than he'd expected, her fierceness belying her delicate bones. He wasn't at all certain what this was all about, but he planned to ride it out with her.
It wasn't until he was pressing his lips against the top of her head, where all that sweet, golden hair grew wild, that he realized he'd been wondering what their children would look like.
----
Chapter 7
« ^ »
" G ood God, woman! Sumner told me you were hanging paper in the conservatory. I thought he meant wallpaper!"
Mairey smiled up at Rushford and his familiar scowl, and she clothespinned another mildewed page of Henrietta's personal letters onto the waist-high maze she'd constructed from table and chairs and twine. He looked every inch the mining baron this morning, in his long black coat and gray trousers. He was Hades in hard male flesh, the giver of riches, the author of this particular miracle of musty history. A feat her father could never have wrought.
"The barrel was delivered this morning, by Mr. Walsham himself."
Rushford snorted and entered the web of twine. "I'm not surprised, Miss Faelyn, the way he flattered you without end."
There was something wildly erotic and inexorable about him as he prowled his way toward her through the maze. "I'm not interested in Mr. Walsham ."
"He was very interested in you." Rushford painstakingly followed the rickety, winding path she had laid out, when he could have so easily carved a swath through the forest of chairs and knocked it all down.
"Yes, I know, my lord. I'm not blind." Though she was having some trouble concentrating on her work. "I grew up in a college town, surrounded by randy young men who had only one thing on their minds."
"Not mathematics." His eyes were darker in the morning light, but clearer and questing.
"Definitely biology." Mairey stooped and pinned up another page, letting its cheerful mustiness flutter away in the warm breeze that came in from the pair of doors that opened onto the garden.
Rushford reached her at the center, and gazed intently down his long, straight nose at her, nostrils flaring. "Do you have a young man of your own in Oxford ?"
Mairey met his frown, wondering where its fierceness had come from so quickly. He smelled of bergamot and soap; his hair was still wet from his bath.
"What are you asking, sir? If I've ever succumbed to the sweaty charms of an undergraduate? If my maidenhead is intact?"
All that towering masculinity went crimson, and stammered, "I—I—damn it all, madam, I would never ask that."
Men . So easily threatened by a little honesty from a woman. She was a social scientist. However unmentionable the subject was in polite society, human sexuality was the key to human behavior. She'd had many a discussion with her colleagues about fertility rites, sacrificial virgins, ritual circumcision, and polygamy. She wondered what Rushford would think if he knew she kept a collection of carefully cataloged phallic artifacts in a box in the library.
"Not that it's your business, sir, but I am virgo intacta . Qualified to tame unicorns and tend the vestal fires should the need arise."
The man was near rattling, his breathing gone ragged, but his chest was taller than a tree. "Madam, that wasn't my question. I only wanted to know if you have a young man in your life."
"I don't."
That made him frown more fiercely. "Well, then," he said, finally. "I've been called to Cornwall today, Miss Faelyn. An emergency at one of my foundries. I'll not be home until very late tonight."
Mairey searched for relief at the prospect of being free of the man, but found only an alarming disappointment. He'd been almost—well, very charming at the Tower, despite his impatience with Walsham , despite the thrill of having his large hands wrapped round her waist a bit too long. They had walked in the garden twice, and had taken meals together in the breakfast room. He'd become a perilously agreeable presence in the library, reading the Times or studying one of her books on
It wasn't until he was pressing his lips against the top of her head, where all that sweet, golden hair grew wild, that he realized he'd been wondering what their children would look like.
----
Chapter 7
« ^ »
" G ood God, woman! Sumner told me you were hanging paper in the conservatory. I thought he meant wallpaper!"
Mairey smiled up at Rushford and his familiar scowl, and she clothespinned another mildewed page of Henrietta's personal letters onto the waist-high maze she'd constructed from table and chairs and twine. He looked every inch the mining baron this morning, in his long black coat and gray trousers. He was Hades in hard male flesh, the giver of riches, the author of this particular miracle of musty history. A feat her father could never have wrought.
"The barrel was delivered this morning, by Mr. Walsham himself."
Rushford snorted and entered the web of twine. "I'm not surprised, Miss Faelyn, the way he flattered you without end."
There was something wildly erotic and inexorable about him as he prowled his way toward her through the maze. "I'm not interested in Mr. Walsham ."
"He was very interested in you." Rushford painstakingly followed the rickety, winding path she had laid out, when he could have so easily carved a swath through the forest of chairs and knocked it all down.
"Yes, I know, my lord. I'm not blind." Though she was having some trouble concentrating on her work. "I grew up in a college town, surrounded by randy young men who had only one thing on their minds."
"Not mathematics." His eyes were darker in the morning light, but clearer and questing.
"Definitely biology." Mairey stooped and pinned up another page, letting its cheerful mustiness flutter away in the warm breeze that came in from the pair of doors that opened onto the garden.
Rushford reached her at the center, and gazed intently down his long, straight nose at her, nostrils flaring. "Do you have a young man of your own in Oxford ?"
Mairey met his frown, wondering where its fierceness had come from so quickly. He smelled of bergamot and soap; his hair was still wet from his bath.
"What are you asking, sir? If I've ever succumbed to the sweaty charms of an undergraduate? If my maidenhead is intact?"
All that towering masculinity went crimson, and stammered, "I—I—damn it all, madam, I would never ask that."
Men . So easily threatened by a little honesty from a woman. She was a social scientist. However unmentionable the subject was in polite society, human sexuality was the key to human behavior. She'd had many a discussion with her colleagues about fertility rites, sacrificial virgins, ritual circumcision, and polygamy. She wondered what Rushford would think if he knew she kept a collection of carefully cataloged phallic artifacts in a box in the library.
"Not that it's your business, sir, but I am virgo intacta . Qualified to tame unicorns and tend the vestal fires should the need arise."
The man was near rattling, his breathing gone ragged, but his chest was taller than a tree. "Madam, that wasn't my question. I only wanted to know if you have a young man in your life."
"I don't."
That made him frown more fiercely. "Well, then," he said, finally. "I've been called to Cornwall today, Miss Faelyn. An emergency at one of my foundries. I'll not be home until very late tonight."
Mairey searched for relief at the prospect of being free of the man, but found only an alarming disappointment. He'd been almost—well, very charming at the Tower, despite his impatience with Walsham , despite the thrill of having his large hands wrapped round her waist a bit too long. They had walked in the garden twice, and had taken meals together in the breakfast room. He'd become a perilously agreeable presence in the library, reading the Times or studying one of her books on
Similar Books
