Page 42 of Her Scandalous Pursuit

It was a relief to have a rational explanation, and she had to smile at her own foolish, primitive fear in tying them to her nightmare. By the next morning, the sores were much improved, and she hardly noticed them. She was far too busy being annoyed with her grandmother.

The dowager duchess followed through on her promise to protect Thisbe, and she spent the next afternoon in the red sitting room with Thisbe, not even going upstairs for her usual “not a nap.” All through Desmond’s visit, Cornelia kept her basilisk stare on him. It was a distinct relief the next day for Thisbe to meet Desmond at the Covington Institute lecture, free from any prying eyes.

They both arrived early and were deep in conversation when a man stopped beside them. “Desmond. I wondered if you’d be attending this.”

Thisbe looked over with interest at the speaker. He was a young man, fashionably dressed, with dark blond hair and blue eyes. He was smiling faintly, his eyes alight with a curiosity to match Thisbe’s own. Was this one of Desmond’s friends? A coworker? It occurred to her that Desmond had never introduced her to anyone.

Her gaze returned to Desmond, who was staring at the other man with a shocked expression. “Carson. I—What are you doing here?”

Carson lifted his eyebrows faintly at Desmond’s abrupt tone, but he said mildly, “You recommended the last lecture so highly, I thought I would try this month’s offering.”

“I see. Well, I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I shall. It’s already quite entertaining.” Carson sat down beside Desmond. “Hope you don’t mind if I sit with you. It’s always more enjoyable when one is with friends.” Carson’s bright blue eyes were sparkling with amusement as his gaze went from Desmond to Thisbe and back.

Finally Desmond said, “Miss Moreland, I’d like to introduce Carson Dunbridge. Carson, this is Miss Moreland.”

“Miss Moreland.” Carson’s gaze sharpened. “What a pleasure to meet you.” Thisbe offered her hand, and he leaned across Desmond to shake it. As he sat back in his seat, Carson cut his eyes toward Desmond and murmured, “Aren’t you the sly one?”

Desmond tensed beside her. Obviously there was something going on here, though Thisbe wasn’t sure what it was. Carson seemed pleasant, but Desmond had been noticeably reluctant to introduce them, and he still seemed none too pleased, remaining largely silent. Carson, on the other hand, seemed perfectly at ease, even amused. And what had he meant with that remark to Desmond that he was a sly one?

As they talked, it became clear that Carson, too, worked at Professor Gordon’s laboratory. Thisbe had a growing suspicion that Desmond had not told any of his acquaintances about her. Perhaps that private amusement of Carson’s was at finding out that Desmond had a secret female friend. As best Thisbe could tell from listening to her brothers and their friends, men got a strange enjoyment out of teasing one another about romantic conquests.

The teasing might explain Desmond’s continued stiffness and silence, but she couldn’t understand why he kept glancing at her uneasily or why his eyes turned stony when he looked at Carson. It occurred to her that she had seen similar behavior from time to time among Kyria’s suitors. Could it be that Desmond was jealous?

It was silly, of course, and she should be annoyed that Desmond would have so little faith in her that he feared she would prefer some stranger over him. Still, it also gave her a certain odd sense of satisfaction.

When the lecture ended, Desmond jumped to his feet and announced, “I fear Carson and I have work that needs to be done back at the laboratory.”

Thisbe tried to hide her disappointment. They usually lingered after a lecture and took a long walk, as well. She suspected that Desmond’s reluctance had something to do with Carson, and she felt a flash of resentment at the man.

Carson, with a sardonic glance in Desmond’s direction, agreed. “Yes, I fear we do. It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Moreland.” He directed a bow toward Thisbe and stepped back, looking toward Desmond expectantly. “I’ll walk with you.”

Desmond’s jaw tightened, and the stony gaze turned more heated, but before he could speak, Thisbe said quickly, “You must allow me to drive you gentlemen to your laboratory.”

“That’s not necess—” Desmond began.

“Thank you—that’s very kind,” Carson said at the same moment. “We shall enjoy having the pleasure of your company for a few moments longer.”

Thisbe chose to ignore Desmond’s response. Really, this was getting a bit irritating. She led the two men out to the Moreland carriage, and they climbed in, sitting down across from Thisbe. She couldn’t help but wish Carson somewhere else. It would have been wonderful to be alone in the vehicle with Desmond. They could have held each other and shared a few kisses. As it was, they could only carry on a general conversation.

When they came to a stop, Thisbe looked out the window at the narrow, unprepossessing brown brick building. “This is your laboratory?”

“Yes, down those stairs,” Desmond said.

Thisbe waited for an invitation, but Desmond said nothing more. Not being one to sit back and let others direct her course, Thisbe said, “Perhaps I could come in and see your laboratory.”

“No.” This time Desmond was swifter than Carson. “That is, um, Professor Gordon doesn’t allow visitors.”

Thisbe didn’t miss the odd look Carson sent Desmond, but Carson agreed. “He’s quite adamant about it. Thank you, Miss Moreland. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Carson climbed down and walked away from the carriage. Thisbe turned to Desmond to ask the reason for his strange behavior, but Desmond seized the opportunity to lean forward and kiss her, and Thisbe forgot all about taking him to task.

DESMOND LEFT THE carriage in a black mood, which the sweetness of Thisbe’s kiss only partially erased. Perhaps his aunt was right; he was cursed. He had handled the whole matter terribly. He’d been tongue-tied, abrupt, even rude, and doubtlessly all it had accomplished was to raise questions in both Thisbe’s and Carson’s minds. Worse, he had barred Thisbe from coming into the laboratory. She was bound to be insulted. What was he to say if she asked him to explain his behavior?

Carson waited for him at the bottom of the steps, leaning against the door frame, arms folded and one eyebrow quirked. He straightened from his lazy position and said, “What are you playing at, Dez?”

“I’m not playing at anything,” Desmond replied sharply. “Why the devil did you come to that lecture today? Have you been following me?”