Page 51 of To Wager with Love

“I can manage perfectly well,” he insisted, trying once more to avert the ministrations of his angel of mercy, but Minerva just rolled her eyes at him.

“You can’t see the damage. I can,” she remonstrated. “So do stop being such a baby.”

“I am not….” he began indignantly before recognising the teasing look in her eyes and giving a huff of resignation. “Why is it women feel the need to tend a fellow’s wounds? I’m perfectly capable, I assure you.”

“We feel the need because we know quite well that you’ll just wipe off the blood with your handkerchief and leave whatever injury is left to fester. Just like you’ve left that button on your coat hanging loose. It’s about to fall off, you know,” Minerva added, shaking her head at him.

“My buttons are my own affair,” he muttered, looking so adorably sulky that Minerva had to bite her lip to stop from laughing.

“Don’t you have a housekeeper, at least?” Minerva enquired, beyond curious to know more about him.

He frowned—which seemed to be his natural expression—and looked vaguely uncomfortable. “She gave notice and left six weeks ago. I’ve not had the time to engage another,” he added, crossing his arms tightly as Minerva wrung out a clean cloth and began dabbing at the blood on his face.

“Ow!” he said, jerking away from her.

Minerva tutted and took hold of his chin with her free hand, holding him in place. “Why did she leave?” she asked, having to expend considerable effort to keep her voice even and not all breathless and bothered as it ought to be, because she was.

She could feel the prickly rasp of whiskers along the uncompromising line of his jaw, and it was doing odd things to her heart.

“There was an… explosion,” he admitted.

Minerva looked at him. “An explosion,” she repeated, amused at the flash of guilt in his eyes, as if he’d just admitted to kicking a ball through a window.

“It was supposed to explode,” he said, clearly irritable, which for some bizarre reason only made Minerva want to hug him. What was wrong with her? “I just forgot to warn Mrs Thompson that there might be a… a bang, and she pitched a fit. The ridiculous woman accused me of trying to blow her up and said….” He stopped and then huffed as Minerva waited for him to finish. He rolled his eyes. “She accused me of being some manner of warlock.”

Minerva sniggered.

“Oh, dear,” she said, failing to keep her voice entirely even. “What a trying time you’ve been having of late, and now you’ve lost your only hope to the call of her one true love.”

That was clearly too much, and he batted her hand away. “Please,” he said, revolted. “They are two attractive, healthy adults. It’s nothing more than lust, a chemical reaction; a primitive desire to procreate. No more, no less.”

Minerva felt her colour rise at his words and saw a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes at having shocked her. Something devilish stirred in her chest as her temper flickered to life. The desire to show him that he may well be a brilliant man, but he was also remarkably stupid was irresistible.

“So, it would be that way between any man and any woman?” she asked, looking at him with wide eyes.

He frowned, apparently giving the question due consideration. “No,” he allowed, shaking his head. “There are preferences, I’ll grant you. For example, I cannot compete with St Clair’s looks and I shouldn’t pretend to, nor his money,” he added. “Physical appearance weighs heavily with most people, naturally. The prettier the female, the more popular she is and vice versa. Though men are a deal less picky than women until they are forced to wed.”

Minerva nodded gravely.

“Yes, I see.” She pursed her lips, considering his words and wondering how best to go about riling him. “So, when a man and a woman kiss, there is a chemical reaction between them that women wrongly identify as love, when it is nothing but lust. Is that correct?”

He shifted in his seat, clearly a little uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken, which was entirely his own fault.

“Not just women. I’ve known perfectly rational men become similarly afflicted by overwrought emotions.”

“So afflicted that they hurried down the aisle?” she guessed, her tone innocent as she suppressed a smile.

“Quite.”

“But a man of science, a man such as yourself, you must be far more objective, I imagine. You could never confuse attraction, or lust, for anything other than what it was?”

“No, of course not.”

“But what about me?” she asked, and it was no effort to make her voice low and breathless for her chest was tight with anticipation. “How can I tell the difference between love and lust? For… I believe I may be in danger of making a dreadful mistake.”

His expression darkened and what little remained of her breath was trapped in her lungs as those piercing grey-green eyes focused on her. “Is some blackguard toying with your affections, Miss Butler? If so, you need only tell me his name and I shall send him on his way. I hope… I hope you’ve not been indiscreet?” he asked, and Minerva was gratified that there seemed something like concern in his expression.

“Not yet,” she murmured, staring at him and wondering if she’d entirely lost her mind. “But… But I’m fascinated, and I think… I think I could fall in love very easily indeed.”