Page 51 of To Dance with a Devil

He swallowed, refusing to acknowledge the slightest twinge of regret.

As, however, you feel compelled to make a nuisance of yourself, I shall arrange for you to attend the next conversazione at Soho Square. Joseph Banks is the president of the Royal Society but his sister, Miss Sarah Banks, often hosts such events and I have been invited to speak on occasion she next holds one. I will ask that you are included in the invitations when the event is arranged.

Please understand, Miss Butler, that I do this only to save us both embarrassment and beg that you are not so foolish as to consider there is anything resembling a romantic note to the invitation. There is not.

M. De Beauvoir.

Inigo stared at the sheet, satisfied, lifted the pounce pot and shook the fine dust over the ink. Careful to return the excess back to the pot, he duly folded the letter, addressed it, and put it to one side to be posted.

With a sigh of relief, Inigo turned back to his work and endeavoured to put both the letter and the infernal Miss Butler out of his mind.

***

“What are you looking so pleased about?” Matilda asked, narrowing her eyes at Minerva as the carriage carried them to St James and Lord St Clair’s house.

Bonnie had invited the Peculiar Ladies for tea, and they were all dying to see her. Prue had cried off, pleading illness and so Matilda, and Minerva—who was staying with her cousin, Prue—were attending together.

“Do I seem pleased?” Minerva replied, doing her best to look the picture of innocence. “Well, perhaps a little,” she admitted. “Though I’m irritated too, truth be told, for I shall have to think of another location for my dare.”

“Oh? How so?”

Minerva studied her friend and knew that Matilda was a canny one. She already knew Minerva was up to something, she just didn’t know what. It would probably be best to keep it that way, but she couldn’t resist sharing her news all the same.

“Well, I had decided to find a way in to one of the lectures at the Royal Society. You know what a bunch of stuffy old men they are,” she added with a sigh. “Anyway, I have been outmanoeuvred and invited to a talk to be given by Inigo de Beauvoir at Soho Square. As I only really wanted to attend the lecture, not cause a furore, it seems I shall have to think of something else.” Her lips curved into a smile as she considered what the something else might be.

“Minerva Butler,” Matilda said, her voice stern. “What are you up to?”

Hmmm, she really was canny. “Up to?” Minerva replied, raising her chin a notch. “I can’t think what you mean.”

“Oh, can’t you?” There was a snort which suggested Matilda didn’t believe a word of it. “To what do we owe this sudden interest in the sciences, I wonder?”

Minerva bristled. Yes, she had to admit that her infatuation with Mr de Beauvoir had inspired her, but she had become fascinated by everything she read, and more so by the discovery that she understood a fair proportion of it. Her whole life she’d believed herself to be nothing more than a pretty face, to have nothing to contribute to a conversation past discussing the weather, the latest fashion or whatever on dits were doing the rounds. Not that she had anything against those things. She still loved fashion and gossip and dancing, and all the frivolous things she’d always loved, but now… now a whole new world had opened up to her and she wanted… she wanted more.

“Why should I not be interested?” she demanded, stung. “Do you think me too stupid? Harriet doesn’t. She has encouraged my interest.”

“As do I,” Matilda replied, her expression placid as she adjusted her gloves, wriggling her fingers into the fine kid leather. “I applaud it wholeheartedly. I just wonder if the attraction is purely the subject being discussed, or the fellow giving the lecture.”

One elegant blonde eyebrow quirked and Minerva looked away, out of the window, and prayed she wasn’t as pink as the heat in her cheeks would suggest.

“Mr de Beauvoir is a fascinating man,” she said, aware she sounded a little stiff.

“I understand you met him. In a book shop.”

Minerva glanced back at Matilda to see an amused glint in her eyes. She gave a huff and folded her arms.

“Oh, very well. Yes! Yes, I met him and yes, I… I admire him greatly. I would like to know him better.”

“How much better?”

Minerva felt the heat in her cheeks grow a little warmer but could not help the way her lips curved up as she heard the teasing note in Matilda’s question.

Matilda sighed and shook her head. “Just when I think one of you is safely married off and out of danger, the next one shows signs of madness. I shall go grey before the year is out, mark my words.”

“Now there’s the pot calling the kettle black,” Minerva shot back. “Exactly what did happen when the Marquess of Montagu fell from his horse during that storm?”

She smirked as two spots of scarlet blazed high on Matilda’s cheeks.

“N-Nothing,” Matilda stammered indignantly, only confirming to Minerva that something had happened. “It was just bad luck that I was there when the provoking man fell. I thought he was dead, for heaven’s sake. He gave me such a start. But then he insists on escorting me back to the house, and we were alone… again, and you know as well as I do how little I need a story like that to get about.”