“And the next day?”

  “Yes.”

  “And…?”

  “And for all the days you want me, Inigo.”

  He stared at her, some emotion in his eyes she desperately wanted to understand but didn’t feel able to push for. If she asked him, asked for the answer to her question, how much do you love me, she feared she would scare him away, or get an honest answer she wasn’t ready to hear. She believed she’d felt the emotion within him today, knew in her own heart that he loved her, at least a little, and that was enough for now. So instead she gave him her answer again.

  “I love you.”

  He stilled, and she wondered if perhaps she ought not have said it so bluntly. She’d already told him that, on their scale of one to ten, she had reached ten. If she didn’t know that the natural philosopher in him would strongly object, she would have admitted that she’d passed ten some time ago and had reached some unfathomable number she couldn’t even contemplate. There was tenderness in his eyes as he reached to touch her face, though. When he cupped her cheek and bent to kiss her, it was with every expression of gentleness, of love, that she could want. The kiss was slow, lingering, sending pleasure racing over her skin in a series of exquisite little shivers as he drew the hand he held back down, to touch his arousal. Minerva curved her hand about him, intrigued as he gasped and rested his forehead against hers, apparently pleased by her touch.

  “Like this?” she asked, as he nodded, eyes closed, his breath hitching as she moved her hand over the silky skin, enraptured by his expression, the fierce concentration. Minerva sighed, her own body stirring in response to his obvious pleasure. “I wish I could be here always.”

  “Here?” he asked, covering the hand that was caressing him with his own.

  Minerva chuckled. “I wasn’t thinking of anything quite so specific, but yes. I want to touch you whenever I like, which is all the time, if you hadn’t realised.”

  He made a low sound that thrilled her as it rumbled through his chest. “If you were here all the time….”

  “Yes?”

  There was a desperate exclamation, not quite a laugh. “Oh, God. I’d never work again. I’d never eat nor sleep. I’d never be able to do anything but touch you, kiss you. I’d become the world’s leading expert on Minerva Butler.” He kissed her shoulder, touching a fingertip to her skin and then traced it across her collarbone. “I want to map every freckle, to know what makes you different to everyone else, to know why it is I find you so intriguing… everything about you.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything.”

  “I’m not sure I know everything myself,” she said, watching his face with interest, wondering how much of what he said was true, how much of it just said to amuse her. “I’m still discovering things about myself.”

  “Then we’ll figure them out together,” he said, before sucking in a sharp breath as she tightened her grip on him. “Not just a pretty face,” he murmured.

  She smiled at that, loving the power she held over him in this moment as he closed his eyes and gave a soft moan. Giving him a little push, she got him to turn onto his back and tugged the bedcovers from him.

  “Christ, it’s cold in here,” he complained, but she only smirked at him.

  “Hush, I want to look at you.”

  He grumbled but said nothing more, though she could see his skin prickle with cold.

  “Perhaps I ought to warm you up?” she said under her breath, considering to herself how wonderful he’d made her feel earlier as she shifted down the bed and pressed a kiss to his erection.

  He jolted, swearing in shock, which she surmised was a good reaction, so she did it again, and again, and teased the plump head of his shaft with her tongue, which had him gripping the sheets and breathing hard. Fascinating. She did it again, running her tongue up and down the length of him before taking him in her mouth and sucking gently. That wrung such a cry of pleasure from him it startled them both.

  “Did I warm you up yet?” she asked sweetly, staring up at him.

  “Holy God, you will kill me,” he growled, before pulling her up the bed and turning her onto his back. “I want to be inside you. Can you…? You’re not too sore?”

  Minerva shook her head, too eager to care for any minor discomfort.

  “Please,” she said, raising her hips in invitation. “Please.”

  “Oh, God,” he moaned, as he sank inside her again. “Oh, yes.”

  ***

  “Your bed will be full of crumbs.”

  “Don’t care,” Inigo mumbled around a large bite of savoury pie.

  Minerva hadn’t wanted to leave the bed, but Inigo’s stomach had been growling so ferociously it had been impossible to ignore, though he’d been quite willing to do so. She’d had to resort to tickling him to get him to let go of her long enough to scurry down the stairs and grab the basket. Now, they sat up in his bed, in a tangle of sheets, working their way through the well-stocked basket. Lovemaking gave one a tremendous appetite.

  Inigo continued to surprise her. Since the last time she’d been here, it was as though he’d stopped fighting her and whatever was happening between them. A love affair, she supposed, or at least, that’s what she would call it. She loved him. Prue would be furious with her when she realised Minerva had come here again, but it didn’t matter. Her poor mother would never get over the shock if she ever found out. Idly, Minerva daydreamed about what her life might be like if Inigo wanted to marry her. She pushed the thought away. There was no point in dreaming of things she would likely never have, no matter how much she wanted them.

  Inigo had told her from the beginning he’d not marry her, and she didn’t want him unless it was what he wanted too. She could think of nothing worse than having a man forced unwillingly into marriage. Any affection or regard, or the tentative hopes she had that perhaps he loved her a little bit, would die under such circumstances. He would resent her for the loss of his freedom, and she could not bear that, could not bear for him to look at her with anything less than the warmth she saw in his eyes now. It would break her heart.

  “Where were you born?”

  The question took her by surprise, and he smiled as she paused with a piece of cake halfway to her mouth.

  “I want to know about you, about your family. Where do you come from? Do you have brothers and sisters? What do you like to do?” His lips quirked. “Other than hunting down poor, defenceless natural philosophers and driving them out of their minds?”

  “Is that what I did?” she asked, her eyebrows going up.

  Inigo snorted. “You deny it?”

  Minerva grinned. “My friend Ruth accused me of hunting you, too,” she admitted. “But yes, I denied it. I said it wasn’t a hunt, but a siege. I told you I wanted your heart, didn’t I? So I took it hostage and I won’t give it back until you admit it belongs to me.”

  He frowned, avoiding her gaze and staring down at his hands. “But if it belongs to you, you’ll keep it anyway. What do I have to gain?”

  Minerva reached over and popped a piece of cake into his mouth. “My undying love and devotion, which you have anyway, so nothing at all, I suppose.” She kissed his cheek, rifling in the basket for the sweetmeats she’d packed for him. “But I have no brothers and sisters, I was born in Kent, and it was just my mother and I until Prue came to live with us. My father died when I was a month old, so I have no memory of him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Minerva shrugged. “I’m told he was a hero in a Flanders campaign, but he was injured out there and died of his wounds.”

  “You’re from a titled family, though, is that right?”

  Minerva nearly choked on her cake. “If you were to hear my mother talk, perhaps. She is a distant relation to Viscount Trent, though she has used that vague connection with more tenacity than you might think possible. She’s single-minded, I’ll give her that.”

  Minerva watched Inigo’s dark eyebrows draw together. “She wants the best for you.”

  “She wants the best for her,” Minerva retorted, and then regretted it. “No, I ought not say that. She’s a rather silly creature and she puts far too much importance on things like titles and wealth, and for a long time I did too, because she always told me how vital it was, but it isn’t. I know that now. What’s the use of being a duchess, or wealthy beyond your dreams, if you’re unhappy, if you can’t share it with someone you love?”

  “Your cousin seems happy enough as a duchess.”

  Minerva gave a little cry of triumph as she found the box of sweetmeats. “That’s because she’s head over heels in love with her duke,” she said, laughing as she handed him a candied treat, studded with fruit and nuts. “She’d have married him if he’d been penniless, never mind without a title. In fact, it was the title that frightened her most, I think, but anyway. She was the one who taught me the important things in life are the ones we can’t pay for.”

  Inigo was staring at her, a troubled look in his eyes, and so she reached for him, taking his hand and pressing it to her breast, over her heart.

  “It’s what’s in here that’s important, Inigo. I don’t care about money and titles. I’m in love with you because… because I’m in awe of your intelligence, because you fascinate me and make me laugh and challenge me, and I’ve met no one like you before in all my life. Your views about men and women being equal, the way you believe the world ought to be, and your belief in me—that I could understand the same things you could if I only I had the education—these things made me fall in love with you. I need nothing else.”

  He was quiet for a long time as she held his hand against her. She’d put on his shirt for her foray down the stairs, and there was a possessive gleam in his eyes that suggested he enjoyed seeing her wear it. Now, she wondered if she’d said too much.

  “I like having you here, with me,” he said. “I’ve never brought anyone here before… a woman. I’ve never…”

  He chewed on his lip, clearly uncertain of how to say what he wanted, perhaps afraid of offending her.

  “Talk to me, Inigo. I don’t mind what you tell me, only that it’s the truth.”

  He let out a breath and nodded. “I’ve never had a lover, someone I cared about, or… or who cared for me. No one has ever….” He cleared his throat and took his hand away from where she’d pressed it to her but kept hold of her hand. “I’m not good at friends, at being close to people. In the foundling hospital it was… difficult. The other boys didn’t much like me and I didn’t like them. I had a friend once, for a while, but he left and after….”

  He shrugged, and there was such eloquence in that hopeless gesture that Minerva’s eyes filled as she realised how alone he’d always been.

  “This,” he said, gesturing to the room about them, “this house cost every penny I’d saved from the moment I started earning money. I never went out, did nothing but work, though I loved my work more than anything, so I never minded, but this place….”

  Minerva waited, aware he was trying to tell her something important.

  “It made me feel real.” He laughed, shaking his head. “Does that sound stupid?”

  She shook her head, unable to speak as her throat was too tight, and she didn’t want to embarrass him by crying.

  “It does to me, but it’s true all the same. It was like I finally existed when I bought this house, like I’d achieved something that made me into a real person.” He huffed out a frustrated breath. “I can’t explain it better than that, but the point is this. It took me years to accomplish. This little house, barely furnished, it’s the height of my achievement.”

  He dropped her hand and scowled, looking away from her and Minerva shifted around the bed, embracing him from behind and resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Inigo, you started with nothing and no one, and this house is only a tiny part of it. Your name is famous, you’re one of the most respected men of science in the world. You weren’t born with a title and a fortune at your fingertips, and so everything you’ve achieved only makes you that much more remarkable. Your financial worth is the least important part of everything you’ve done.”

  “I know that,” he said in disgust. “But my science won’t stop people from cutting you in the street or put this house in a better part of town, or enough money in the bank to buy you the things you are used to. How much did that dress cost?” he demanded, gesturing to the expensive pelisse and gown he’d taken off, an angry note to his voice. “Do you even know?”

  Minerva blanched as she realised she had no idea.

  “Inigo,” she began, but he got off the bed and surged to his feet.

  He crossed the room, tugged on his trousers, and snatched a clean shirt from the chest of drawers.

  “Go home, Minerva. Go and marry a rich man and leave me be.”

  “Inigo, please….”

  He was out of the door before she could say anything else and her heart broke, knowing it was his pride that was smarting and not knowing how to fix it. She let out an unsteady breath, more than anything she wanted to go after him but suspected it would be best to leave him alone to calm down. She’d pushed enough for one day, and it had been a perfect day until the last few minutes. With regret, she realised it was growing late and her carriage would return for her all too soon. She made the bed, and checked for crumbs, repacking the basket before she got dressed and fixed her hair as best she could. Once she was respectable again, on the outside at least, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen, unsurprised to discover it empty. He’d be in his laboratory now.

  It was hard to fight back the temptation to go to him, but she did, and lit the fire so it would be warm for him later, putting the rest of the food in the pantry. She hoped he’d remember to eat some of it. Once everything was done, Minerva put on her pelisse and reached for her hat, which she’d found abandoned at the bottom of the stairs. There were a few minutes to wait yet, but she supposed she’d best be ready at the front door.

  She was halfway down the hallway when he called out to her.

  “Minerva?”

  She turned, immediately swept up in a fierce embrace as he held her to him. Minerva said nothing, just stroked his hair, aware of the tension singing through his body.

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I don’t want to go either,” she admitted, feeling her heart soar with his angry, almost grudging admission.

  “You’ll come back?” he demanded.

  She drew back a little to look at him, to see the intensity of his expression, and put her hand to his cheek. He covered it with his own hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.

  “Of course I’ll come back. I’ll always come back if you want me to, Inigo.”

  “You’re mad,” he muttered, and then let out a harsh breath. “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow,” she agreed. “But the afternoon. I’ll likely be in trouble with Prue for today’s little adventure, and it will be difficult to get away, but I will try my best to come, and as early as I can manage.”

  He stared down at her, his expression dark and troubled. “Madness,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Both of us, out of our damn minds.”

  Minerva laughed. “Speak for yourself,” she said, giving him a kiss. “I’m perfectly sane, and very much in love.”

  She felt a jolt of anxiety at the unhappy sound he made.

  “You’re wrong.” He looked tormented and furious now, and she could not help but worry for him. “It’s… it’s lust and obsession and… and—bloody hell! —I feel like I’ll go mad if I must wait until tomorrow to see you again. That can’t be right. It cannot be normal!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up in all directions.

  Minerva refrained from telling him it was normal if you were in love with someone. He seemed to struggle with the changes she’d wrought on his life, and it was enough that she had something to hope for. She would not force the idea upon him. The sound of a carriage drawing to a halt meant their time was up and she turned to kiss him, comforted by his anguished groan as he let her go.

  “I try my hardest to come to you tomorrow, Inigo. Don’t forget to eat some supper. I put it all in the pantry for you and lit the fire in the kitchen. I love you.”

  He folded his arms and scowled, and she could only smile, delighted that he was so unhappy at her leaving.

  “Thank you,” he said, still grudging as she reached for the door. “I won’t forget.”

  Chapter 15

  Miss Hunt,

  Believe me when I tell you there is no need to chastise me for this letter. I know quite well that I ought not write it. I know you will delight in telling me how furious you were to receive it, but I still hope that there is a small part of you that welcomes it.

  I am still bewitched. You will not accept my gifts nor my advances and yet I know my touch did not disgust you in those moments we found ourselves trapped behind a curtain. Of all the ridiculous situations to find ourselves in that one is worthy of being replayed on the stage, and would have been if we’d been discovered, God forbid. I still cannot think of that night without a mixture of amusement, outrage and such desire I fear I will run mad.

  I must see you.

  I will be at the British Institution tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps you will be so kind as to indulge me. I have no expectations of you changing your mind. I only wish to be in your company for a short while.

  M.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from The Most Honourable Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu to Miss Matilda Hunt.

  24th January 1815. South Audley Street, London.

  “A letter? Anything exciting?”

  Matilda jolted, crumpling the letter behind her back and wishing she could stem the blush that rose to her cheeks. She turned to face the fire instead, as Jemima came into the parlour with Helena in tow.

  “No, not really,” she said, sliding it into the pocket in her skirts. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Helena?”

 

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