Page 17 of Ruined by the Wrong Earl

‘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.