baroness was kind.’

She let out a sigh of relief and touched his sleeve. ‘I’m relieved and thankful.’

His body grew hot and heavy. Reaching out he touched a loose curl that had escaped her bun and tucked it behind her ear. ‘Some believe no good deed goes unpunished. I believe the opposite is true and that goodness will come back to you.’

‘I thought you were angry with me at dinner.’

‘That was because of the way the Baron stared at you. Did you think I didn’t notice? I don’t want him to return. His wife, on the other hand, can come as often as she wishes. To read or otherwise.’

He brushed a hand down her cheek to her swanlike neck. Her pulse beat rapidly. He lowered his head and placed his lips there. Her soft sigh of pleasure aroused him further. And when her arms wound around his neck and pulled him close, he kissed her deeper. She was sweet and responsive, just like he wanted.

‘Nora!’ a voice called.

He pulled back. ‘It’s your sister. Go.’

With her departure, he rested a hand on the wall where her head at been. Breathing heavily, he wondered how much longer he could wait to bed his wife.

The next day, Nora returned from her last cooking lesson with Ani. Finally! It had taken hard work, but Nora was ready and eager to make her own meal. Excitement bubbled in her chest when she thought of surprising Ralston. Meanwhile, she had been making more progress with her own research by utilizing her microscope. She’d risen early, before her cooking lessons, to add to her notes each day. Her visit to the museum and the Cummings exhibit had inspired her. Her days were full, with her work, her cooking lessons and her social obligations as countess. But she didn’t mind. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, she believed that the busier she was, the less time she’d focus on her vexingly attractive husband.

Nora had just stepped into the vestibule when the butler, Jenkins, approached. ‘There’s a gentleman waiting for you in the drawing room, my lady. He is presently with his lordship.’

Nora paused, unpinning her bonnet. ‘A gentleman?’

‘I’m not certain of his name. His lordship said only that the guest desired an introduction.’ He took her pelisse and bonnet, but she kept her reticule.

Brows drawing together, Nora followed Jenkins down the corridor, her half-boots silent on the carpet runner. The door to the drawing room stood slightly ajar, and Jenkins pushed it open for her to enter.

Lord Ralston rose and stood tall. Opposite him stood a man of average height and weight with brown hair greying at his temples. A pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose.

‘Nora,’ Ralston said with a warm smile, ‘we’ve been awaiting your return. Allow me to introduce Mr Collins.’

The man bowed. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. His lordship has told me much about you.’

Ralston had spoken about her? She gave Mr Collins a quick glance. His spectacles gave him a scholarly air. His coat was brown wool, his waistcoat made to match, and his shoes well shined but sensible rather than fashionable. His brown eyes were bright behind the thick lenses. He could easily blend into a crowd unnoticed.

Nora offered a slight curtsy. ‘I apologize for any delay. I was visiting a family friend.’ If Ralston thought it unusual, he made no show of it.

‘No apology necessary, Lady Ralston,’ said Mr Collins.

Ralston gestured for them to sit. He chose to sit beside her on the sofa rather than in an adjacent armchair. The attraction she’d tried to ignore seemed to spark to life at his closeness. A glimpse at his lips caused memories of their kiss to return in a rush. With great effort, she focused on their guest.

‘Mr Collins serves on the board of the London Scientific Society,’ Ralston said. ‘I met him at White’s when I was out with Lord Adler. When I mentioned your studies, he expressed considerable interest and wanted to meet you.’

Nora’s breath caught. The Scientific Society? Her reticule, dangling from her wrist, nearly slipped to the floor. She looked at Mr Collins, then glanced at Ralston, then back to Collins. ‘I’m honored you took the time to visit.’

‘My interest was piqued,’ Mr Collins said. He gestured towards her shells on display on shelves and in the curiosity cabinet in the corner of the room. She hadn’t yet had them removed since holding her salon and the housekeeper, Mrs Hanning, had seemed fine with them remaining, as well. Now she was glad for it. Her mind was still reeling from having this man in her home.

‘Ralston mentioned you have been studying shells that have regenerative properties and can mend themselves.’

Ralston had recalled that and had conveyed it to Collins? The last time she’d mentioned this was on a Cornwall beach. Since then, she’d been studying the repaired shells using her microscope for a future presentation. The magnification power of her microscope had revealed the many layers of each shell. She set her reticule to the side and was aware of Ralston sitting beside her on the sofa, his presence comforting.

‘Yes. I’ve been studying certain mollusks. Some can repair damage to their shells from a fisherman’s net for example. They are much more complex than we know. I had hoped to present my findings when my studies are complete.’ Her voice rose with a sense of excitement to share this with a colleague.

Mr Collins nodded, his eyes shining with intelligence. ‘Fascinating and quite novel. I’d like to hear more about your research. Have you documented your observations?’

‘I have,’ she said. ‘Though my notes are still somewhat disordered.’ It was the way she worked, but at that moment, she regretted not organizing them before.

Ralston touched her arm. His presence, warm and solid, quieted her fluttering nerves.

‘She is too modest by half,’ Ralston said. ‘I’ve seen her journal entries myself and can say she is methodical and far more articulate than she admits.’

A glow cheered her at his unwavering support. For the next twenty minutes, Nora spoke about her work. Ralston added his thoughts without interrupting her and Mr Collins asked questions and seemed truly interested in her methods and findings. He also admired her father’s seashells on display.

Mr Collins glanced at the mantel clock as it chimed five. ‘I must leave, but I thank you, Lady Ralston. Your research has genuine promise. I shall mention it to my colleagues at our next meeting.’

Together, they escorted Mr Collins to the vestibule. When the door closed behind the man, Nora turned to her husband. ‘How did you convince him to pay a visit?’

Ralston shrugged, though his eyes gleamed with pride. ‘I did meet him at White’s. When I told him about you, he asked to meet you.’

She gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘That’s all?’

‘That’s all.’ He leaned against the banister, his lips curving in a smile.

She bit her lower lip. ‘How did I do?’

‘Very well, just as I knew you would. You were eloquent, knowledgeable and passionate about your work. I have no doubt he’ll speak highly of you to his Society colleagues. You may even get an invitation to present your findings sooner than expected.’

Her cheeks flushed. She pressed cool fingers to her overheated skin. Every time he mentioned that he valued her intelligence a bit more of her heart was lost to him. ‘Do you really think so?’

‘I do,’ he said, his voice low. ‘You did more than impress him—you charmed the fellow. What man you could resist you?’

Her heart gave a little lurch at the admiration in his gaze. Was he talking about Mr Collins or himself? For an insane moment, she desperately wanted it to be him. She cleared her throat. ‘I must organize my notes. There’s little time and much to do.’ She spun on her heel, ready to race upstairs, then froze and looked back at him. ‘Oh! I nearly forgot. Thank you.’

He smiled. ‘I’m glad you are pleased.’

Nora’s thoughts were a whirlwind as she climbed the stairs. Marriage was nothing like she’d first expected. She’d initially thought it a cage of sorts, a means to have a man control her and stifle her dreams of science. But marriage to Ralston was far from a prison. He had opened doors instead of closing them. Her emotions warred in what she feared was a losing battle, and her heart had a mind of its own.

And suddenly, cooking for him seemed woefully inadequate. She wanted her husband, all of him. If he would not open their adjoining bedchamber door, then she would do so herself.

After all, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d slipped into his bed.

Chapter Eighteen

‘How is married life, my friend?’

‘It’s fine.’ Ralston sat across from Adler at Jonathan’s Coffee-House the following afternoon. It was their usual day to meet, and the place was bustling. The Times, The Morning Post and The Chronicle had been delivered earlier, and the coffee house was busy with men reading newspapers, drinking the warm brew and gathering with friends.

Adler, it seemed, had other business on his mind. He stirred a lump of sugar into his coffee. ‘Truly? You appeared even more tense than usual at the House today.’

The earlier session had voted on two different bills. Ralston had avoided Lord Weber and his cronies afterwards in the antechamber. The man had a way of getting under his skin and he did not wish to give his nemesis the satisfaction of agitating him in public.

‘Weber is a thorn in my side.’ Ralston raised his coffee cup. It was too hot, and he scalded his tongue, adding to his frustration and bad mood.

Adler eyed him knowingly. ‘That’s not all that’s bothering you, is it?’

‘My wife is fine if that’s what you are implying.’

Adler arched an eyebrow. ‘She is fine. And beautiful. Why do I have the sense you are avoiding her bedchamber?’

Ralston’s spoon clattered on his saucer. ‘I’m not avoiding her bed. I already told you, it’s out of consideration.’ They had been married only a short time. Too many sleepless nights thinking of his wife in his bed. He knew his friend was right. He had given her enough time to adjust to an unwanted marriage, hadn’t he?

Unbothered, Adler continued. ‘You are fooling yourself. Visit her chambers and soon. It will help you focus on the upcoming second reading of your bill. Your arguments must be sharp and leave little room for a snake like Lord Weber to strike. The man is no fool.’

Ralston did not need reminding of Weber’s skill.

By the time Ralston returned home, he was even more tense. Jenkins took his hat and greatcoat as Mrs Hanning approached.

‘Dinner will be served in your library, my lord,’ she said.

His brow furrowed in confusion. ‘The library? Is there something amiss in the dining room.’ Had Nora decided to redecorate? He wouldn’t protest if she wanted to hire painters or a decorator. As for dinner, he’d intended to have a tray delivered to his room to work. His conversation with Adler had only added to his agitation. His political work was at risk if Lord Weber gained more supporters. As for his beautiful wife…she was never far from his mind.

His housekeeper’s face turned a shade pink. In all the years he’d known her, the competent woman had never blushed. ‘Lady Ralston has requested your presence in the library.’

This took him by surprise. Nora had arranged dinner in the library? Curious, he headed down the hall. When he stepped into the room, he froze.

His library had been transformed. A small table, elegantly dressed in white linen and fine china, sat before the hearth. Twin candelabras, flickering with warm candlelight, flanked a pair of covered silver salvers. A sideboard held a crystal decanter of claret and two glasses.

Nora stood beside the table, looking more lovely than he’d ever seen her.

Dressed in a simple gown of green muslin, the bodice drew attention to the soft curve of her breasts. Her auburn hair had been left loose, held back by a matching green ribbon. The colour of the dress accentuated her green eyes, and the candlelight caught the burnished highlights in her curls. She smiled in welcome. He had to remind himself to breathe.

‘Ralston,’ she said, her voice warm. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving her.

At that moment, he wanted her more than ever before. ‘You arranged this?’ His own voice came low, hoarse with a tangle of disbelief and desire.

Her eyes sparked with mischief and some other emotion he couldn’t quite identify. ‘I have a surprise for you.’

His heart pounded. Whatever it is, it cannot rival the sight of you. He struggled to maintain his manners.

She lifted one of the silver covers, and a rich, spicy and unfamiliar aroma curled into the air. His mouth watered.

Her smile brightened the dim library. ‘I cooked for you.’

‘You…cooked?’ he repeated, dumbfounded. He knew his wife had talents. He’d seen her scientific notebook, but he’d never guessed she could also cook.

She nodded, her cheeks turning a charming shade of pink. ‘I’ve been learning. My father’s stepmother has been teaching me. Growing up, she was like an aunt to me. I want to please you. I remembered how fond you were of the dishes we shared at the tavern.’

‘You did all this for me?’ The words scraped out of his throat like dry parchment.

‘I did,’ she said, her blush deepening. ‘I shamefully admit that I thought cooking would be easy. I was wrong. I had many failed attempts and was about to concede defeat before I was successful. But I wanted to do this for you.’ She uncovered a small bowl on the table. ‘I even made hummus.’

He was speechless. No one, no woman had gone to such lengths to please him. She had to be busy preparing her notes and presentation in anticipation of presenting to the London Scientific Society after her meeting with the scientist, Mr Collins. Instead of focusing on her science, she’d taken time to learn how to cook for him.

‘I look forward to trying your dishes. But how did you do all this?’

‘Mrs Hanning helped me convince Cook to borrow her kitchen. Cook can be quite prickly.’

He chuckled softly. ‘You even bribed Cook?’

‘Not bribed,’ she said. ‘Negotiated.’

He could just imagine the scene. His cook could be most temperamental. He stepped towards the table and inhaled deeply. ‘It smells delicious. What is it?’

‘Dolma. Tomatoes and peppers stuffed with meat and rice and seasoned with herbs and spices. It’s one of my favorite dishes.’

His heart beat in his chest. Her time-consuming labor was far more intimate than a waltz at a ball, a shared trip to Gunther’s for ices or even a midnight garden rendezvous. His gaze met hers and her eyes shone in anticipation.

He held out a chair for her and his fingers itched to remove the pretty, green ribbon and bury his fingers in her long hair. He wanted her more than food. He took a deep breath to control his urge and sat across from her.

He watched as she served him and placed the food on his plate. He picked up his fork and tasted the dish. The food was delicious and different than the greasy fowl and chicken Cook would have prepared. But it was Nora herself who kept arousing his senses. She leaned forward, lips slightly parted, eagerly awaiting his reaction.

‘It’s delicious. I want to eat it all.’

Candlelight danced in her eyes. ‘Truly?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then let’s please eat.’ She picked up her own fork.

For the next half hour they ate and drank wine. The pleasantness of it was not lost on him. For not wanting to marry in haste, he’d never imagined enjoying time with a woman.

‘Tell me about your day,’ she said.

He wiped his mouth on a linen napkin. Since entering the room, he hadn’t thought once of his difficulties, but now they came back to him. ‘It wasn’t pleasant. This evening is precisely what I needed.’

She sipped her wine. ‘Is Lord Weber garnering more support?’

His jaw hardened and he nodded. ‘I fear so. If my bill fails—’

‘Then the poor children of London will suffer, yes.’

He took a deep breath. ‘It’s not just that. A selfish part of me knows that it will also be a blow to my political career.’

She set down her glass. ‘You are not selfish. You are a good man. If by chance your bill fails, and I don’t believe it will, then you will have kept your promise to fight for the children. Just like you have kept all your promises to me.’

Their eyes locked, and a charged silence fell between them. Her words of confidence struck him, and he stilled. ‘Nora, I—’

Leaning forward, she pressed a finger against his lips. ‘You have done more for me than I could ever have thought to ask or imagine.’ She lowered her hand.

Another pause. He drank in the sight of her. She was the most alluring woman he’d ever known. Intelligent and arousing.

‘Now, I have one more surprise, a small, savory delight to share.’ She served a pastry on a plate and set it before him. He picked up a fork.

‘No, with your fingers,’ she said, ‘but like this.’ She selected her own piece and took a small bite. ‘It’s a bit messy but worth it.’

He picked up the pastry and took a bite. His eyes widened at the combination of cheese and herbs. He consumed the rest in one bite. ‘Is there more?’

Her smile tugged at his chest. ‘Yes. I’m pleased you like it. It can be served as a mezza or hors d’oeuvre but I enjoy eating it as part of a main dish.’

His voice was gruff. ‘What is there not to like?’

A sensual moment passed between them. Then she reached for him, sliding her hand across the table and curling her fingers around his own. At the brief touch, a slow burn ignited in his chest.

‘There’s another reason for my invitation tonight,’ she said.

‘Oh?’

‘As I’ve said, you’ve kept your promises to me, my lord. Now I believe it’s my turn.’

‘And what promises do you refer to?’

Her pink lips curled in an enticing smile. ‘Since you’ve not visited my chambers, I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands.’

His breath caught. She couldn’t mean…could she?

Then she did the most remarkable thing. She rose and walked to his side. Kneeling, she placed a hand on his thigh and kissed him.

At the first brush of her lips, heat surged through his veins and his heart pounded in his chest. The slight touch on his thigh made him grow instantly hard. Her beauty was like a drug and his desire for her was overpowering. He pushed back his chair and helped her to her feet. Pulling her to him, he had her back in his arms in a flash.

He looked into her eyes. ‘Only one kiss?’

Her green gaze was as captivating as her tentative smile. ‘Just to start.’

He didn’t wait for another invitation. He swept her into his arms and claimed her mouth in another searing kiss. His desire had grown with each passing day, each gift of a smile. He’d been tempted more than she’d known to open their adjoining chamber door and approach her bed. He’d sweep back the covers and remove her pretty nightgown until she was gloriously naked. He’d spread her vibrant auburn hair across the pillow and leisurely kiss every inch of her body until she cried out with need.

Now she was in his arms and kissing him. She parted her lips, and he took advantage and swept his tongue inside. When her fingers clutched his shoulders and her tongue urgently brushed against his, the fragments of his restraint snapped. The kiss changed, grew more urgent, and his arms slid down her back and lowered to cup her bottom and tug her snug against him. His arousal was immediate and insistent, pressing against her belly like a brand.

‘Nora,’ he growled, his voice was hoarse. ‘God help me, I want you.’

‘I know,’ she whispered against his mouth.

He tore his mouth from hers and met her gaze. ‘Tell me.’ If she rejected him, he’d go mad.

‘Yes,’ she said, her voice breathless. ‘Make love to me.’

Nora looked into Ralston’s eyes and knew she wanted him. She’d desired him for a long time, ever since she’d slipped into his bed that fateful night at the house party. Since then, her feelings for him had blossomed and grown and she knew that he would not touch her without her consent. She was no longer willing to deny herself and, here, now, she wanted him to make love to her as a husband would his wife.

His kiss was ravenous and fueled her own need. Their tongues touched again and again until she was breathless. Her fingers slipped beneath his coat to the buttons of his waistcoat. She longed to feel him beneath the layers of broadcloth and cotton, wanted to see and touch him.

‘I’ve dreamed of you,’ she said, ‘and I woke up aching.’

His voice was hoarse. ‘You’ll drive me mad.’

She reached for his jacket. He helped her, shrugging out of the garment and tossing it onto a chair. Her fingers went to the buttons of his waistcoat and it followed suit. Pressing her palms against his shirt, his heart beat strong and sure beneath the pressed linen.

‘My turn, darling.’ His sensual grin made her breath catch.

She turned and he made quick work of the buttons on the back of her gown. When she faced him again, she released her grip and the silk slipped to her waist, leaving her in stays and her shift.

The admiration she saw in his eyes made her heart turn over in her chest.

They took turns. She unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his waistband. Eager to help, he tugged it over his head, and it joined his pile of discarded clothing.

She swallowed as she took him in. She’d felt his chest that first night in the country, but it had been dark as pitch and she couldn’t see. Now he stood before her in the brightly lit room. She’d never seen another man naked from the waist up, but she suspected his torso was impressive by any standard. His chest was muscled, and a smattering of hair led down his equally muscled abdomen to the waistband of his trousers. If she could draw like her sister, she’d sketch him now. He was like one of the statues of the Greek gods she’d seen in the museum.

Her eyes returned to his and a shiver went through her at the fierce desire evident in his gaze. His broad cheekbones, strong jaw and nose were shadowed beneath the candles and light from the coal fire in the grate.

His voice was gruff. ‘Touch me.’

Gladly. Her fingers reached for his heated skin and grazed his flat nipples. Growing bolder, she smoothed her hand across his chest. The sprinkling of hair tickled her palm as she lowered it towards the waistband of his trousers.

His hand covered hers. ‘Not yet.’

Her gaze flew to his. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t want to frighten you.’

She wanted to protest, but he kissed her again and his nimble fingers worked the laces of her corset until it fell and joined the gown on the floor. She was left only in her shift.

He held her back, his eyes taking her in. ‘There’s something enticing about you in your white shift. Pure and temptress at the same time.’

Her vanity arose, and slowly, ever so tentatively, aware of his fierce gaze, she reached for the hem and lifted it over her head. The cotton fluttered from her fingers to slip to the carpet.

His eyes flared hot, ravaging her body before meeting her eyes. ‘Remove the ribbon in your hair.’

She did as he said and slipped her fingers through her hair. Her auburn locks caressed her shoulders and the tips of her breasts.

He hissed. ‘You’re so beautiful.’

Beneath his heated look, she felt beautiful.

He swept her into his arms and laid her upon the plush Aubusson carpet before the fireplace. He kissed a path down her throat and lingered by her breasts before taking a nipple into his mouth. She gasped at the torrent of sensations and her eyes drifted shut. He licked and sucked and heat sizzled through her veins. Her breasts had never been so sensitive. Liquid heat blossomed between her thighs. When he travelled to her other breast, she arched her back, offering him more of herself, and her fingers buried in his hair, holding him tightly to her.

He rose swiftly to tug off his Hessians. The boots were tossed haphazardly in his haste. Then he reached for the flap of his trousers. She leaned up on her elbows to watch as he removed his remaining clothing. Her eyes widened at her first glimpse of his manhood. He was a magnificent male specimen. He was also large, and she experienced a moment of anxiousness.

He joined her on the carpet and gathered her in his arms. He kissed her eyelids, the tip of her nose, and lingered on her mouth. Soon her fears ebbed, and she met his kisses with her own. Her desire returned in a rush. His hand skimmed down her abdomen and between her legs where she ached. Then he touched her there.

She gasped. It felt so good, so right. His skilled fingers traced her swollen, sensitive nub until she was an aching mass of need. His hands and mouth made her wild and she moved her hips to meet each tantalizing caress. Slick between her legs, she writhed beneath him desperate for something just out of reach.

‘That’s it, my love.’

His love? Her eyes cracked open to see the colourful leather spines of the books on the shelves. She’d never look at a book again without thinking of this moment. Of him. Her world shattered in a single stroke of his finger.

When she slowly came back to earth, his possessive look made her heart squeeze. ‘You are lovely in your passion. You skin is flushed and your lips are swollen from my kisses.’

‘That was wonderous,’ she breathed.

His intense gaze raked her face. ‘That was just a beginning.’

Her longing for him had not eased. ‘Let me touch you,’ she said.

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

Her palm smoothed down his chest and lower. Curious about him, her hand wrapped around his hardness. A harsh breath exploded from him.

She pulled back. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘God, no,’ his voice was gruff. Seeming to sense her uncertainty, he took her hand and returned it to his length. He showed her how to please him. She soon discovered giving him pleasure aroused her once again. She understood there was much more to lovemaking, and she wanted to experience everything…experience him.

‘I want more.’ Her voice was raw with emotion.

‘Are you certain?’ he asked.

She answered by pulling his head to her lips. At his groan of approval, he moved above her. He settled between her spread thighs and captured her lips. His shaft slid in place and rubbed against her swollen sensitive flesh. She arched against him, the feelings titillating.

‘I’ll try to go slow, love.’

He slid inside an inch. Then another inch. There was no pain and her nails dug into his backside as a flood of delicious sensations coursed through her. She arched her hips, hoping to release the mounting pressure. Then with one strong stroke, he thrust inside.

She gasped at a sudden stab of pain. He stilled. His face looked as anguished as she felt. ‘Are you all right?’

At the concern etched on his face her heart fluttered in her chest. She breathed as her body accepted his fullness. Reaching up, she touched his cheek. ‘Yes,’ she breathed.

More moisture pooled between her thighs as passion rose within her. Her eyes slid open, meeting his heated gaze as they began moving together. He was magnificent with the corded muscles in his neck and his slick, heated skin. Flesh against flesh, they were joined as one. As she held him to her, her heart squeezed in her chest. They moved together until passion rose in her like the hottest fire and she reached for the stars. Once, twice more he plunged within her, and he stiffened above her.

He rolled to the side and pulled her against his heated length. ‘Are you all right?’ he inquired again.

At his concern, she reached up and brushed a lock of dark hair from his damp forehead. ‘That was wonderous. Why did you wait so long?’

His broad grin tugged at her heart. ‘Had I known my wife was so demanding, I would not have waited.’

She laughed at the outrageous comment and he joined her. ‘Let me help you upstairs,’ he said. ‘Before we fall asleep and the staff finds us here in the morning. I can just imagine the shock on Mrs Hanning’s face.’ Another bout of laughter followed.

When they were finally in her bedchamber, and she sat on her bed, she held her hand out to him. ‘Stay.’

‘It would be my pleasure.’ He settled beside her.

Her hand rested on his chest, his heart beating strong. She nuzzled against him. Somehow things had changed over a meal and a night of passion. Even though she’d never wanted to marry, for the first time, she began to hope for a glimmer of happiness.

Chapter Nineteen

‘How are you are faring?’ Sara asked. ‘We all want to know, not just Mother.’

Nora sat in the drawing room with her two sisters the following afternoon. Candace smeared cream on her scone and Sara sipped her oolong tea. Both sisters looked at her expectantly.

‘You appear tired. Are you unwell?’ Candace said.

Nora almost choked on her own tea. ‘I’m well,’ she managed to say. If she appeared tired, it was from an evening of exquisite lovemaking. Who would have thought her husband was that skilled? If she’d known it would be earth-shattering, she would have knocked on their adjoining bedchamber door two weeks earlier.

‘Where is Ralston?’ Sara asked.

‘He had to leave for business.’ Before slipping from her bed early that morning, he’d kissed her lingeringly. She’d clung to him, wanting him to stay, but knowing he had business to attend. ‘He must garner support for his bill.’ She knew he was facing an uphill battle, and it had been on his mind. His troubles disturbed her.

‘I see,’ Candace said, her eyes never leaving Nora’s face. ‘I’m concerned for you. Marriage must be horrid.’

Nora set her teacup on her saucer with a chink. ‘Candace, no. To the contrary, I have found marriage to Ralston quite…pleasant.’

Sara pressed her hand against her chest. ‘Is he that magnificent in bed?’

‘Sara!’ Candace admonished. ‘Look at the bags under her eyes. Surely, she is suffering.’

Clearly, Candace’s past had tainted her views on men. Nora reached out to take her sister’s hand in hers. ‘I assure you, Candace, Ralston is not mistreating me. We were up late last night.’

After a heartbeat, Candace blushed. ‘I see.’

‘He has upheld his promises,’ Nora said. ‘I wanted to do something in return. I visited Ani and asked her to teach me how to cook.’

Candace blinked. ‘You did? I can’t imagine you in the kitchen. You always avoided it when we visited Ani in the past.’

It was true. Her willingness to tackle a task she’d previously had no interest in must sound shocking. But Nora was glad she’d done it and was proud of her efforts. Ralston had enjoyed the food. As for what came afterwards…she was glad for that, as well.

‘You like him,’ Candace said.

‘Yes. I suppose I do.’ Her feelings had grown and blossomed. Even though she’d never wanted to marry, now that they were together, her future seemed bright.

Sara sighed. ‘I hope to find a similar match.’

The front door opened, and Ralston’s unmistakable voice sounded in the corridor. Moments later, he appeared in the drawing room.

Nora’s breath hitched. He looked stunningly virile in a navy coat of superfine buff trousers, and Hessians that hugged his calves.

‘Good day, ladies.’ He bowed and grinned. When he turned to Nora, an intensity flared through his gaze. A tingling sparked in the pit of her stomach, and she struggled to subdue the dizzying current racing through her. She knew how broad his shoulders were beneath his tailored coat and how muscled his thighs were beneath his trousers.

Candace greeted him politely. Sara giggled.

‘Ladies, I dare not take much of your sisterly time. I merely wanted to say hello.’

‘Did it go well in the House?’ Nora asked.

‘It was fine,’ he said.

She immediately knew something was off. Beneath the polite veneer, there was a slight tensing of his jaw. Nora wanted to inquire further but now was not the time and place.

After he left the room, Sara surprised her by speaking first. ‘Is his lordship under stress?’

‘I agree. Something is bothering him,’ Candace said.

‘You both can tell?’ Nora was surprised at her sisters’ observation.

‘If he is treating you well and you are happy, then tell us how we can help you help him,’ Candace said.

Nora had been wondering how she could aid Ralston herself. Maybe brainstorming with her sisters was what she needed. ‘He seeks to pass a bill to limit child labor, but there is a lord with influence who is opposing him.’

‘Then you must try to dissuade the lord,’ Candace said.

Nora pursed her lips. ‘How? I don’t exactly know Lord Weber or his cronies.’

Sara sat forward on the sofa. ‘Think of Lord Weber’s circle. Is he married?’

Nora thought back. ‘Yes. Lady Weber attended my science salon. But it’s not exactly as if we are close friends.’

‘You are a countess, Nora,’ Sara said. ‘You have influence. Think of how you can use it.’

‘She’s right,’ Candace said.

Nora’s mind whirled at her sisters’ words. How could she use her influence? She wanted to help Ralston and if she could somehow use her relationship with Lady Weber to influence her husband, then why shouldn’t she?

Nora’s gaze focused on her father’s Armenian bowl in the curiosity cabinet. An image of the pretty, brown-haired Lady Weber admiring the rare piece sprang to her mind.

‘You two are right! And I have just the plan.’

It became a routine. Ralston would meet with lords outside the House, often calling at their homes, meeting at coffee houses or at White’s, or even at gambling halls. He’d speak with them about his bill over whisky, cups of coffee or tea, or even over a gambling table, whenever and however he could.

The bill had gone through the committee stage and the looming second reading approached. He knew whatever effort he was making, Lord Weber was doing the same, most likely even more. He had the political and financial backing of London’s factory owners. Politics was dirty business.

His only pleasure was when he finally returned home. No matter how exhausted and downtrodden he felt, Nora was a ray of sunshine. And their nights…ah…their nights were spent making glorious love. She was more than he had even imagined and desired. Passionate and daring and adventurous. Any red-blooded male would be envious of him.

It was during dinner one night that she looked at him with concern. ‘You seemed worried.’

‘It’s Weber. Nothing to concern ourselves with tonight.’

‘You can talk to me,’ she assured him.

‘I know. But I also enjoy our time together. Time when I don’t have to think of my bill and whether or not it will pass.’

‘I understand. I’m happy to be able to offer an escape, even if it is a temporary one as we share a meal and…afterwards.’ He watched heavy-lidded as she pushed her chair aside, and she walked to his side. She sat in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘You have needs, my lord, and so do I.’

She kissed his brow, then his cheek before brushing her lips against his. Slowly and sinuously, she rubbed her breasts against him.

He groaned with pleasure. He kissed her back, his tongue plunged hungrily inside to taste her. His need had never been greater. He stood with her in his arms and carried her upstairs to his bedchamber. A maid gawked as he passed. He didn’t care. From what he could tell, Nora didn’t either.

Reaching his room, he kicked the door shut with a booted foot. ‘You will drive me to distraction.’

‘Good. Then you will not have to think of other things.’

He set her down on her feet. Making quick work of her hooks, he freed her of her gown, stays and shift until she was naked to his heated gaze. Lust struck him in the gut, fierce and savage. She was more impatient than he was as she helped him remove his clothes. The buttons on his waistcoat tore off in their haste. Again, he didn’t care. Once he was free of his clothing, he picked her up and laid her on his bed. Green eyes flashing and lips curling in a seductive smile, she welcomed him with open arms.

He wanted to give freely to her, to show her how precious she was to him. ‘Tell me what you want.’

He watched as her breathing turned ragged.

‘Touch me. Here.’ Her fingers grazed her breast.

‘Gladly.’ He tweaked her nipple, then lowered his head to tease it between his lips.

Her green eyes darkened. ‘More.’ Her voice was husky.

He sucked the bud deep in his mouth.

‘Oh!’ She gasped and writhed beneath him. Each breathy sound, each brush of her flesh against his, escalated his own arousal. He could pleasure her forever.

He trailed hot kisses to her other breast, being sure to pay as much attention to the rosy tip. ‘Tell me.’

‘I feel it here.’ Her hand ran down her flat stomach to the triangle between her legs. ‘I ache.’

‘Ah, let me ease that ache.’ His fingers replaced hers, and her slickness made him groan. She was wet and perfect, but he wanted to give her more, give her everything. He drew out her orgasm, reveled in each soft gasp, the arch of her hips, the look of pure pleasure when her muscles tightened and her fingers dug into the corded muscles of his neck.

‘Tell me.’ His voice sounded hoarse with need.

Her eyes flamed green. ‘I want more. I want you.’

He wanted to hear something else from her sweet lips. ‘Call me Devon. My name is Devon.’

She raised her lids and her eyes blazed. ‘I want you, Devon.’

He lost control. To hear his Christian name from her sweet lips at that moment was his undoing. He was hot and throbbing, his own need a fiery desire. Rising above her, he buried himself into her warm, welcoming body. All his restraint fled as she tightened around him and she was just as demanding of him in her passion.

‘You feel so good inside me.’ She grasped his biceps as she whispered in his ear.

He groaned again, unable to voice a coherent thought. He needed this woman, his wife, as much as he needed water and air. He began to thrust, and she eagerly met him, their bodies in sweet harmony. He felt her tighten around him, her breathy gasps edging him on. His muscles tensed, and he thrust once more, then threw back his head as his release roared through him. He stayed within her for a time, savoring their closeness before turning to the side to hold her.

Later, completely sated, Nora slept in his arms. He stayed awake and watched her. Lovemaking had never been as good as it was with her. It kept getting better, too.

She shifted and opened her eyes. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’

He trailed his fingers down the softness of her inner arm. ‘I’m thinking my wife is most demanding.’

She pinched his arm. ‘I’m demanding? I’d say you were just as urgent.’

‘I don’t deny it.’

She touched his cheek. ‘Now, don’t try to distract me from my question. I know you are under a lot of pressure. Open up to me, Devon.’

He’d never get tired of her using his name. It made it easier to talk about his troubles. ‘You must know about the upcoming second reading of my bill.’

‘Yes, you’ve been working late and meeting with others.’

‘My opponent, Lord Weber, is no doubt preparing his debate as I have mine. It will be heated.’

‘I have confidence in you.’

He brushed his lips against her forehead. ‘He has many allies as well.’

She shifted in his arms to better watch him. ‘And you do as well.’

‘I suppose but politics is a dirty business. Oftentimes, those with the richest benefactors win’

She considered this for a moment. ‘But sometimes, they do not.’

‘Yes, there have been past times.’

She trailed a finger down his chest. ‘Speaking of the past. I want to know more about you.’

‘Such as?’

She rose on her elbow and looked in his eyes. ‘You’re youth. Whatever happened to you years ago.’

Her eyes were bright as he pondered her question. He rarely spoke of Margaret. He’d been young and easily manipulated. Speaking of it would expose a vulnerability he didn’t want to share. But Nora had asked and he’d grown to trust that she would listen without judgment.

He let out a sigh. ‘I was engaged before, when I was just eighteen. Margaret was a family neighbour from our country estates. We were young, foolish, and I thought in love. I knew Margaret had a wandering eye, but I ignored it. When she became pregnant, I did the right thing and proposed. We even had our families’ blessing. At first, I was nervous to become a father. What did I know of parenting at that young age? But then, the more I thought about it, the more I grew excited for the babe.’

Nora’s eyes were wide. ‘You never married?’

He let out a gruff laugh. ‘Margaret confessed the baby wasn’t mine and that she was in love with another, a landowner’s son. They eloped to Gretna Green. I should have been relieved we never married. But I had mourned the loss of a baby that was never mine.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘There’s no reason to be sorry. In hindsight, Margaret’s betrayal did me a favor. I never saw her again or her child. She left for Scotland with her lover.’

As for Nora, he’d promised her a businesslike marriage but as time passed, he was growing increasingly affected by his wife. The feelings were frightening as hell. He’d been young and foolish before and losing his heart was not a path he wished to travel again. But what he felt for Nora was different. He told himself it must be due to stress. He’d been preoccupied and worried about the second reading of his bill and what Lord Weber would do to sabotage it. Stress could make a man behave differently, feel things that he logically knew were unsound. Once everything was over, he was certain his head would prevail over his heart.

‘Thank you for inviting me for tea. I admit I was surprised to get an invitation,’ Lady Weber said.

‘I enjoyed hosting my salon and wanted to meet privately to get to know each other better,’ Nora said as she sat across from the lady in the parlor. She’d chosen the cozier parlor over the larger drawing room for a more intimate atmosphere. She’d also selected it for other reasons.

Ms. Hanning wheeled in a tea tray. ‘Shall I pour?’

‘No, I’d like to serve my guest.’ Nora dismissed the housekeeper and poured the lady a cup of tea. Steam swirled above the rim as she set it down. She noticed Lady Weber’s gaze quickly scan the room, her blue eyes travelling from a small statue to a vase on an end table. He gaze lingered on the decorative bowl Nora had moved into the room. A tingle of excitement ran down her spine.

‘I realize the furnishings are unique. Much of the décor is from my father’s travels around the world.’

‘What did he do?’ Lady Weber asked.

‘My father was of Middle Eastern descent and specialized in trading from the region. Growing up he’d bring home shells from exotic beaches in the Mediterranean.’

‘Is that what sparked your interest in science?’

‘Yes.’ Less than a year ago, her mother would have prohibited her from speaking freely to a lady of Society such as Lady Weber about her interests. How marriage to Ralston had changed things. Her salon had been a success. Whether the women thought her a novelty or not, they would not dare criticize a countess. Nora reveled in her ability to speak freely.

‘And this’ Lady Weber rose from the settee to touch the bowl. The striking ceramic piece had a scalloped edge and lapis blue, purple and yellow floral motif and was remarkably preserved.

‘It’s a priceless bowl from the fifteenth-century Iznik region in Armenia. Father traded it for a solid gold cross he’d purchased in Jerusalem.’

‘Truly?’

‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes! I adore rare collectibles. Lord Weber says it’s my weakness and is worse than gambling. I don’t agree. What I purchase I keep, unlike others who waste it at the tables.’

This is what Nora was hoping for. If she had something Lady Weber desired, then perhaps she could use it to help her husband with his opponent, Lord Weber. She understood politics was a tricky business and she wanted to use her influence as a countess to be an ally for her husband to support his worthy bill.

Nora waited and watched as the lady traced the scalloped edge with a finger. ‘May I?’

‘Of course,’ Nora said.

The lady picked up the bowl, turned it in her hands and then gently returned it. ‘I purchased a marble statute from the Ming dynasty over a year ago.’

Nora opened her mouth but bit the inside of her cheek. It was most likely a forgery. With the Port of Canton closed, it was nearly impossible to get rare collectibles from the region.

‘Do you like this piece?’ Nora asked.

‘Very much. If I had it, I’d display it in my vestibule.’

It was not meant to be a vestibule piece, but more of a family heirloom to be kept in a private study or library. Her pulse beat erratically at what she was about to do. Her father would understand.

Nora came close. ‘I’d be willing to part with it.’ She may have received the bowl from her father for her birthday, but she had other items to remind her of him. Her books and shells had even more meaning to her. As she watched Lady Weber, she held her breath, hoping her idea would work.

Lady Weber turned to her, a glimmer of eagerness in her eyes. ‘You would? How much?’

Nora smiled. Ralston had said politics was a dirty business. As far as she was concerned, what she was about to do was a small bribe but not even close to dirty.

‘I don’t need the money,’ Nora said. ‘But I do have something else in mind. Something you can help me with.’

The robing room in the House at Westminster was brightly lit from the afternoon sun streaming in through stained-glass windows. Ralston wrinkled his nose at the faint scent of beeswax mingling with smoke.

‘Are you ready?’ Adler asked as he adjusted his crimson robe.

Ralston fastened the clasp of his robe. The garment was scratchy against his cuffs as he adjusted the sleeves. He managed to make a terse nod, his jaw stiffening. ‘I’m as ready as I can be.’

He’d met with as many lords as he could, attempting to persuade them to vote in favor of the bill. Some were eager for it to pass. Others had hesitations and Ralston was unsure of their support. And then there were those who completely opposed him—the number of which had seemed to grow over the course of the previous two weeks. No doubt Lord Weber, calculating and dangerous, had gotten to many of them.

Adler clapped him on the back. ‘I know you, my friend. You are the most prepared lord in the House. And you have my vote.’

It helped. It wasn’t enough to soothe the knot in his stomach, but he appreciated his long-time friend’s support.

Head held high, Ralston stepped from the robing room into the marbled corridor and then into the chamber. The air inside was warmer, loud, and alive with conversing scarlet-robed lords sitting on benches. A few turned to nod in recognition as Ralston passed. Others avoided his gaze.

As he’d expected.

Ralston took his seat just as the Speaker sitting on the woolsack raised his hand. The chamber quieted as he called the session to order.

‘The second reading of the bill, The Cotton Mills Act, which is sponsored by Lord Ralston, is presented. Debate, if any, shall commence.’

Ralston rose. His mouth was dry. Silence stretched, every eye fixed on him. He cleared his throat, then spoke. ‘It’s time,’ he said, ‘that we vote not for politics, but for conscience. The Cotton Mills Act seeks to do what we, as lords of this realm, should have done long ago: to protect our vulnerable children.’

A few voices murmured assent. Ralston continued. ‘The bill as written poses no hardship for our nation’s textile factories. As written, no child under the age of nine shall be employed in textile mills and no child from nine to sixteen shall work more than twelve hours in a single day.’

‘Here! Here!’ Lord Adler said.

Others nodded. The Duke of Huntington grinned. Lords Barnes and Reynolds murmured their approval. But Ralston knew better than to mistake nods for votes.

‘In my opinion,’ he added, his voice firm, ‘the bill does not go far enough.’ He recalled the little girl who’d lost her hand from a mill accident and died from blood loss. The image was as fresh in his mind as when he’d first witnessed it years ago.

Silence followed. Robes rustled. Ralston scanned the chamber. His mind calculated votes. Too many were uncertain. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Lord Weber as he stood.

Ralston turned to face him, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Weber’s voice was level and confident. ‘Others may not agree with you, Lord Ralston.’

Ralston was prepared for the argument and for further debate. ‘Pray tell me, Lord Weber, are those others being paid for by the factory owners?’

Silence resonated in the chamber. Weber’s lips twisted in a cynical smile. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But that is no crime.’

Ralston was surprised at the man’s admission. No crime, perhaps, but hardly an honorable admission. He also knew not everyone shared his own ethics, and it would not sit well with others in the room. Even more shocking, Ralston expected more finesse from his fiercest opponent. The man was no fool and was sharp as a whip. Rather than argue further, he stayed seated.

What was Weber playing at?

Before he could press further, the Speaker rose again. ‘As there is no further debate, it’s time to vote.’

Ralston’s pulse pounded as each lord wrote down their vote on a piece of foolscap and placed it in the ballot box on a table near the Speaker. Clerks counted the votes and then the tally was read out loud. Ralston stood stunned, scarcely believing his ears. The bill passed by a good majority, not the slim margin he’d predicted.

Lords shook his hand as they departed. The Duke of Huntington was one of them. Others nodded as they walked by. Afterwards, he found himself back in the robing room.

‘Well done, my friend!’ Adler embraced him with a grin. ‘The mill owners will be shocked and licking their wounds today. How do you feel?’

How did he feel? Exhilarated. Excited. Relieved that it was all over. Charged with energy and thinking of his next sponsored bill, possibly the one he had in mind to aid veterans.

And confused. A sense of uncertainty pervaded his victory. There was one man he needed to speak with.

He approached Weber in the corner of the robing room. ‘Weber.’

The man turned. When he realized it was Ralston, he gazed at him with a bland half-smile. ‘Are you here to gloat?’

‘No. But I would like to know what changed your mind.’

‘I never changed my mind about your bill.’

‘Then why the weak argument?’

Weber let out a puff of air. ‘Ask your wife.’

Ralston blinked. ‘My wife?’ What did Nora have to do with the vote?

Weber picked up his discarded robe. ‘She can be most persuasive.’

With that cryptic response, Weber departed the room, leaving Ralston alone with more questions than answers.

Chapter Twenty

Ralston found Nora in the storeroom with Mrs Hanning cataloging soap and dried herbs. The scent of mint and parsley filled the room. Large bars of soap were ready to be cut into smaller cakes and delivered to each chamber. He also caught a whiff of lemongrass, Nora’s unique scent.

‘Ralston!’ Nora’s eyes were large. ‘You are home early. How did the vote go?’

Both women looked at him with expectant expressions. His gaze lingered on his wife. She wore a plain blue gown, devoid of decoration or a single scrap of lace, with a simple apron. A kerchief covered her auburn hair. If there was guile in her brilliant, wide eyes, he did not see it. He was still processing his political win and his confrontation with Lord Weber afterwards in the robing room.

He addressed Mrs Hanning. ‘May I have a word alone with my wife?’

The woman bobbed a curtsy. ‘Of course, my lord.’ She wiped her hands on her apron then left the storeroom.

Nora began to remove her apron. ‘Shall I meet you in your study?’

‘No,’ he said, stopping her. ‘Here is fine.’ He stepped inside and closed the door. A small overhead window offered sufficient light so that a lamp was not needed. The room was lined with shelves full of preserved jars and bags of flour and salt. Dried herbs hung from hooks in the ceiling.

Nora’s brow furrowed. She looked lovely with whisps of curls escaping the simple kerchief.

‘The second reading of my bill went unexpectedly well and passed in the House,’ he said. ‘It’s now scheduled to go to the Commons. There it will assuredly pass.’

Her lovely face blossomed into a smile. Again, there wasn’t a hint of trickery. ‘Congratulations!’ She came forward to kiss him on the cheek. ‘I had every confidence in you.’

His heart pounded from her closeness. ‘Did you?’

She pulled back. ‘Of course! Why wouldn’t I?’

‘I had a most unusual conversation with Lord Weber outside the House chamber. To my surprise, his arguments against the bill were lackluster at best. When I confronted him and inquired, he told me to ask my wife. Is there something I should know.’

Her eyes widened and she bit her lower lip. It was a habit, he had noticed, when she was nervous, and he had an insane urge to kiss her, to lick the fullness, then suck it in his mouth.

She visibly swallowed. ‘I… I may have given Lady Weber something in exchange for her influence.’

His gaze snapped back to her. ‘What do you mean by something?’

Her fingers tightened before her. ‘When she’d attended my science salon, I noticed her interest in my father’s Armenian bowl. When you told me her husband was your opponent, a plan hatched in my mind. I invited her for tea and gifted her the bowl. In exchange, she promised to persuade her husband to not stand in your way.’

He stood stunned. Never could he have imagined she would go to such lengths. For him.

Again.

He knew she was intelligent, but he also recognized her cunning. She took time away from her own work to invite Lady Weber, strategically displaying what the lady most desired, and using it to carry out a plan. His wife had many talents and would make a fabulous politician.

And a perfect politician’s wife.

She continued to bite her lip. ‘Are you upset with me?’

‘Good God, no. Do you have any idea what type of true corruption occurs in politics? A gift of a bowl that a lady desires to add to her collection is not even close to bribery. I consider it resourceful and clever.’

His wife was his ally. He was grateful, not angry. ‘I’m only concerned with your sacrifice. The bowl was a gift from your father. Did it mean much to part with it?’

Her mouth curved in a smile and she shook her head. ‘Oh, no. He would have been happy to help.’

‘Then my thanks to you and to your father in heaven.’ Unable to resist her any longer, he swept her into his arms and kissed her.

Her arms wound around his neck, her fingers threading through his dark hair, and too soon a swift passion rose within him. His kisses turned savage, and she met him with a fierce need of her own. Silk sizzled against broadcloth where their bodies touched. The heady mix of his success and the thrilling woman in his arms drove him, and he wanted, needed, to possess her.

‘Oh, Devon.’ She sighed against his lips.

His head lowered, and he nipped the pulsing hollow at her throat. When she arched her spine towards the silken heat of his mouth, his lips travelled above the low-cut bodice of her gown. Her passion was as volatile as his.

‘I was worried you would be angry at my interference,’ she said, her voice breathless.

‘Angry? Never. And that’s not what I feel for you right now.’ He was shaking with his need for her.

‘Then let’s not wait.’ She reached for the top button on the flap of his trousers.

He stopped her. ‘Wait. Do you care if the staff hears?’

‘No. Do you?’ she asked.

Lust raged in his groin and his head. His hands spanned her waist. He lifted her up and turned to one of the shelves. With an outstretched palm, he swept the contents off the worktable and set her upon it. Soap cakes rolled across the floor leaving a strong scent of lemongrass.

His mouth hovered over a breast again as he reached behind her, his fingers deftly working the buttons of her dress until the bodice sagged. The tops of her lovely breasts above her chemise tempted him. He deftly worked one free and sucked it into his mouth. Her nails scraped his scalp, and her moan of pleasure fueled his lust.

He raised his head to look into her eyes. ‘You’re a treasure.’

His hands slid up her stockinged legs, reached past her frilly garters. The temperature in the room skyrocketed, and a film of sweat blossomed across her lovely flesh. He felt sweat beading on his own brow and made quick work of her drawers, which he pushed to the floor.

This time, when she reached for the flap of his trousers, he didn’t stop her. His cock sprang free, hard and urgent. He’d never been more aroused. He couldn’t wait much longer and knew he’d soon lose control.

Her green eyes glittered. ‘I need you, Devon. I need you so much.’

Good God. Sweat trickled down his back. He worried he wouldn’t last, and he needed to please her first. His shards of restraint snapped. He needed to be inside her. Now.

Cupping her buttocks, he plunged inside her welcoming body. She was wet and welcoming, and her body encased him like a glove. He stilled and groaned from the pure pleasure. She squeezed her legs about him, drawing him dangerously close to climax.

‘Nora, I’m not going to last.’

She pressed her lips against his throat. ‘Good. Nor am I.’

He began to move. The table shook with each thrust. He heard other items fall to the ground, dried herbs and a sack of flour that landed with a thud and burst at the seam. From the corner of his eye, he saw a white puff go up. Neither paid it any mind. His eyes never left her face, and when she tightened around him, he watched as she tossed back her head, her lips parted, and she peaked. Her nails dug into his backside and his climax was fierce.

He stayed within her as they both gasped for breath. Resting foreheads together, their heartbeats slowed. His lips brushed hers, slow and lovingly. The ferocity of their passion was rare. Finally, he pulled back and adjusted his trousers. Reaching in his coat, he withdrew a handkerchief. Wiping her thighs, he helped her stand and refastened her gown.

‘Nora, that was—’

‘Lovely. Utterly lovely. I believe you were right. The staff must have heard,’ she said.

‘Then they can gossip about the lord and lady of the manor.’ His heart hammered as he looked down at his wife. He feared more than ever before of losing his heart. He brushed her lips. ‘As much as I’d like to stay and hold you, I must meet with the gentlemen at the Commons. Most agree with my bill, but I need to rally even more support.’

‘Go. Do what you do best. But just so you know, I’m out of antiquities.’

He tossed back his head and laughed.

After Ralston departed, Nora ascended the winding staircase, her steps slow and thoughtful. She intended to bathe and change, though her body still sang with the memory of the afternoon’s lovemaking in the storeroom. Her lips curled in a self-satisfied smile. He had been tenderly fierce, a contradiction she found delicious. Afterwards, her limbs had melted against his, and for a blissful time, the world had existed solely within the warmth of his embrace.

Her earlier apprehension, when he had confronted her over her interference with Lady Weber, had been for naught. Rather than be upset with her, he had been proud of her efforts to help. He’d thought her clever.

He’d called her his treasure.

Nora pressed a hand to her heart, which now thudded wildly beneath her bodice. Her feelings for him deepened with each passing day. Every shared glance, each tantalizing touch, and shared intimacy made her long for him. Far from being sated, she found herself craving their time together more fervently. Unable to deny the truth any longer, she realized she was falling in love with him. He was everything she’d hoped for and more—a man who was not intimidated by her intelligence, who did not merely tolerate it, but admired her for it and encouraged her. Ralston was a world apart from Baron Umbridge. And she was grateful beyond measure that she was his wife.

But how did Ralston feel?

He had never spoken words of love. Yes, he admired her. He respected her.

But love?

Her hand clutched the balustrade, knuckles white, as uncertainty crept in. Her mind was a mixture of hope and anxiety. No matter how well they were getting along, a missing proclamation of love left a gnawing fear. A missing word—just one—could unravel whatever confidence she’d gained.

‘You have a letter, my lady.’

Startled, Nora turned to find the butler approach with a silver salver extended, a sealed letter resting atop it.

‘Thank you.’ She took the letter upstairs to her bedroom and sliced the seal with her letter opener to unfold the foolscap. Her heart began to pound as she read.

Lady Ralston,

It is with pleasure that we invite you to present your scientific findings of seashells to the London Scientific Society next week, on the seventh of July at two o’clock.

Regards,

Mr Simon Collins

She gasped. For a moment she stood frozen, then a cry of joy burst from her lips. She lowered the letter, her fingers shaking.

At last. She had worked towards this goal for years and wanted it for as long as she could remember. This invitation was a chance to validate her studies, to prove to herself and to others that she was truly a scientist. Her father would have been proud. Oh, how she wished he could be alive to attend her presentation.

Her thoughts immediately turned to Ralston. She was excited to share the news with him. She valued his support, and she knew, deep down, the invitation to present to the Society would not have come so soon, if at all. It was Ralston who’d introduced her to Mr Collins.

The room swirled with purpose. There was so much to do. She must begin preparing at once. Panic fluttered in her chest, light and urgent, and she dashed to her science room where her microscope and notes awaited.

But her thoughts returned to him.

When would Ralston come home? Their lovemaking was still fresh in her mind, and a pang of longing pierced her chest. He had gone to meet with more political allies, and she hoped that he would be successful. Somehow, somewhere, during their brief marriage, his work had become important to her, as well.

Her heart took another traitorous slip.

Her gaze darted to the mantel clock. How soon until he would return?

After a long morning in the smoky chambers of Westminster meeting with members of the House of Commons, Ralston entered White’s with a lightness in his step. He intended to meet Adler here. A porter bowed stiffly as he approached, the quiet of the club a stark contrast to the heated debates at the Commons. The familiar scent of pipe tobacco and brandy clung to the air, and the distinct clink of crystal and the rustle of newspapers could be heard as he walked through the club.

He spotted Adler sitting at a table in the famous bay window, a favorite spot with a commanding view of St James’s Street.

Ralston pulled out a chair and joined him. ‘Wilson, Edwards, and Hughes are now all on board,’ he announced. ‘We have a majority. It will undoubtedly pass in the Commons. Success is in sight.’

Adler grinned. ‘Success indeed! Let’s celebrate early.’

A liveried footman appeared and delivered two glasses of amber whisky in cut crystal.

Adler swirled the liquor before raising his glass. ‘Tell me,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘How did you turn Lord Weber?’

Ralston smiled as he ran a finger along the rim of his glass. ‘My wife helped. She befriended Lady Weber and strategically gifted her a rare bowl she had her eye on.’

Adler paused mid-sip. ‘You’re jesting.’

‘It was a bowl from her father’s collection that he brought back from his travels to the Middle East. It had significance to her. She did it for me.’

Adler leaned back in his seat, brows lifted. ‘Good God! You owe her.’

Ralston took a slow drink, the smoky burn of the whisky settling in his chest. ‘Indeed, I do.’ He acknowledged the truth. He wasn’t just grateful. He was astonished by her sacrifice. She’d done her research and had known precisely what Lady Weber had desired before preparing and carrying out her plans. Her strategy was as well plotted as any clever politician’s.

‘You lucky bastard,’ Adler muttered with a shake of his head. ‘She’s a loyal wife who helped your cause.’

‘Yes, she is.’ Ralston owed her a debt he doubted he could ever repay. A microscope and a science room didn’t even come close in his mind.

Adler eyed him. ‘You two finally shared a bed, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, we did.’ His grin was hard to prevent.

‘I told you,’ Adler said, his smugness unmistakable. ‘What took you so long?’

Ralston exhaled through his nose. He did not want to talk about his love life with his friend. But he could recognize it. ‘You were right. I should not have waited.’

If he’d known just how passionate their nights would become, he would have visited her bedchamber soon after their wedding night. Maybe even that night.

Their heated encounter in the storeroom still burned in his blood. Her tantalizing scent of lemongrass, the silk of her skin beneath his fingers, and her passionate cries as she climaxed had driven him to madness. He’d been urgent in his need, almost barbaric, and she hadn’t minded. She’d been just as demanding, and it was all he could do not to bolt home now.

‘It’s made you sharp and focused.’ Adler watched him with a knowing look. ‘And your wife is now your ally.’

‘Indeed,’ Ralston said again, this time more quietly. She’d clearly been concerned when he’d confronted her as if he’d think her actions were meddling. She had nothing to worry about. He looked forward to making it up to her tonight.

Adler studied him for a moment. ‘Hmm. Are you finally forgetting your past and losing your heart?’

Ralston’s grip tightened around his glass, the warmth of the drink now sour in his mouth at his friend’s question. That was the danger—sentiment and love. It clouded reason. Turned levelheaded men into pathetic poets. He’d sworn to not repeat history, to keep his head and never lose his heart. His feelings for Nora were complicated and he refused to acknowledge them. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. And Adler’s remarks put him on the offensive.

His tone turned cold. ‘Don’t be an idiot. Desire is not love. You of all people know this. How many affairs have you had?’

Adler arched a dark eyebrow, but his tone remained measured ‘Touché.’

Ralston lifted glass again, but this time his gaze went to the outside window. Carriages rolled by, the hustle and bustle of the London streets a meaningless background. In his mind, he saw Nora’s face, his gut clenching at her welcoming smile. He cared for his wife more than he’d ever expected to. Much more than he’d ever cared for Margaret. It wasn’t even close. And that thought scared him most of all.

Ralston returned home that evening. After handing over his hat and gloves to the butler, he was making his way up the stairs when Nora rushed down the hall to meet him at the landing. She threw herself into his arms, a flurry of skirts and warm, welcoming woman. He was immediately reminded of the storeroom and their heated lovemaking.

He’d just left Lord Adler at his club and discussed how he felt about his wife. Something tugged at his chest as he held Nora in his arms. Those feelings arose in a heated rush, and it took him longer than usual to set them aside.

He pulled back to look into her eyes. ‘Why the warm greeting, wife? I’m not complaining, but—’

She clutched his hand and tugged him away from the landing. ‘I have exciting news to share.’

She had no idea how sensual her voice sounded. He allowed her to lead him to her bedchamber. When she closed the door and leaned against the wood, he eyed her bed draped in a silk canopy. His arousal was fast and sure. His eyes returned to Nora. She was lovely with a simple day dress with pretty lace at the bodice and hem. Her hair was fashioned in a loose bun and his fingers itched to reach for the pins until the tresses brushed her shoulders and he could touch the silky strands. He’d take his time and spread them across her sheets in glorious auburn waves.

He wanted to give her physical pleasure. He also wanted to hold her afterwards. To cherish the quiet moments he experienced with her in his arms. Making love to her was different for him than with any other woman. It meant more, much more. A frightening amount more.

‘I received a letter from the Society,’ she said.

The eagerness in her tone caught his attention. ‘And?’

‘They invited me to present my findings on shells.’ She squealed in glee. ‘Oh, Devon! Look!’ She showed him the letter. ‘Mr Collins signed it. The man you invited to our house, remember?’

He was having a hard time remembering anything with her this close. He swallowed and focused on the parchment in her hands. He was thrilled for her and wanted to share her excitement. He cleared his throat. ‘Congratulations, Nora.’

Her green eyes were bright. ‘Will you attend? You must attend!’

She looked up at him as if his agreement meant the world to her. He wanted to be her hero. ‘My wife presenting to a prestigious London group? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

She pressed her hands to her cheeks. ‘I have so much to do. Do you think I can do everything in time?’

Her whole being seemed to be filled with waiting for his answer. ‘I have no doubt in your competency.’

She came close and kissed him on the cheek. ‘This is everything I’ve wanted and dreamed of for a long time.’

An unexpected stab of jealousy struck his chest. He wanted to be what she dreamed of and badly wanted. What would it be like if she wanted him fully, for all he was, and not just a physical sense? What would it be like if she was his, body and soul?

Get a hold of yourself, man! Where did that foolish thought come from? As he looked down into his wife’s lovely, animated face, he was determined to be happy for her while keeping his own emotions under control.

Chapter Twenty-One

‘My nerves are wound as tight as clock springs,’ Nora said.

‘Practice will help. I have a few helpful tips,’ Ralston said.

They were together in her science room. He sat facing her as if he were one of the members of the London Scientific Society. She stood in front of him, her notes in hand. Just thinking of her upcoming presentation made her palms sweat and the notes damp.

‘Start from the beginning,’ he said.

Nora took a breath. ‘My presentation today is on seashells, specifically how the mollusks who inhabit them can repair a damaged shell over time.’ She let out a puff of air and pinched the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger. ‘I fear I’ll stutter in my nervousness. Or worse, bore them to tears.’

He leaned forward in his chair, his long legs crossing at his booted feet. ‘Public speaking, especially presenting something that is of utmost importance to you is challenging. Before I rise to present a bill or argue its merits in the House of Lords, I become anxious, as well. I believe most do.’

‘You are successful. How do you overcome it?’ She couldn’t imagine him nervous. He seemed confident and sure in his cause. She imagined men listened when the Earl of Ralston stood to speak. Even those who opposed his bill must pay attention.

He studied her face with his enigmatic gaze before speaking. ‘First, you should know that you are one of the smartest people I know, and I have no doubt you will be successful.’

Her heart turned over in her chest. Did he know how powerful his words were? Or how meaningful? Before she could respond, he continued.

‘Make sure to look each of them in the eyes, rather than looking down at your notes,’ he said. ‘It’s a challenge, I know, but important. And remember, the Society invited you to speak, and they are genuinely interested in your work.’

She bit her bottom lip and curled the edges of her notes as she pondered his words. ‘They did invite me.’

‘I practice beforehand. Just like we are doing today. Sometimes I even rehearse my entire speech in front of a cheval glass.’

‘I never thought to do that.’ She looked at him in a different light. Perhaps his confidence came from preparation. She recalled that he spent hours in his study working hard.

‘You can also practice out loud when you are walking or riding in the park. Although, people may look at you strangely,’ he said, his lips curling in a smile.

She giggled. ‘I suppose they might. What else?’

‘Make sure you speak slowly, confidently, and not rushed,’

‘I shall try.’ She tended to speak swiftly when she was nervous or discussing her work. Her sisters had rolled their eyes when she talked about shells.

‘Others,’ he continued, ‘imagine their audience in their underclothes.’

She gave him a look of disbelief. ‘You’re jesting now!’

‘It’s true. The tactic never worked for me. However, if I were practicing before you, it would.’ He wagged his eyebrows.

‘You’re outrageous! Are you imaging me in my shift now?’ Her pulse leapt at his heated look.

His voice turned gruff. ‘I cannot lie.’

‘Would you like to then?’ She realized she wanted him, too. She was aware of the uneven rhythm of her breathing and a familiar shiver of awareness. She ached for his touch. Would it always be this way? Setting aside her notes, she met his eyes.

His gaze darkened with emotion. ‘Undress you? Yes, I’d like that very much.’ His answer was delivered with firm eagerness.

She turned and lifted her hair from her nape. ‘Then what are you waiting for, Devon?’

She was irresistible. Never one to waste an opportunity, especially when it came to his wife, he rose and pulled the pins from her hair. Thick auburn tresses spilled in his hands and cascaded down her back to land above her waist. He loved her hair. He lifted the silky strands to drape them over her shoulder. He then began to unfasten the tiny row of buttons on her gown. As an inch of creamy skin was revealed to his hungry gaze, he placed a hot kiss on the exposed flesh. She shivered. God, he’d never tire of touching her.

He made quick work of the remaining buttons, and she turned, clutching the gaping gown to her breasts. Her green eyes were bright with what he now recognized as desire. He briefly kissed her then stepped away. ‘I want to see you in the light of day.’

She released her hold on the gown and the silk dress slithered to pool at her feet.

He nearly bowled over. ‘Nora,’ he murmured.

‘Do you like it?’

A black bustier pushed up her luscious breasts and he could make out peaks of her rosy nipples. The garment nipped at her slender waist to flare over her feminine hips. Black frilly garters at her smooth thighs held up black stockings which encased her slim legs.

She was an erotic fantasy.

‘I know you admired my white shift,’ she said. ‘But I thought to try something different. The French call it lingerie.’

His voice was rough. ‘I like it very much. Come here. I’ll show you how much.’

She came to him, and he’d never wanted a woman as badly. He desired more than her body. He was assailed by longing and something that went deeper than just want. He wanted all of her. They shared their passion for their work and celebrated their successes. This was much more than lust. He wasn’t supposed to become this enraptured. A deep part of him wondered if he’d ever get enough of her to sate him.

He lifted her by her waist to set her on the edge of the desk. His fingers entangled in the silken auburn mass of her hair before he lowered his lips to hers. She clung to him as he kissed her deeply and possessively. His need was great and she was just as urgent. Tearing the buttons of his shirt, she reached for the flap of his trousers until her fingers fisted around his cock. He nearly spilled right then and there. Pulling her to the edge of the desk, he entered her with one smooth stroke.

He groaned as her hot sheath encased him. Her gasps of pleasure urged him on.

‘You feel so good,’ he whispered into her ear.

Her nails dug into his biceps. ‘And you feel just as good, and big.’

He moved roughly and she met him with her own wildness. She kissed his throat and licked his skin, until he felt her tighten around him. She called his name with a ragged moan as she peaked. He came with a low, hoarse growl.

Gasping for breath, he held her still. He could stay like this, burying his face in her hair, cradled by her softness. ‘I did not mean to be rough.’ He was appalled at his lack of finesse.

Her lips brushed his. ‘No, it was splendid. I do believe it will help me overcome my fear of public speaking.’

Heads together, they laughed.

Nora stood before a panel of eight members of the London Scientific Society. Seven of them were male, one female. After a week of studying, note-taking, and practicing before a cheval glass (as Ralston had suggested), the time of her presentation had finally come.

Her hands were folded before her, her notes on a lectern. She’d memorized the notes, another of her husband’s tips, but had them before her in case of necessity. Still, despite all her preparation, she’d been so nervous that morning. She’d only been able to nibble on toast and drink cold tea. She turned to scan the small audience, her gaze seeking Ralston’s.

He smiled and nodded, a silent show of encouragement. Her heart and confidence were buoyed. She recalled his impactful words before they’d left for the presentation in the carriage.

‘You have practiced and are prepared, and I have every confidence that you will do splendidly. Those stuffy Society members will be awed and impressed, just as I was when I first saw your sketches that day on a Cornwall beach.’

Once again, her heart fluttered in her breast at his encouraging words. If they weren’t in public, she’d throw herself into his arms.

Managing a smile, she turned back to the members. The seven men all looked somewhat similar. In their early sixties, with thinning hair greying at the temples, spectacles and serious expressions. She recognized Mr Collins. The others had nameplates before them—Davis, Evans, Brown and Johnson. The one female on the panel, Miss Lyons, was a tall, thin bespectacled woman with an even more serious expression. Nora suspected she would be the hardest to impress.

‘The London Scientific Society welcomes Lady Ralston to present her findings on seashells.’

Nora reached for her notes. ‘To the honorable members of the London Scientific Society, thank you for inviting me. Seashells have fascinated people since the age of time and shell collecting continues to be popular. Conchology, however, differs from mere collecting. It is the study of mollusk shells.’

The panel members looked at her, their gazes sharp and attentive. It was a good sign. She took a quick breath and continued. ‘Shells, like those of snails or clams, are made mostly of calcium carbonate. You can see my supplemental drawings of a cockle shell magnified four hundred times beneath a microscope.’

She’d previously submitted her drawings and she waited until the members looked at them. ‘When a shell gets damaged, the animal inside can repair itself by slowly producing more calcium carbonate from special cells in its mantle. The mantle is a soft tissue just beneath the shell.’

‘How?’ A question from Miss Lyons.

Nora leaned forward. ‘The shell lays down new material layer by layer, patching the broken area over time. The process is slow but protects the mollusk’s home—its shell.’

‘And are there specimens?’ Mr Davis asked.

She nodded. ‘Yes, I have a collection of damaged and repaired shells as exhibits.’

The rest of the presentation continued. She spoke, and the panel members fired off questions. She answered each inquiry and if she was unsure, she offered to supplement her research and submit it to the panel for future consideration.

By the time she was finished, she felt a thrill and her heart was pounding. Once again, she scanned the audience, looking for the only person whose opinion mattered. At Ralston’s wide grin, a warm glow flowed through her. She suddenly realized his approval meant more to her than that of any member on the panel.

Chapter Twenty-Two

After Nora’s presentation was finished and she collected her notes and stepped away from the podium, she felt shaky as her body adjusted to the rush of adrenaline. Members of the small audience, other scientists that had attended, all wanted to meet her. She thanked the Society members and made sure to seek out Mr Collins.

‘Your presentation was informative. You did not disappoint, Lady Ralston,’ Collins said.

‘It was,’ Ralston said, as he approached them.

After chatting with Collins a few moments longer, Ralston led her away and she was able to speak freely. ‘How did I do?’

His grin made her lightheaded. ‘Your voice didn’t waver, and you concisely answered every question asked. I say we should celebrate! You barely ate this morning. Are you hungry?’

‘I was so nervous, I couldn’t eat. Now I’m starved!’

His arm around her waist felt right and good. ‘We are not far from Threadneedle Street and the Cock Tavern is known for its famous turtle soup.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like that.’

Before they could depart the building, Miss Lyons came up to them. ‘Pardon the interruption, but may I have a word alone with Lady Ralston?’

Nora looked at Ralston, and he nodded in encouragement. ‘Go on. I’ll wait in the carriage.’

‘Of course.’ Nora followed Miss Lyons to a separate antechamber. Two tables crammed the room, and books were scattered across the surfaces. A globe rested on a cabinet by the window.

Miss Lyons’s eyes looked as big as an owl’s behind her thick lenses. ‘I have heard many presentations during my eight years on the Society board. Your study of seashells was different.’

The woman was difficult to read, and Nora could not tell if the statement was complimentary or not.

‘An opportunity has arisen and, as a woman, I thought to offer it to you. We received a royal grant and three of us will be travelling to the Continent to meet and live with scientists in Venice to share our studies for a year. We would like you to join our contingent.’

Nora blinked. The opportunity to travel to the Continent and meet and gather with other like-minded scientists had been a dream. First, the offer to present to the Society. And now this. The lightheadedness she’d felt earlier returned with a rush.

‘I—’

Mrs Lyons raised a hand. ‘No need to decide now, Lady Ralston, but we will need an answer by the end of the month.’

Nora nodded. ‘Yes, thank you. Thank you!’

She met Ralston on the street waiting by their crested carriage. He looked at her expectantly. ‘Well? What did she say?’

A moment of hesitation made her freeze. Looking into her husband’s expectant gaze, her voice was trapped in her throat. She couldn’t speak. The opportunity had been her professional goal for as long as she could remember, but things had swiftly changed. She would have to leave Ralston for an entire year, even longer if one considered the travel time. What she’d desired, longed for, suddenly did not hold the same appeal if it meant leaving him. Even more confusing, she knew he would not stand in her way, and the decision was her own.

She was aware of Ralston watching her, waiting for her response. She opened her mouth, then shut it. When she finally spoke, the lie easily slipped from her lips. ‘She said she was particularly interested in my notes and asked to visit our home to see more.’

His grin enhanced his attractiveness. ‘See? I knew it. She was impressed. We must welcome her.’

A stabbing guilt pierced her chest. She wasn’t ready to reveal the truth, not until she could organize her thoughts. Only then could she tell him everything.

Deciding one’s future took immense effort. It also resulted in much anxiety. After a quick meal, Nora waited until Ralston left to meet Lord Adler before she took herself to her science room. Surrounded by her books, shells and microscope, she lowered her head to her hands and rubbed her temples. She should be jubilant, thrilled, at the very least, feel a sense of accomplishment.

Instead, she was torn. Her life had taken an unexpected turn. She’d never wanted to marry and now she found that she liked her husband.

No, like was too weak a term.

She’d fallen deeply in love with him.

She looked forward to their time together, whether it was during breakfast or an evening meal in the dining room. He was clever and their conversations were never boring.

And their nights…

Never had she imagined such passion. Her skin heated thinking of their bouts of lovemaking. Still, one thing was missing. He had never proclaimed his love. She shouldn’t expect it. Their arrangement was based on their mutual convenience.

Love had never been a part of the bargain, and she’d been afraid to confess her feelings.

She reached for her notebook and dipped a quill in an inkwell. She was a scientist and scientists based decisions on facts first. She would make a pros and cons list. It would help to settle her rioting emotions. She also understood that she must organize her thoughts before she mentioned the offer to Ralston. He would help her make a decision. She would never accept any offer without telling him.

At one point she’d been hopeful she could be with child. She’d always been regular and could anticipate her menses. If she were, it would make her decision easier. She would not travel and risk her pregnancy. As if to crush her hopes, her menses had come that morning.

Her fingers tightened on the quill. She had to begin somewhere. She drew a line down the center of the page and labeled ‘pros’ on the left and ‘cons’ on the right. She began on the left. She was up to seven bullet points when a loud rapping on her door disturbed her.

‘What is it?’

Mrs Hanning entered holding a paper in her hands. ‘Pardon my intrusion, my lady. One of the maids reads the gossip rags. I tell the staff not to read such nonsense, but nonetheless, they—’

Nora was confused by the housekeeper’s ramblings. Mrs Hanning was always composed and proper. ‘It’s all right. What do you have there?’ Her gaze went to the paper in her hand. The woman was holding it so tightly Nora was surprised it didn’t tear.

‘It’s the Tatler, my lady.’

Something about the way the housekeeper’s voice wavered made the hair on Nora’s nape rise. ‘What does it say?’

‘Your ladyship and his lordship.’ The housekeeper thrust it at her. ‘Again, I never pay much attention to Society gossip, but this may have consequences.’

Nora took the sheet from her. ‘Thank you for coming to me straightway.’

The housekeeper bobbed a curtsy and left. As she read the item, Nora felt ill.

The love story of Lord and Lady Ralston is a farce. Turns out, their engagement came about when the lady was caught in his bed at a duchess’s house party in Cornwall. The scandal was as scorching as the country heat. One wonders, was the Earl forced to propose to prevent an epic scandal from ruining his growing influence in the House of Lords?

The paper dropped from her limp hands to flutter upon her desk. A terrifying realization washed over her. Would her mistake hurt Ralston’s political endeavors? Could it damage what he held dear, his political career? He was close, so close, to having his bill pass. The gossipmongers would feast on the story. If he lost after all his work, he might never forgive her.

Nora’s thoughts spun. How could she douse the fire before it consumed them? Who could help? She needed her own ally, someone with significance and influence in Society who could quell gossip or turn it in another direction.

Lady Weber.

She had grown closer to the lady after their private tea, and she sensed she would understand her predicament. She also knew she would have to be honest. Lady Weber was no fool and if Nora wanted her help, she must be truthful. Lady Weber was the most influential member of the beau monde she knew. She held social power and the other ladies listened to her. If she was on Nora’s side, then it would help with the gossip, maybe even turn it in her favor. It was a risk, but one Nora was willing to take. She would explain to Lady Weber how she had been desperate to get out of an unwanted betrothal to another man and that she wanted to be sure Ralston was not harmed by unnecessary gossip. She would even tell her about her offer to travel abroad. If leaving would help quell damaging gossip, then she would do what was necessary. Nora stood and snatched her reticule from the table. Rushing down the stairs, she didn’t bother to have a carriage brought around. She hurried down the street and hailed a hackney.

She needed help and she would do whatever it took to get it.

With a bounce in his step, Ralston climbed the front steps into the coffee house. Within a week’s time, his bill would be up for a final vote in the House. Without the fierce opposition from Lord Weber and his contingent of opponents, he expected it to pass.

Adler was waiting for him at a table, a coffee sitting by his right hand. His friend’s expression was not friendly. ‘Ralston, what took you so long?’

‘Am I late?’ He didn’t think so. He pulled out a chair across from Adler and sat. What was bothering his friend?

‘The gossip rag, the Tatler, is ablaze about you and your wife.’

Ralston’s brow furrowed. ‘What?’ He noticed the paper at the table.

Adler held up the infamous gossip sheet. ‘It says your love match was not as loving as you let on but rather a necessity because you two were caught in flagrante at the Duchess of Everly’s house party in Cornwall.’

Ralston frowned. He was annoyed by it. ‘Christ! No one reads that trash. And it’s now over two months ago.’

Adler gave him a look of disbelief. ‘I read it. And I can assure you, the pompous wives of the nobility read it, as well. And besides, didn’t you marry in order to avoid a scandal?’

His friend had a point. ‘Let me see for myself.’ He snatched the paper from Adler’s hands and read the column with rising dismay. He may be a married man, but the Tatler had wide distribution and his bill had yet to pass. As for his future and Nora’s…

‘Ralston!’

He turned at the sharp tone across the coffee house to see Lord Weber approach their table. A sliver of dread settled low in his gut. Had his nemesis read the column and was he here to gloat? Or worse, did he see an opportunity to strike?

Weber halted before them, and his mouth twisted in a crocodile smile. It didn’t look good. ‘A word alone, Ralston.’

Adler let out a sarcastic huff. ‘Fine. I would not want to get between you two old chaps.’ He looked at Ralston. ‘I’ll order for you.’

Weber took Adler’s seat. His gaze went to the paper on the table. ‘I see you read the Tatler.’

Ralston’s response held a note of impatience. ‘Is that why you’re here? To gloat?’

‘Your wife visited mine this morning,’ Weber said.

For the second time that day, he was caught off guard. He thought of why the two women would get together once more. Perhaps Nora enjoyed Lady Weber’s companionship and the two had gone out to Gunther’s for ices or taken a stroll in Hyde Park. ‘My wife’s social calendar is her own.’

Weber’s voice was cold and direct. ‘Then I suggest you ask her about it. I happened to be on my way out when I overheard the ladies talking. Your wife told mine that she plans to leave for the Continent with a scientific group.’

Ralston’s chest tightened and his jaw went slack. ‘What? You’re lying.’

‘Why would I lie?’

He could think of a dozen reasons, but looking into Weber’s eyes he sensed the man was telling the truth. And as far as he knew, Nora had not been invited to travel. If so, surely, she would have told him.

Unless…

His thoughts turned back to the day of her presentation to the Society. The female scientist had asked to meet with Nora privately. Nora had said the lady was interested in seeing her notes. Yet, the scientist had not yet paid a visit to follow through.

Ralston clenched his teeth.

‘I thought you should know,’ Weber said. ‘I won’t stand in the way of your bill. As for myself, I’m not foolish enough to upset my own wife. Enjoy your coffee.’ Weber rose and walked away.

Adler rejoined him. ‘Well? What did he say?’

‘That Nora is leaving the country to study with scientists. I need to go.’ Ralston rose, ignoring Adler’s shocked expression. He couldn’t waste another moment. He rushed out of the coffee house and hailed his driver.

When the carriage stopped in the circular drive, he rushed inside and barked at his butler. ‘Where’s Lady Ralston?’

‘Her science room, your lordship. Should I—’

Ralston rushed past his startled butler, sprinted up the stairs, and knocked on her door.

No answer.

He opened it to find it empty. His wife’s notebook lay open on her desk. That was unusual. She was usually neat and stored her notebooks in the corner in a tidy pile. He walked forward and glanced at her writings.

He froze.

A line in the center of the paper distinguished a list of pros and cons. He knew just what she’d been deciding. He pictured his wife sitting here, thinking logically, and writing down her thoughts. Italy. A year. The words were scrawled at the top of the list.

Seven pros.

Zero cons.

Lord Weber was right. Nora was going to join a group of like-minded scientists as they departed for the Continent.

It was like a punch to the gut.

He staggered back on the Oriental carpet, catching himself on the microscope table. His breathing was ragged. Had she made up her mind? Clearly, by her list, she had. When was she going to tell him?

Could he blame her for wanting to go? She’d never kept her ambitions a secret. He knew her goals before they married. She’d told him. She’d fulfilled one goal: she’d presented to the Society. She’d done well and now they wanted more from her.

Still, a sickening sense of betrayal swelled in his chest. Why didn’t she tell him first? Why did he have to hear it from his lifelong rival, Weber? After all they’d shared, he thought he meant more to his wife. Damnit, she’d learned how to cook for him.

Was it simply tit for tat? And did he have a right to protest? They’d agreed to a marriage of convenience. He’d wanted to avoid scandal and had convinced her to marry. He’d followed through with his promises. She had done the same. Now that her dreams were coming true, had she decided she no longer needed him?

And what of the heir? He could insist she stay until an heir was conceived. She, in turn, could argue she’d conceive when she returned. He could not force her to remain. And if she decided not to return? Or to find an Italian lover? That was a much more likely scenario.

His distrust of women returned in a rush. He was a fool. His first fiancée had cheated on him and lied about him being the father of her baby. Now his wife’s betrayal was worse, much worse. She’d used him to advance her career and was going to leave him without a backward glance. Her notes proved it, didn’t they?

Closing the door to her science room, he went to his study, poured himself a glass of whisky and sat in front of the fireplace.

Two hours later, he heard the front door open and rose. It was time to have a reckoning with his wife.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Nora returned home in a rush and hurried to her science room. After meeting with Lady Weber, she’d gone to her childhood home to speak with her sisters. Lady Weber had been understanding, both about the gossip rag and her offer to travel abroad, and would do her best to misdirect the gossip. Tongues would waddle for a few days, but then there was another scandal to take its place. Lady Sheffield’s youngest daughter was rumored to have been caught in the hay with the stable boy. Still, the gossip rag was never far from Nora’s mind. She needed support from her sisters and their shoulders to cry upon.

Her journal lay open upon her desk with the list she’d started before the housekeeper had shown her the awful, devastating Tatler. She still felt a sickening despair when she thought of the consequences such gossip was likely to bring.

The door swung open without a knock. Heart pounding, she whirled to see Ralston in the doorway. He stood tall and still and did not bother to enter. His normally meticulous attire looked askew. His cravat was loose, the top button of his waistcoat unfastened. Something was off. ‘Are you home to finish your list?’ he drawled.

She blinked. ‘Pardon?’

He took a step inside. ‘Your list. Your reasons for leaving for a full year to travel to Italy with those scientists.’ His tone was velvet yet edged with steel.

Her heart raced at his presence and his words. ‘You were in my room while I was gone?’ It took her a moment to realize Ralston was as angry as he was.

‘Only after I heard from Lord Weber of your plans.’

Her voice wavered. ‘Lady Weber told her husband?’ Had the lady betrayed her?

‘No. You see, he overheard your conversation with his wife. Bravo, my dear, for keeping it a secret.’

She’d never seen Ralston this distant and cold. There was an icy arrogance to him that raised the hair on her nape. She wasn’t afraid of him, but wary. ‘It was a surprise to me, as well. And I… I haven’t decided yet.’

He lifted a hand towards her open notebook. ‘That’s not what your list indicates. Seven concise bullet points skewed in one direction. For you to leave.’

She was right to be wary. This was bad. Very bad. He thought she was not planning to consult him. That was far from the truth. ‘You misunderstand. I haven’t made a decision yet. I intended to tell you after I’d organized my thoughts on the matter. As for my notebook and the pro/con list, Mrs Hanning interrupted me before I could finish. She showed me an item in the Tatler.’

‘The gossip rag? I know about that, too. Our love match is not as convincing now, is it?’ His face hardened in a way that made her stomach churn with anxiety. It was as if she could feel the coldness seeping between them. She needed to fix this, to let him know it was not as it seemed.

‘No, my lord. I’m sorry for any confusion.’ She reached for him. He stepped back.

‘Sorry for what?’ he asked, his voice sharp. ‘For slipping into my bed by accident? Or for our resulting marriage. Or for being deceptive about the offer to travel. Yes, I do believe you owe me an apology.’

The emotional distance between them grew and she felt a desperate need to draw him back. ‘You cannot possibly think that.’

‘Why not? Not once did you mention the offer you had received to travel. I’ve been thinking things through, my dear. The invitation must have been conveyed to you when the bespectacled woman asked to speak with you privately after your presentation. You blatantly lied and said she was interested in your notes and wanted to visit. Do you deny it?’

Her face grew warm and she knew she could not lie. She had kept it from him, but for different reasons. She needed time to rationalize. The offer to travel had been unexpected and she owed it to the scientific group—no she owed it to herself—to think things through before telling him. She’d never make a decision before consulting him.

And then there were her strong feelings for her husband, which made any decision the most difficult of all. Love complicated everything.

She was aware of him watching her, waiting for a response. ‘No, I don’t deny it. She asked me to join the travelling group to the Continent. But like I said, I needed time to think. This is just a horrible misunderstanding.’

He stood there, proud and angry. ‘A misunderstanding? You sat across from me in the carriage and at the Cock Tavern and never said a word all the while knowing you would leave. That sounds like a betrayal to me.’

A betrayal? He must be thinking back to his youthful years. He made it sound horrible when in fact she was terribly torn. She hadn’t decided, even now, and had planned to discuss it with him. His accusatory tone made her own anger arise. She opened her mouth to explain. ‘I—’

His jaw stiffened. ‘I won’t stand in your way.’ His voice was quiet, but held a frostiness that made her shiver.

She stiffened her spine. ‘Devon, I fear you are thinking of Margaret. I would never betray you in such a fashion.’

‘No?’ He took a step forward and faced her. ‘This, my lady, is worse. You never said a word when you had the opportunity to do so. I’d call that worse betrayal.’

‘You’re wrong! And the fact that you don’t trust me after all this time tells me the problem is not with me, but with you. I would have hoped such an exciting offer to travel would have been met with support, not anger. I never made it a secret how much my research means to me and that I’d wanted to travel with a group of scientists. I’d hoped you’d be happy for me.’

‘Perhaps I would have, if you’d told me instead of my finding out from my political nemesis.’

She rubbed her temple. ‘I’m sorry for that. But I told you I just needed time to organize my thoughts and think.’ She’d felt safe with Lady Weber and a genuine friendship had come of their time together. It made sense that Lord Weber had overheard their conversation. The lady would not have spilled her secret to travel.

‘You will have all the time you need to think on the blasted ship.’ His voice was hard, unemotional. ‘Go.’ He waved towards the door. ‘Our marriage is not real, is it? Rather, it is a businesslike proposition, nothing more.’

After all they’d shared, he couldn’t believe that, could he? She’d stopped believing that a long time ago. It wasn’t just their shared passionate nights. He meant more to her, more than she dared confess aloud. Not now. Not when his past had come between them, and, in his anger, he’d thought her worse than Margaret.

He gave a curt bow. ‘As for now, I believe time apart is best, my lady.’

She didn’t want time apart. She came alive in that moment. ‘That’s not true! I care for you!’

‘Care?’ he ground out. ‘A woman who cares would have told her husband about such an offer. You are selfish and care only for yourself.’

She stood stunned, her thoughts jagged and painful.

‘Do not wait up for me tonight, my dear.’ He turned and left the room, his booted feet echoing across the corridor. A minute later, she heard the front door slam closed.

Nora had never in her life felt so devastated. Her heart ached. She ate little and her sleep was disturbed. She woke in a sweat, her sheets tangled around her legs.

She missed Ralston badly. Their argument haunted her. She’d waited up for him that first night and had given up on sleep. She ended up in his favorite chair in the library, curled up in front of the low-burning coal grate.

She imagined what she would say to him when he came home. She loved him. Looking back, she didn’t know when her love had first blossomed. Was it when he’d gifted her with a room for her scientific endeavors? Or was it further back, when he’d funded her purchase of the microscope? Or was it the night she took him to a tavern, and he loved her family’s food? Her heart had slipped with each passing gesture, each shared moment. Marriage had been freeing and wonderful and passionate.

To make matters worse, Ralston didn’t return that night or the next or the next. A full week went by and his abandonment confused her. His lack of trust in her was more devastating. He’d thought her worse than Margret. It was far from the truth. He needed to learn to trust but that was not something she could do for him. He must recognize it himself.

As for her husband, the only news she’d heard was what she’d read in The Morning Post. The Cotton Mills Act passed in the House of Lords. Her fingers had trembled as she’d held the newspaper.

Ralston had to be thrilled. She longed to share his sweet success with him, but he failed to return. Nora’s anxiety was at an all-time high. Miss Lyons visited later that week. Nora asked for more time to decide, and the lady granted her two additional days.

Nora arose early and immediately sought out Mrs Hanning. ‘Where is his lordship?’

The normally proper housekeeper shifted her feet and lowered her eyes. ‘He never told us where he was going, my lady.’

Nora’s despair was turning into desperation. She had no reason to doubt the housekeeper. Ralston was not planning to return any time soon.

The clock was ticking, and she needed to make a decision. Ralston’s words returned in a rush:

Go. Our marriage is not real, is it? Rather, it is a businesslike proposition, nothing more.

He’d then proceeded to call her worse than Margaret. The hurtful words were like a knife to her heart. Would he abandon her after their argument? How could he be so mistrustful after all they’d shared? His inability to trust was too deep-seated for him to overcome. He should have trusted her or at least understood why she hadn’t told him right away.

Or was he glad for a reason to be rid of her?

She’d never considered this thought. Perhaps he was waiting for her to leave before he returned. He hadn’t planned on marrying. Certainly not as swiftly as he had. She was the one who’d slipped into his room, into his bed, giving him little choice. He’d been concerned that scandal would ruin his political career. But now that his bill had passed—in spite of the gossip everyone must have seen—there was no reason to keep her around. Maybe this was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Perhaps his leaving home was so that he would not have to say goodbye or put up with any feminine tears.

She would never believe this of him. But then again, she would never have believed he would walk out and not return.

Nora fought tears as she clung to the balustrade and she dragged herself up the stairs to her room. She threw open her trunk and began tossing clothes inside. Tonight, she would begin the painstaking task of wrapping seashells in paper and trying not to cry.

Packing was a time-consuming process. Her seashells were fragile and her books heavy. The microscope had to be packed with care. Then there were her dresses, shoes and accessories. Nora was grateful when Candace and Sara arrived to help.

Candace had taken over the task of wrapping her shells in paper. ‘It didn’t take this long to move you into this Berkeley Square home.’

‘That’s because most items were stored in trunks in the attic. I never had space to unpack them in our home. Mother would have disapproved.’

‘And here?’ Sara asked as she opened her wardrobe. She preferred to help with the clothes.

Nora packed her favorite treatise, Lovell Reeve’s Conchologia Iconica into the bottom of a second trunk. Her thoughts turned as she recalled the day her husband had surprised her with her own space for science. ‘Ralston gave me my own workroom.’

Candace touched the microscope. ‘He also gave you funds to purchase your own microscope.’

‘Yes, he did.’ Nora rubbed her eyes. She was exhausted from the turn of events. Her stress had increased each passing moment, each day and evening, that her husband did not return home. She’d spent last night tossing and turning in bed. At one point, she’d reached out to the pillow beside her for him. Her body ached for his touch and her heart ached for his love. She acknowledged that he might not feel the same for her. Still, had their time together meant so little to him? As for herself, she’d cherish it.

‘Are you certain about leaving?’ Candace asked softly.

She lowered her eyes to hide her hurt. ‘Ralston made the decision when he didn’t return home.’

Candace came close to touch her shoulder. ‘Oh, Nora. I hate to see you suffer. In my experience, men are selfish and lack loyalty.’

‘Travelling with scientists is what you’ve always wanted. You said it was your dream,’ Sara said.

Nora rubbed her temple. ‘Yes, it was. I mean it is.’

Both sisters looked at her.

Nora cracked a smile. ‘It’s only a year. I’ll return to you both with tales of Italy.’

‘You will get to see the Colosseum!’ Candace said.

‘And spend time in the seaside town of Sorento to find more seashells!’ Sara added.

Nora’s hopes buoyed. She valued the support of her sisters. ‘And when I return, I will bring home Italian silk cloth for you, Sara. And art supplies for you, Candace. I’ll also have much to tell you both of Italy.’

She turned to Candace. ‘Keep drawing, Candace. I spotted the political cartoon you had randomly sketched of Prinny spooning gold coins into his mouth and it made me laugh.’ She shot her a wink. ‘You sold it! Keep drawing—anonymously, of course!’ She was proud of her sister and how she’d decided to use her talent.

She turned to Sara. ‘Keep designing French lingerie and dresses, Sara. I have no doubt that one day your designs will be all the rage in the Bond Street shops.’

The three sisters hugged, tears welling in all their eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Four

‘Have you drunk the entire bottle of whisky?’ Adler burst into the room, startling Ralston.

Ralston grimaced. ‘Why? Do you want to join me? I’ll have Stevens fetch another and a glass. He came with this rented townhouse and will fetch anything I need. Convenient what money can buy, isn’t it?’ He’d been living in a rented dwelling on St James’s Street for a little over a week. He knew he would not stay here forever.

Adler came forward and picked up the empty bottle, then placed it on a sideboard. ‘Christ, Ralston. You look like horse shit.’

He bristled at the insult and glared at his friend. ‘What’s it to you? Besides, I’ve never felt better.’

Adler’s lips twisted in a cynical grimace. ‘I find that hard to believe. You should celebrate the victory of your bill passing.’

He should feel victorious. He’d worked on that bill tirelessly for over a year. He’d carefully drafted the law, made alterations to get more to agree to it, had met with lords to cultivate allies and practiced speech after speech in his study. He should be thrilled. He’d even imagined celebrating with his wife.

He felt nothing.

He should find the emptiness unnerving. He didn’t care.

Adler watched him. ‘You should also know you missed another House session.’

Had he? The thought of returning to the House lacked its normal thrill. A sourness centered in the pit of his stomach. ‘There will be others.’

‘You’ve never missed a session. Weber’s friends are still licking their wounds from your political win and will no doubt gather to propose a counter bill of their own.’

Again, nothing. He lacked ambition and the normal fire he felt from political machinations. ‘It will survive without me for the time being.’ He needed time and space away from her.

‘You should go home,’ Adler said.

Ralston shook his head. ‘Not if Lady Ralston is there.’

‘Go home,’ Adler said, his voice firmer. ‘You need to speak with your wife.’

Ralston shot him a hard glare. ‘Why? She is no different than any other woman. I should not have believed she was.’

Adler let out a long sigh. ‘Your wife is not Margaret.’

At the mention of his first betrothal, a spark of annoyance flared in his chest. ‘You’re right. Nora is worse.’

She was a liar. She’d told him she’d cared about him. It was nonsense, of course. What woman would lie about an offer to travel abroad for an entire year if she cared?

‘You don’t believe that about Lady Ralston. Margaret lied about the baby and cheated with another man.’

His short bark of laughter lacked humour. He’d believed Nora was a more trustworthy wife than Margaret would have ever been. Which made her betrayal worse. His feelings for his wife went much deeper than any he’d held for Margaret. It was why his chest felt like it had been carved out with a dull spoon, and he couldn’t face Nora.

‘My wife didn’t blink an eye as we celebrated her success after her presentation,’ he said. ‘All the while, she was planning to leave for a full year. Once she’s gone, she will most likely find another lover, a like-minded scientist.’

Adler’s voice hardened with frustration. ‘Then give her a reason not to leave. Christ, Ralston, you can be mule-headed. The problem is not with Nora but with you. You need to trust her. How long will you avoid her?’

Ralston grunted. ‘I’m in no rush.’

‘Then you better come to your senses and hurry because I heard Lady Ralston’s ship is leaving in two days’ time.’

Ralston sobered as fast as his body would allow. He endured a cold bath, three cups of coffee and a foul-tasting drink Adler swore would work to get the whisky out of his system. Stevens offered to shave him and after he dressed quickly, not bothering with the intricate folds of his cravat, he arrived home.

He couldn’t let his wife leave without further discussion. After all, they had a business agreement to uphold.

His butler’s eyes widened as he stepped into the house. ‘Your lordship.’

‘Where is Lady Ralston?’ he demanded.

‘Lady Ralston?’ The butler froze.

Before he could open his mouth and demand an answer. Mrs Hanning hurried into the vestibule and stopped short at the sight of him. ‘My lord!’

‘Lady Ralston. Where is she?’

His housekeeper stared, clearly at a loss for words. What the hell was wrong with his staff? They looked like frightened deer. A heavy feeling settled in his gut.

Mrs Hanning finally spoke. ‘Lady Ralston is…is—’

‘Where, dammit?’ He never swore to his staff and their eyes widened in unison.

Mrs Hanning jumped. ‘Her ladyship left for the dockyard an hour ago.’

He took a step back as if she’d slapped him across the face. ‘She left? I thought the departure was two days from now.’

The housekeeper shook her head. ‘No, my lord. Who told you that?’

Adler. His friend wouldn’t have known. And it wasn’t Adler’s fault anyway.

It was his.

Christ. Everything was his fault. For the first time, he experienced a sense of panic. Now sober, he recalled his cruel words. She’d told him she cared for him and how did he respond? He’d called her selfish and accused her of being worse than Margaret. What had he been thinking? His heart hammered in his chest and the tension that had been building inside him exploded with frightening intensity. Without another word, he spun on his heel and sprinted back to his carriage.

‘To the dockyards! With haste!’ he shouted to his driver.

As the wheels of the conveyance travelled torturously slowly through the city traffic and then over the cobbled stones leading to the docks, his thoughts were tormented. With pulse-pounding clarity, he realized he loved his wife. Nora was nothing like his ex-fiancée. What a fool he’d been to even compare the two women.

Nora was different. Intelligent. Vivacious. Passionate. And loyal.

She’d always been honest and it was his inability to trust that had driven her away. His political career meant nothing if he could not share it with her.

If she departed before he could confess his true feelings, he’d never be the same again.

Nora’s satchel and trunk had already been delivered by the crewmen and stored in the corner of the cabin. Another trunk rested beside hers, that of her cabin mate, Miss Lyons. They would share the small space for the journey to Venice. A bunk bed, a wooden table and a single chair occupied the rest of the cabin.

Nora hesitated, not knowing if she were to occupy the top or bottom bunk. She rubbed her temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Rather than excitement at her upcoming adventure, the nagging in the back of her mind refused to be stilled. Terrible regrets assailed her when she thought of her last conversation with Ralston. She’d longed for him to hold her, instead he’d been angry at her deception and had reminded her of their business arrangement.

The cabin door opened and Miss Lyons entered. The woman was dressed for travel in a blue merino wool dress without a scrap of lace. ‘Lady Ralston, I see you have settled in.’ She waved a hand towards the beds. ‘I prefer the top bunk unless you have a preference?’

‘No, that suits me.’ She watched as Miss Lyons set her satchel on the table. ‘Please call me Nora. We are to be cabin mates and will be spending time together.’ Nora sat on the bottom bunk. The mattress was thin, and it would be uncomfortable for the journey. Her headache increased in intensity.

‘Please call me Joan.’ The woman’s brown eyes watched her behind the lenses of her spectacles. ‘I sense you are troubled, Nora.’

Nora looked up. ‘Troubled? Forgive me if I seem deep in thought. It’s just the excitement. I am grateful for the opportunity to join the group for this experience.’

Joan tilted her head to the side and studied her like one would a rare item in a curiosity cabinet. ‘Yet, you are also conflicted, aren’t you?’

How could the woman tell? ‘Well… I—’

‘The day of your presentation, I noticed Lord Ralston in attendance. I also saw you two afterwards. He was happy for you,’ Joan said.

He had been. His unwavering support had meant much to her. She’d been horribly nervous, and his encouragement had helped. Afterwards, he’d been genuinely happy for her and had celebrated her success.

How had she shown her gratitude? She’d kept Miss Lyon’s surprising offer to travel to herself. Nora’s confusion over the decision had kept him in the dark. Did he believe she was going to leave him without a thought about their marriage and his own feelings? Although she hadn’t meant to hurt him, she had. It wasn’t fair to him, and she understood his anger. Was that why he’d reminded her of their initial arrangement? If only he would have allowed her to explain.

Joan took off her glasses, polished them on her sleeve, then slipped them back on. ‘As women scientists we have it especially difficult and must work harder to prove ourselves. Our research must be impeccable and well-documented. Men do not take us seriously.’

‘I understand.’ Nora wondered what the woman had gone through to become a member of the London Scientific Society. The male members must have resisted.

‘Science is a rare gift,’ Joan said. ‘We as scientists cannot simply stop thinking. Ceasing our studies is like killing a part of our brains.’

The woman’s encouragement was expected. Then why did Nora feel a wretchedness of mind she’d never known before?

‘And yet,’ Joan said, waving a hand, ‘true love is even rarer.’

Nora’s gaze snapped to hers. Was she insinuating that Ralston loved her? A raw and primitive grief overwhelmed her. If only it were true. ‘You are mistaken. His lordship has never professed his love.’

‘A man’s actions are more meaningful than his words.’

Nora stood closer. ‘What are you saying?’

‘Finding a man confident in his own masculinity, not intimidated by a woman’s intelligence, is uncommon. Finding one who supports a woman, fully encourages her endeavors, whatever they may be, is the rarest of them all and special.’

The words of wisdom were enlightening. Was it possible her husband did love her? His actions showed he’d cared, but love? It was a much more meaningful emotion. Was she wrong, did he care more than she’d thought?

‘What of you?’ Joan asked. ‘Did you tell his lordship you love him?’

She hadn’t. She’d been afraid of rejection. What if he felt the same? What if he found her pros and cons list before she could finish it and he believed she did not love him? He had difficulty trusting, but so did she. She should have told him she loved him. Was she brave enough to confess her true feelings now?

Was it too late?

The blast from the ship’s horn made her jump.

‘Do you still wish to join our group?’ Joan asked.

She was grateful to the woman. Travelling with scientists may have been her dream, but it no longer held appeal. Sometime during her marriage, she’d changed. She still wanted to pursue her science but there was nothing stopping her from doing that as she saw fit now. If another opportunity to travel arose in the future, she would travel with her husband.

As for Venice, her heart belonged elsewhere.

‘Thank you for your advice. I have changed my mind.’ Nora reached for her satchel. ‘My apologies to you and the others but I must disembark at once!’

Ralston gritted his teeth as the cab slowly made its way through the city traffic. His frustration rose with each passing moment. At last, the strong odor of the river drifted through the open window of the carriage and he spotted the tall masts of ships docked at the wharves. He was out of the carriage before the wheels came to a full stop. It had recently rained and his boots splashed in puddles on the cobblestones. He halted only to scan the dockyard for a ship large enough to travel across the ocean.

His nerves were raw, his mind congested with fear. By the grace of God, he spotted a passenger-carrying merchant ship and ran to where it was docked. He sprinted past startled dockworkers, jumped over a crate, ran past a dog and kept going.

‘Devon!’

He heard his name just as he spotted her. Her auburn hair and the proud slope of her shoulders came into view. His wife.

‘Nora!’ he shouted.

She had begun to disembark. He realized she was leaving the ship not because she saw him but of her own volition.

‘Nora!’ he shouted again and waved his arms.

‘Devon!’ Headed for the dock, she began to hurry. He met her halfway across the wooden boards and swept her into his arms and held her tight. ‘Nora, love, I was so worried the ship would have departed before I could see you.’

‘My lord, I—’

‘Shh. Please let me speak first.’ He set her down but didn’t let go. He willed her to understand with the desperate longing in his gaze. ‘When you slipped into my bed that fateful night at the house party, I was already falling under your spell. And when I got to know you, to realize your intelligence and free spirit, I was lost. My pride prevented me from seeing the truth, and my past kept me from trusting. When I realized you were leaving, my heart nearly split in two. My words were cruel at the house, and I should never have left you and stayed away. I was afraid of losing you and lashed out. I’m sorry for how I behaved. Please forgive me.’

‘Devon,’ she touched his cheek.

Thankful he had caught her before the ship sailed away, his arms tightened around her. ‘The thought of spending a future without you is dark and bleak. My political career is meaningless if I don’t have you to share any successes with.’

He released her long enough to look in her eyes intently. ‘I love you, Nora, with all my heart. You are nothing like Margaret. You are night and day, and you have saved my soul.’ He dragged in a deep breath before continuing. ‘I know travelling with a scientific contingent was your dream and if you wish to go, I will support your endeavors. I will wait for you, no matter how long it takes. But you cannot leave without me telling you how I feel, my love.’

Her green eyes were bright with tears. ‘Oh, Devon,’ she said. ‘I love you, too. I’ve loved you for so long. I don’t want to leave you. Travelling was my dream. But things have changed for me as well and I want to stay with you.’

He struggled to draw air into his lungs. His heart thundered in his chest at her sweet words. He pulled her back into his embrace. He wanted and needed her like the air that surrounded him. ‘Truly?’

‘Yes. As a member of the Society, I can pursue my science in London. But what I want most of all is you. My husband. We work best together.’ She wrapped her arms around him.

His heart sang with delight. He held her to him and exhaled a long sigh of contentment. ‘We can both have everything we want regarding our work and I’ll always love and support you. I let my past cloud my judgement, but no longer. I trust you implicitly.’

‘But what of the gossip rag?’ she asked against his chest.

He looked down at her and grinned. ‘Who cares?’

‘Yes,’ she said, her lips curling with a secret smile. ‘Who cares? Let’s really give them something to gossip about.’

Epilogue

Three Months Later

‘We have plenty to be grateful for,’ Nora said.

She sat at the end of the dining room table with Candace to her right and Sara to her left. Ralston sat at the head of the table. Adler had also joined them.

‘I am the most grateful of all for my lovely wife,’ Ralston said.

Nora felt her cheeks heat.

Candace spoke up, ‘I was unsure of Lord Raslton. I’ve always been protective of my sister. But you have made Nora brilliantly happy and so I am honored to have you as a brother-in-law.’

Nora understood Candace had a distrust of men and her approval meant much to both of them. She hoped her sister would one day find happiness like she had.

Sara pushed her hair across her shoulder. ‘I always knew it was a good match.’

‘As did I,’ Adler said. ‘Even though my friend can be mule-headed.’

Ralston chuckled. ‘I’m no longer mule-headed. Marriage has cured me of my faults. Now, as my wife said, we have much to celebrate. Nora’s been invited to join the Scientific Society. I only hope you have no regrets from not travelling, my dear.’

Nora sat up straighter. She’d been thrilled when she’d received the invitation to join the Society. She’d never dreamed they would ask her. ‘I have no regrets. I have much more I can do here as a member. I hope to inspire other budding lady scientists.’ She eyed her husband. ‘And I hope you consider proposing another bill.’ She’d been so proud when his bill on child labor had passed.

Ralston’s lips curled up. ‘It’s on my mind.’

Candace nodded. ‘The scandal has passed over.’

‘She’s right,’ Sara said, a glint of mischief in her eyes. ‘Did you hear Lady Gavinport’s lover was caught hiding in the maid’s closet when Lord Gavinport came home unexpectedly? It was rumored he had to stand in a cramped closet for over two hours.’

Nora gaped. ‘Two hours!’ The man wasn’t thin and she couldn’t envision it.

Ralston waved a dismissive hand. ‘See? The ton is fickle and they have a voracious appetite for new gossip.’

Nora’s heart swelled as she gazed at her husband. He caught her eye and smiled back. She’d sneaked into the right bed the night of the house party. She couldn’t imagine being with another.

He raised his glass. ‘To my lovely wife.’ He turned to study those at the table. ‘And may each of you find someone as special.’

All the glasses rose.

Keep reading for an excerpt from HER ROYAL HOUSEGUEST by Jade Lee.

Tina Gabrielle’s Armenian Boreg (Cheese-Filled Phyllo)

Ingredients:

1 package 459 g (16 oz.) Phyllo Dough

250 g (½ pound) melted salted butter

115 g (4 oz) feta cheese, crumbled

240 g (1 cup) cottage cheese

230 g (8 oz) shredded Munster cheese or Monterey Jack cheese

1 egg beaten

20 g (¼ cup) freshly chopped parsley

Pinch of nutmeg

Directions:

Preheat oven to 180 degrees C (350 degrees F). Brush the bottom of a 33 x 23 cm (13 x 9-inch) baking tray with butter and set aside.

Mix cheeses, egg, nutmeg and parsley in a bowl.

Cut a phyllo sheet in half vertically to have a long piece. Place a tablespoon of cheese filling at the bottom of the piece. Fold in half lengthwise, from left to right, then fold corner to corner in the shape of a folded flag. Brush each piece with butter and place on the baking tray. Repeat until the tray is full.

Bake for about 40 minutes or until each piece is golden on top. Enjoy!

Mills & Boon®

Coming next month

HER ROYAL HOUSEGUEST

Jade Lee

Book 1 in Princes of Siam

Thinking it was one of the female servants at the door, Prince Deva spoke too harshly.

‘Be gone! No woman is allowed here!’

Lady Anna drew up short at his hostile words. ‘Your place was my place not more than an hour ago,’ she snapped.

She abruptly clenched her teeth and forced herself to dip her chin. He could see the struggle to give him even that much and he respected her for it. How many times had he been forced to swallow his own outrage? Her next words were more polite but the tension remained clear.

‘Either way, I am not in the attic. I stand short of the door.’

It was true. She stood one step below the threshold. He, in turn, had to give her an equal measure of respect. After all, she was his host’s daughter.

‘How may I assist you, Lady Anna?’

‘I thought I could help. I understand that I’m not allowed up there but surely I could pass you cleaning supplies? Carry water? Or you could hand me my books,’ she said, gesturing to the pile he had set aside. ‘I will take care of them.’

He sighed. ‘These are your books, then?’

‘Yes. Everything except for the old nursery furniture.’

He nodded. ‘These books are not healthful for your mind. I can burn them for you.’

She frowned. ‘I beg your pardon.’

‘I have seen the damage such reading has done in my country. I do not wish you to suffer the same fate.’

Her hands settled on her hips, her attitude one of quiet fury though her tone remained polite. ‘You want to burn my books?’

‘It is the best thing for you.’

‘It is never the best thing!’ she snapped. ‘And you have no idea what is best for me or not!’

Continue reading

HER ROYAL HOUSEGUEST

Jade Lee

Available next month

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