I Thee Wed, page 14
“I could mix a combination of aluminum oxide and ammonia,” Charlie was saying. “It makes a lovely purple smoke.”
If little Charlie thought he was going to out-scientist her, he had no notion of with whom he dealt! Attie wasn’t about to be one-upped by a genius half her age, or half her size, for that matter.
Attie folded her arms. “Smoke? Why make smoke when you can make fire?”
“Or I can silver-plate a copper penny . . . if there is any silver nitrate.” Charlie squinted up at the high shelves of neatly labeled chemicals. “It isn’t as though we need to actually make anything . . .”
Attie seized upon that idea. “Exactly. We should invent something of our own.” She narrowed her eyes in speculation. “Something entirely new.”
Charlie blinked at her admiringly. “Really? You can do that?”
Attie was well aware that pride was a dangerous element to add to any experiment, but the shine of admiration in little Charlie Darwin’s eyes was quite inspiring, especially as the rest of the world seemed inclined to see her as something between an oddity and a criminal.
“I don’t see why not,” she said airily. “After all, many great inventions were discovered when someone added the wrong thing by mistake. Why not simply make a mistake . . . on purpose?”
Charlie’s pale blue eyes widened. “But . . . my grandpapa said that playing in the laboratory is dangerous. He said that no one should try anything unless they know what they are doing.”
Attie could not let the idea go now. To do something new, to make even Orion widen his eyes in surprise or, dare she hope, wonder . . .
“I will select three items,” she decided, calm now that her resolve was set. “One from each shelf. To ensure that my selections are random, I shall close my eyes.”
The top shelves were very high. Attie would bet even Orion had to go on tiptoe to reach the glass containers, tightly lidded, some sealed to keep air from entering. The shelves were little more than a foot apart in height. They would make an admirable ladder.
Swiftly, before her own common sense managed to stop her—poor, weary common sense; she hardly knew why it bothered anymore—she clambered up the shelves to the topmost. Just as she’d promised, she closed her eyes before reaching for the farthest jar she could manage.
Clutching it tightly against her chest, Attie climbed nimbly back down to the floor. She handed the jar to Charlie without looking at it. He juggled the large jar to see the label.
“It is—”
Attie interrupted him with a single imperiously raised finger. “No, don’t tell me.”
She returned to the ladder of shelves and grabbed another random jar from the second-highest shelf. After repeating the procedure once more from the next-lowest shelf, she watched as little Charlie hefted the third jar onto the marble-topped laboratory table.
Attie hopped down the last few shelves and landed in a crouch. Charlie hadn’t seen that adept maneuver, as he was peering at the neatly written labels and sounding out the contents aloud.
“Gyp-sum.”
Hmm. Attie frowned in disappointment. Gypsum was rather inert, as chemicals went. Really just ground chalk, in fact.
The next jar Charlie read was better.
“A-qua For-tis.”
Attie didn’t recognize the name, but she knew her Latin. Strong water.
Ooh. She might be able to work with that.
The third made Charlie pause. He shook the jar, disturbing the white powder within. “Spir-its of Salt.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Does that mean it is just ordinary salt?”
He seemed disappointed. Attie took action. With a grand gesture, she fetched a large beaker from the shelf of glass receptacles. “I shall begin with the gypsum,” she pronounced gravely.
Charlie rested his arms on the edge of the table and stood on tiptoe to rest his chin on them while he watched her measure out a small pile of gypsum powder on the scale. Attie wasn’t sure why she should measure, but measuring was fun, and it gave her something to do while she hid her hesitation from Charlie.
Her common sense was barking like a guard dog at a band of sneak-thieves, and the loudness of it in her head made her strongly consider stopping before matters got entirely out of hand.
Then she made the scale balance perfectly with a casual pinch of extra gypsum, and Charlie pursed his lips. “Ooh,” he whispered. “You’re very good.”
His admiration was a balm to her self-respect. Attie shut the guard dog in the cellar and latched the door.
She slid the small pile of gypsum into the beaker and reached for the next jar, “Spirits of Salt,” its contents powdered as well. She decided to measure out twice as much of it, purely for the sake of effect. That went well, and she felt that Charlie was suitably impressed. Thus distracted, she absentmindedly dumped the spirits of salt into the beaker all at once. The impact of the pile of powder sent a small cloud of dust into the air.
They both backed up, coughing and wiping their eyes.
“That seems strong,” Charlie said hesitantly. “Are you sure we ought to do this?”
The guard dog was digging furiously at the locked cellar door, but Attie had come too far to back out now. Charlie wouldn’t find her so impressive or clever if she did.
“Just wait,” she told him with a sniff. “We are about to set modern science back on its heels.”
She turned to the “Aqua Fortis” jar and tugged at its waxed cap.
* * *
AFTER LEAVING THE park, Orion and Judith turned the corner onto the square where Blayne House stood. As they approached it, Orion regarded the pristine white marble facade with a new eye.
If Judith was a model of exemplary English womanhood, then Blayne House was a matching paragon of neoclassical British architecture. Both were flawless, stylish, elegant—and housed more mysteries within than an observer might first detect.
The only difference being that Judith was—despite occasional evidence to the contrary—an entirely human woman. She should not feel forced to be so cold, so perfect, so impenetrable. She should be laughing, or arguing, or even crying. A Worthington woman would have likely done all three in the past hour alone. Judith had done no more than clasp her hands, yet somehow she had managed to project emotion powerful enough to undo the stitches in her gloves.
Orion was beginning to wonder if in their own way, the occupants of Blayne House were not every bit as mad as those of Worthington House!
The door opened magically before them, in that otherworldly way Pennysmith had about him. In the front hall they encountered Francesca and a footman.
Francesca greeted them both with a grin, even though Judith’s maid, Eva, was helping her into her outerwear.
Orion recalled that he had never seen Eva flutter about Judith, waving a dropped glove while trying to tie the dangling strings of her bonnet beneath her chin.
Orion stood with Judith and watched the beleaguered Eva attempt to dress Francesca, who was far too busy chattering on about her proposed adventure to Portobello Road.
Judith turned her measured gaze upon Orion. “She means to purchase books.” Her tone merely reported a fact.
Orion supposed that from Judith’s perspective, bringing anything home from a dusty London shop to join the superbly selected Blayne collection seemed rather unnecessary and wasteful of her time. However, he could not help but feel his gaze drawn to Francesca’s bright eyes and flashing grin.
Her excitement was contagious. Thinking of the sight of leather bindings, full of new worlds and ancient discoveries, Orion felt an acquisitive tingle in his own fingertips. His home might split wide down the center if he tried to bring any more books into it, but that had yet to stop any Worthington from trying to wedge a few more volumes onto the bowing bookshelves within.
The temptation arose within him to offer his company on the excursion. He pictured a madly ecstatic Francesca, armed with her canny Italian bargaining skills, turned loose upon the booksellers of Portobello Road. The result might be akin to a trip with Attie to buy sweets. Or books. Even Attie herself would be hard-pressed to choose between the two things that made life worth living.
However, it was obvious that Judith felt such a day out was a poor use of one’s time. It was certain that Sir Geoffrey would hold the same view. Orion must remember that he had much to prove to the Royal Fraternity. Whiling a day away poring through jumbled shelves of shabby volumes would do nothing to further that goal.
With a tinge of regret, Orion held his tongue. When Eva breathlessly threw up her hands and backed away, Francesca appeared to be a slightly off-kilter version of Judith.
Except from the front, of course. And the rear, Orion observed as the ladies turned away. Eva turned to assist Judith in removing the outerwear she had just shoved Francesca into.
Judith’s slender grace gave her twill overcoat a statuesque trace of style, while Francesca’s shorter, rounder form did its best to remind the male of the species of his duty to find a mate and procreate!
Orion blinked back a sudden urge to chase after Francesca to guard her—claim her!—from any other fellow with a functioning cardiac system and at least one working eye!
That was when Erasmus Darwin hurried into the foyer. His wig was askew and his eyes worried. “Has anyone seen my little grandson, Charles? He went to play in the garden, but he isn’t there any longer.”
Francesca’s eyes grew wide. She shot him a glance of alarm. Orion stepped quietly to her side.
“What is it?” he asked her in a low voice.
She leaned close enough for him to catch her orange-blossom scent. “I saw Attie earlier. She came in the back way to feed the rabbits for me.”
Chaos followed Attie like a faithful pup. Chaos was loud and furious and easily detected.
Chaos, although disruptive, was vastly to be preferred over quiet.
They listened for a long moment.
“Damn,” Orion cursed softly. “It’s too quiet.”
Chapter 18
ORION put one hand on the latch of the laboratory door, but instead of resisting, it swung open at once. A tingle of warning went through him. Then he heard his sister’s voice. The alarm transformed into full-blown panic.
“And now I’m going to add the aqua fortis to the spirits of salt mixture—”
The two main ingredients of hydrochloric acid.
“No!” Orion flung himself into the laboratory. He saw Attie pause in shock and half turn toward the door. The little boy, Charlie, turned his head to gaze pale and openmouthed, the picture-perfect image of a child caught in the act.
Even as Orion’s long legs ate up the distance between them, he could see the clear liquid trembling on the lip of the jar in Attie’s hand. With her attention on his mad dash forward, she had frozen as commanded. However, that was the funny thing about gravity. It was always there when one least wished it to be.
The moment stretched, but Orion could see that he was too late, even as he flung himself at the two children. The momentum from Attie’s startled turn had sent the liquid in the jar sloshing to the back. Now it sloshed forward again, forward . . . and out.
“Get down!” Even as he shouted the warning, he was there. Stretching both long arms, he caught a child in each, eliciting a yelp from Attie and a high, feminine scream from little Charlie. Spinning his body, he clutched the two genius brats close and bent his back to shield them from the—
Crack!
The crystalline shatter filled the room as the glass beaker disintegrated from the explosive heat of the sudden chemical reaction. Orion felt boiling liquid spatter over the back of his coat and upper sleeves. The heat was intense—but that was only the beginning, he knew.
He hefted both youngsters into his arms and ran from the laboratory. As he flashed through the doorway, he glimpsed a pale Francesca just outside, her back still pressed to the outer wall of the building. Her eyes widened even further when she saw him. He thrust Charlie at her, sending the boy through the air without allowing his little booted feet to touch the grass. “Check him!”
His back muscles twitched from the heat. It wouldn’t be long now—but first he had to make sure Attie was all right.
With shaking hands, he ran long fingers up her bare arms and over her face and neck, tugging her hair roughly aside to search her skin. It was clear and unmarked by heat or worse.
“Orion, look!”
Orion looked down to where Attie pointed at his sleeve where the acid had splashed. The corrosive had already eaten away at the wool of his jacket. Tiny dots widened before their eyes, first showing the dark lining of the sleeve, then, as it was eaten away, the white of his shirtsleeve.
Already he could feel the heat from the chemical reaction through his next layer of clothing.
Small quick hands pulled at the back of his collar. “Quickly!”
Orion dropped his shoulders to allow the much-shorter Francesca to pull his jacket off him. Already he could feel the sting of a hundred tiny droplets on the skin of his arms.
“Attie, get help! You, too, Charlie! Run!”
Attie took off, her long skinny legs flying across the lawn. Young Charlie scooted after her, although he threw one wide-eyed glance back at Orion as he ran.
“Bloody hell!” The heat began to spread. Dimly, Orion realized that Francesca’s fingers were tugging madly at his cravat. She’d already half pulled his waistcoat off.
The stinging turned to fire. The caustic had worked its way through everything he wore and now meant to eat its way through his very skin! Francesca yanked on his arm. He pulled away from her. “Don’t get it on you!”
She ran around to the other side of him and began to push. “The fountain! Get in the water! It will—”
“Dilution! Yes!” He ran for the circular fountain in the center of the lawn behind the house. As he pelted the last few yards, he tugged off his cravat and pulled his shirt over his head, sending his shirt studs flying unlamented into the grass.
The flames were lancing deeper now, the tiny stings becoming red-hot welts. Soon they would be wounds!
Orion flung himself into the knee-high water of the fountain, boots and all. A second after he fell backward into the sweet, cold relief of the fountain, he heard another splash beside him.
Small cold hands began to scoop water over him, sluicing the acid from his shoulders and upper chest and neck. Orion dropped his face into the greenish water without a thought to the likely impurities and scrubbed more water into his hair.
Together, their hands colliding and entwining, scooping and sluicing, Orion and Francesca washed every inch of his upper body with the blessedly cold water of the fountain.
Francesca pushed his head back under the surface to scrub at his left earlobe, easing a burn he’d not even realized was there. He came up gasping, his heart pumping madly with the adrenaline of fear and relief.
Her hands fell away, and she stared at him.
Orion wiped water from his eyes. “What?” He twisted his neck to glance around himself. “Am I badly burned?” He didn’t think so. Already the flaming pain had retreated to a throbbing sting that would be gone in a few hours.
He looked at Francesca again. Her gaze was wide and dark—and hungry. As he watched her, the tip of her tongue slipped along the seam of her lips.
“You—”
Francesca swallowed back the tightness in her throat. “You are magnifico!” Her voice was a strained whisper. She hardly recognized it as her own.
Dio, he was gorgeous!
The pearly sunlight gleamed on his wet skin, highlighting the corded muscles wrapping his broad shoulders and winding down his bare arms. The sprinkling of dark hair on his chest sparkled with diamond droplets. She followed the path of the water as it ran down between his thick pectorals, joining other drops to stream between the ridges of his abdominal muscles, following the trail of dark hair down to the soaked, sagging waist of his trousers that hung on his narrow hips.
“Come delicioso . . .” She heard her voice again. Had she said that aloud? She certainly hadn’t meant to, and she had no doubt that she would blush heartily later, but at that moment she could hardly bring herself to care.
He stepped toward her through the knee-high water. “Chessa—”
At hearing her family nickname, she jerked her gaze upward in surprise. His blue eyes had gone black with desire as he stalked intently toward her.
His skin would be cool and damp to her touch, she knew. Her fingers flexed at the memory of touching him just moments ago. In her hurry to help him, she’d only thought to cleanse the caustic away. However, now she remembered the sensation of running her bare hands over his naked skin, stroking her palms down his hot flesh . . .
I want him.
He wanted her as well. By the set of his shoulders and the hunting intensity of his lowered head, she knew the wolf was on her trail. Like trapped prey, she could not look away from the desire in his gaze. She didn’t want to look away. She didn’t want to flee her fate at his hands.
All thought of what might be considered wise or prudent or even simply harmless had been washed away by the water running down his astonishing body.
He came so close that droplets falling from his damp curls fell upon her bosom, shockingly cold on her desperately heated flesh.
“Chessa,” he murmured. “Your hands.”
Dazed by his nearness, she lifted her hands and gazed down at the tiny white blisters forming on her fingers and palms. They matched the spots on his skin.
His deep voice took on a tenderness she’d never heard before. “Look what you did to yourself . . . for me.” He lifted his hands as if to take her by the shoulders and pull her close.
Her eyelids drifted closed in surrender as his intensity overwhelmed her. Her own hunger throbbed between her thighs, the drumbeat of her pulse like running feet. Was she fleeing—or was she the hunter? She wanted him to take her. She wanted to take him.
