Was she just another in a long line of strays?
A few minutes later, after pulling out several intricate-looking tools from a rolled pouch he carried on his person, Mr. Taft called across the room. “Mrs. Hurwell, can you come over here, if you would? This part here needs a woman’s delicate touch and smaller fingers.”
“Certainly.” She transferred Cyclops’s muzzle to the chair and stood without meeting Lord Tremayne’s gaze. There was too much unsaid between them, too many emotions roiling through her (and she couldn’t even begin to fathom what he must be feeling). Nay, when she stared into his eyes again, they needed to be alone.
So she walked forward as normally as she could manage, keeping her gaze trained on the stately contraption. Though the room seemed to swirl and spin around her, the walls coming closer, then receding at once, the giant orrery remained a touchstone.
Lord Tremayne blurred as she approached, the floor beneath her feet pitched as though they were at sea. But the orrery stayed in sharp focus. Uranus wasn’t a mere blue ball, she realized as she fought the strange sensations and closed the distance. It was a perfectly spherical carving from lapis lazuli.
How beautiful. How…ordinary.
When her entire world just kept whirling. Whirling. Like that dratted planet needed to, in order to please the man who’d given her so much.
When she reached the intimidating apparatus, she skirted round it and came up directly between the two gentlemen.
Where she reached out and found Lord Tremayne’s arm. He was no longer hazy; no longer blurry. He was solid strength and quiet, gentle power. Safety and seduction.
He was the best thing she’d ever come into contact with, and she wasn’t about to give him up.
She slid her fingers down his shirtsleeve until she could slip her hand into his. Without their audience being aware, she gave a light squeeze, mindful of the handkerchief wrapped around the cut finger, telling him without words that she wouldn’t be the one to abandon what they’d started.
Only when Mr. Taft spoke again did she reluctantly release her hold.
“Right here.” Mr. Taft indicated where he needed her assistance. “If you could just…”
An hour later, after they’d finally coaxed Uranus to rotate as it should, in proper concert with the other six planets, and very aware of Thea’s gaze boring into his back, Daniel escorted Taft out of his study.
All things considered, it had been a tolerably successful evening.
In addition to his grandfather’s orrery, the three of them had also tweaked another one where Jupiter insisted on circling too fast (actually, Thea had nimbly adjusted the mechanism—after she’d wound them all up for Taft’s enjoyment—while the two men looked on).
Imagine that—a mechanically minded female.
Imagine that—his childhood idol exposing his secret sins to that very female.
Imagine his surprise when she hadn’t stared at him with derision or ridicule. No pity or sympathy either.
Just unwavering, silent support. Daniel hadn’t—
“Lord Tremayne, you must forgive an old fool usually surrounded by family and used to flapping his jaws at the least provocation.”
Barely three steps down the stairway, Taft launched into the most effusive of apologies. “It became apparent to me as the night wore on I’d veritably stepped in it. Oh, she tried to cover it, but ’twas apparent you’d not yet let on to Mrs. Hurwell about the speaking hesitations. Amazing, really, that you mask it so well. To get close enough to court a woman without her knowing—
“But that’s neither here nor there.” Upon reaching the entry, Taft stopped to draw on his coat, piercing Daniel with a sincere look of regret. “I humbly beg your forgiveness for letting my tongue tread where it had no business.”
Before Daniel could grant absolution and proffer his sincere thanks for all they’d accomplished, the man clamped his hat on his head and clapped his hands together. “Well now, seeing your collection has proved the pinnacle of my London jaunt. That and seeing Mrs. Hurwell so happy. Do please give her a chance, my lord. With the truth I mean. She’s both kind and resourceful. Wouldn’t have said so in her presence, but I always thought she was wasted on ol’ Hurwell. Bit of a curmudgeondy fellow if you ask me.”
“I agree,” Daniel got out before Taft nodded politely and exited, Swift John overly eager to summon the carriage that would return the clockmaker to his hotel.
That was fast.
Just then his housekeeper bundled by. Catching sight of him, Mrs. Peterson paused with a smile and open look of inquiry. Is there anything I can do for you? her kindly face asked.
The woman couldn’t hear a lick, which had always suited Daniel just fine. She read lips and gestures remarkably well. So it was easy to retrieve Thea’s pelisse, point to a spot on the sleeve, and make a motion with his fingers. With a nod, Mrs. Peterson bustled off, pelisse in hand.
Swift John stomped back in, wiping his wet feet on the rug. “Nice gent,” his footman commented, smoothing down the ever-present cowlick with a rain-slicked hand. “Friendly sort.”
Daniel grunted.
What now?
Taft was gone. But Thea isn’t.
The air expelled from his lungs so hard they ached.
“Well?” Swift John damn near clicked his heels together.
Daniel glared.
His servant ignored him and stared up the staircase, gaze fixed in the direction of Daniel’s study. “So, your lordship, she’s up there, is our Miss Thea…”
Our Miss Thea?
What? It wasn’t enough he’d not been alone with her all day; now he was expected to share her with his servants?
Something rather akin to a growl surfaced from the depths of his chest.
The impudent servant only grinned. “Aye, up there. In your study. All alone. Waiting. Fer. You.”
Swift John couldn’t have yelled Get your cowardly arse up there! any louder.
Where was a good opera when one needed to escape?
4
Whereupon the Mistress Becomes the Master
Once the mistress masters masterpieces her masterful master masterfully teaches, she manifests these mastered expertises upon his masterful centerpiece with eager reaches!
Kamasutra (as translated
