Page 23 of To Dance with a Devil

Inigo folded his arms and glowered but Solo just returned his look with one of quiet patience. Inigo sighed.

“I have an… admirer,” he admitted, with much the same enthusiasm he would admit to having a boil on his arse.

Solo shrugged. “That’s hardly news.”

That was true enough. For those in the scientific community Inigo had attained celebrity status, and not just among men. From some of his talks given at the society president Joseph Banks’s conversazioni, he had gained quite a following among the wives and daughters of his contemporaries. He now had his fair share of female admirers, and some of them had been remarkably… persistent. Inigo had viewed them as a minor irritation. Not one of them had claimed his attention, and he’d brushed off advances and flirtation with no more thought or effort than batting away an aggravating bluebottle.

Yet Miss Butler was no bluebottle. In his mind, Miss Butler had not only claimed his attention, she held it, rather in the manner of a ferocious dog he didn’t dare take his eye off. No matter which way he turned to make his escape, she was there, holding him captive, daring him to ignore her and threatening dire consequences if he did; and even worse ones if he didn’t.

He wondered if Miss Butler would be dismayed by his unflattering comparison to a rabid canine, and rather thought she’d not turn a hair. The appalling female was bold as brass and he still hadn’t gotten over the shock of being kissed by her. The worst thing about it was that he wasn’t sure he wanted to get over it.

“Good heavens, she has got you confounded. I’ve never seen you in such a passion.”

Bearing in mind Inigo hadn’t moved or said a word, he well knew that Solo was amusing himself at his expense. Sadly, however, the wretched fellow was right, and they both knew that, too.

“She kissed me,” Inigo said in a rush and then, to compound his mortification, he felt colour rise on his face. He turned away before he could see his friend dissolve into hysterics.

“Well,” Solo said, and Inigo could hear the laughter in his voice, damn him. “That’s one way of getting your attention. Short of laying herself out on your laboratory table and requesting you dissect her, that’s probably all the poor girl could think to do.”

“I’m a chemist, not a biologist,” Inigo muttered, folding his arms.

“Was it a nice kiss?”

Though he tried very hard not to, his mind immediately returned to the moment Miss Butler had leaned in and pressed her petal soft lips to his. She’d been telling him of a man she was infatuated with, and how it would be terribly easy for her to fall in love. Her eyes had been impossibly blue, He’d imagined at once that some wicked, handsome rake had been trying to seduce her and implored her not to do anything foolish.

“Too late,” she’d whispered, and then she’d kissed him.

It could only have lasted a second—less, and yet in that moment his heart had stopped beating, he was certain of it. He was a man of reason and science, but for that suspended moment he would have sworn that the world had stopped turning. Prussian blue; that was the only thought in his head in the moment before she’d closed her eyes and kissed him.

Impossible, of course, and yet he’d never seen a shade quite that dark, quite that intense. Her lips, though… oh, her lips…. His heart sped in his chest as he considered that soft pink, the lush, sweet curves as tender as a rose bud….

“Inigo? Good heavens man, what did she do to you? Was there opium in her lip salve?”

Inigo jolted and cursed Miss Butler, then himself, then Miss Butler a bit more.

“A nice kiss?” he repeated, aware that he sounded vague as he tried to recall and understand the question. Nice did not seem an appropriate word to use in conjunction with Miss Butler. Apocalyptic, maybe? Cataclysmic? A panicked voice echoed back and forth in his head like a frantic oracle, shouting danger, beware, here be dragons… even if that dragon did look like Aphrodite dressed in sunshine. Oh, God, how nauseating. What was wrong with him?

The next thing he knew Solo was standing before him, studying him as if he was one of the revolting looking specimens kept in jars in the biology labs. “Are you quite certain it was just a kiss?”

Inigo gave a slightly hysterical laugh. “Just a kiss,” he repeated nodding, and then shook his head in despair. “But not just a kiss.”

Solo’s eyebrows shot up. “I see,” he said, though he clearly didn’t. No one could. “Well, old fellow, I’d say you were in trouble. Deep, deep, trouble.”

***

By the time Jerome arrived at the sixth servant registry office, it had gone noon and he was ready to tear his hair out, but his tenacity paid off. Yes, a dark-haired young woman with a Scottish accent had hired a Mrs Agnes Lacey to act as her companion and maid. She had been engaged at once. It appeared the young lady was going under the name of Macdonald. Getting the address from the suspicious matron at the desk, however, was a deal more awkward and vastly more disquieting. She’d looked Jerome over with the air of a woman who knew a libertine when she saw one and clearly believed he was up to no good in hunting down an innocent young lady. To his intense discomfort, Jerome had struggled to gainsay her, knowing she had it entirely right. He’d been reduced to shamelessly bandying his brother’s name before her, an act he’d usually rather cut his own throat than resort to. It had the desired effect, naturally, which only soured his temper further, and by the time he was back out on the street he was beside himself with frustration and annoyance, all of which he knew was fuelled by the sickening anxiety that was twisting his guts into a knot.

The address he held was a respectable one, much to his relief, and it was only this that allowed him to keep his patience as he endured the journey to Dulwich Common.

The Oaks was a handsome stucco villa with a slate roof and deep eaves. It was attached to an identical villa on its right side both with two bays each and a trellised porch. Upon knocking and giving his card, he was shown inside by a disapproving looking woman who introduced herself as Mrs Morris, gave him the cutty eye and left him to cool his heels in the parlour. It seemed to be his day for being disapproved of, though he supposed he’d earned it in full measure. At least he had the correct address, he thought with a sigh.

A few moments later he heard raised voices outside the door. Curious what the fuss was about, he crept closer, only to hear Mrs Morris reprimanding Bonnie in severe tones.

“I thought you were a respectable young lady, Miss Macdonald, but you’ve hardly set foot in my house a moment before you have gentlemen callers.”

Jerome winced and then braced himself, which Mrs Morris would have done too if she’d known Bonnie a little better.

“Gentlemen?” Bonnie retorted. “I thought you said there was a Mr Cadogan awaiting my attention. If you’d said there were a host of fellows expecting me I’d have made greater haste, for surely it’s an orgy I have planned in your front parlour, madam, or could it possibly be that a friend of mine, who happens to be the Earl of St Clair’s brother, has taken the liberty to see I arrived safely at my lodgings?”