Chapter Twenty-Two

 

 

 

A CONFUSION OF QUESTIONS churned through Ian’s mind. Had Olivia been sent to stop him? Help him? Did he protect her with this sham marriage‌—‌or was it the other way around? He wouldn’t put it past Black to send such an unlikely reinforcement. If such was the case, the man deserved both a sharp uppercut to the chin, followed by a warm pat on the back.

As she worked, he took a long hard look at her. Blonde ringlets had pulled from the twist of hair at the base of her skull to curl against her cheeks. He had the absurd idea to reach out and give one a tug, just to see if it bounced. So very beautiful and feminine. Most men would look no further than the surface. Lord knew he hadn’t.

Kissing her this morning had been as much about satisfying a deep, nagging urge as it had been about establishing their cover. Though rather than satisfaction, he’d found only frustration. The first man to kiss her. Him. Though he couldn’t seem to stop turning that particular piece of information over in his mind, he’d now glimpsed what lay beneath Olivia’s façade. Loyalty. Vulnerability. A keen intelligence. Thank goodness for that.

“This program card is but a raw prototype,” she said, examining the pattern of punch holes beneath the argon light. “There are a number of discrepancies. You say it’s never been tested?”

There was much she wasn’t telling him, but even if she’d been sent to stop him, to return him to British shores, it was clear that she would not do so without first attempting to save his sister. She would work to save even the lives of the count’s guardsmen.

For now, he would place his trust in her—‌though he fully intended to insist upon detailed answers to his earlier questions. He was certain she worked for the Crown, but perhaps she didn’t answer to her father. Perhaps she answered to Black.

“Ian!” Olivia waved the paper card before his eyes. “There is no telling how long the count and his minions will leave us undisturbed. Explain to me, in painstaking detail, exactly how you expect this device to function.”

She was right.

Though he had every intention of departing before it became necessary, the count was bound to insist upon a demonstration. He pressed a palm against his chest, against the packet secreted within his waistcoat and prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

“The osforare apparatus has never been utilized,” he admitted. “Though nearing completion, it was still being constructed when I…‌ appropriated it.”

“Stole it,” she corrected.

Ian lifted a shoulder. “I had assistance. Your own brother-in-law looked the other way.”

“Did he?” Her voice was disinterested, but her fingers tightened on the punch card.

Interesting.

“Have you ever worked with him, Lord Thornton?”

“I attempted to, but he was largely unconcerned with the finer points of ice sculpture even though it was his own wedding.” She peered down at a card, pencil in hand, ready to transform mathematical operations into a pattern of holes.

“I wager he drives your father mad.” Would she elaborate?

But she didn’t bite. “May we discuss my relatives another time?” She tapped her fingernail on the Babbage card. “We need to focus.”

“Fine.” He tugged the leather gloves from his hands and pointed. “Pressure sensitivity of these spring mechanisms is the greatest concern. The transformative liquid needs to be deposited precisely beneath the periosteum.”

“A density occlusion shift algorithm might be the answer.” She scratched a few notations on a nearby sheet of scrap paper. “Go on.”

Ian spoke at great length, marveling at her ability to rapidly internalize both vocabulary and concepts. Occasionally, he lifted the pencil from her hand to sketch a diagram to further clarify his words or to point out particular features built into the apparatus. If his fingers brushed over the surface of her skin as he did so, it was entirely accidental. Her breath hitched at the lightest of touches, but even more satisfying? She didn’t pull away.

At last she looked up, eyes sparkling. “I think I’ve got it.” She tucked the pencil behind her ear and began to gather up the papers strewn across the workbench. “I’ll work with this card stock for now, but the apparatus is constructed to accept a two-by-three copper punch card. A sturdier material will better withstand frequent usage.” Her face paled and her hands began to shake. “Frequent. Will I be required to operate the device?”

“Yes.” Ian reached out to steady her hand. “I will assist. We will run our first trials without the needles.”

“Trials. The count will pluck some poor soul from the nearby village.” She shook her head. “This is wrong, Ian. We can’t experiment upon a perfectly healthy young man.”

“I do not intend to do so. The fluid I intend to use will contain none of the transformative ingredient. His treatment will be a sham. Painful—‌there is no way to avoid that—‌but harmless.” He dropped his hand and stepped away.

“But the count demands evidence. He is bound to discover our duplicity.”

“Early trials often fail.” He had no intention of remaining in Germany any longer than absolutely necessary, but…‌ “If it becomes unavoidable, we do have one willing human volunteer. Me.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you so very confident in your scientific advances?”

“I am.” He didn’t relish the idea of allowing those needles to pierce his skin, but he would not subject anyone but himself to the first real test. “In the meantime, I will try to direct the count’s attention to curing his guardsmen.”

Olivia took a deep breath, then nodded. “It’s a plan. I don’t like it, but at least nobody else is harmed. For now.”

“For now,” he agreed.

She set down her stack of notes. “Before I begin to punch bits from cards, even paper ones, I need to understand how the osforare apparatus bends, how it moves, how it conforms to different parts of the body.”

“Then allow me to provide an anatomy lesson.” He pulled his coat from his shoulders, unfastened his cuff and began to roll up his sleeve. A blush rose to her cheeks—‌such seductive innocence. He was surprised to hear his next words emerge as a hoarse whisper. “In which the student is invited to touch.”

“Oh?” She stepped closer to brush a fingertip over the surface of his skin. “Just your arm?” she teased, then glanced at him from beneath long lashes. “If I’m to appear competent, I must be far more familiar with male anatomy and expanses of bare flesh. Arms, legs, back, hips.”

Blood rushed away from his brain, finding itself needed elsewhere as his groin tightened and stirred with interest, remembering all too well the enthusiasm she’d poured into their morning charade. They were alone now, unwatched, and he wanted her as much as she seemed to want him.

“If that is what you want.” How far would she take this game? How far would he? Blood pounded in his veins, and the air was thick with hunger. “We should progress with care and intention. With the knowledge that what is done cannot be undone.” He wasn’t certain if he spoke to remind her or himself.

She nodded and tipped her face upward.

He let his gaze fall to her lips, but only for a moment. “We will begin with my arm.” Ian turned back to the osforare apparatus and, lowering himself to a stool, stretched his arm beneath its curved frame. “Let me show you how this works.”

“Tease,” she whispered.

His answering laugh was soft. Ignoring the electricity arcing between them, he demonstrated how the various joints, levers, and screws could be adjusted to conform to any given surface, then held still as she tailored them to fit his forearm.

As she leaned forward ever so slightly to bend the apparatus about his limb, he took in the view presented to him. The bodice she wore was supportive and uplifting. To the point of creating the illusion that her breasts were moments from breaking free. When she shifted, they surged forward. Perhaps it was not an illusion after all. A man could hope.

Resisting the impulse to tug at his suddenly too-tight collar, he concentrated upon bringing his respiratory rate back under control.

An effort that failed the moment she adjusted a screw and whispered, her lips mere inches from his ear, “Like what you see?”

Caught. A gentleman would apologize. But a lady wouldn’t have asked. A corner of his mouth turned up as he tore his eyes away and forced them to look upward. “Guilty as charged.”

She flipped a lever that clamped steel bars about his wrist, then another lever to lock the device about his arm below his elbow. “You are the first man to admit as much aloud. Today is certainly a day for firsts.”

How could such a flirtatious young lady—‌one who had been engaged!—‌have no knowledge of her physical attractions? “Whatever did you see in Lord Snyder to recommend him as a husband?” he asked. “He shared no kisses. No compliments. Did his eyes never stray beneath your chin?”

“Never. He was ever the gentleman.” Her hand stilled, and she twisted her lips. “Do you mean to categorize the act of staring at a woman’s chest to be paying her a compliment?”

“No,” he backpedaled, sensing he was in hot water. “Not exactly.”

“I find it curious.” Her voice was light and flirtatious as her fingers deftly worked the leather buckles, yanking the bands tighter than strictly necessary. “Tell me, what, exactly, is going through a man’s mind as you stare?”

Her fingers brushed the surface of his arm, sending bolts of electricity through his body as she adjusted a number of parallel spring tension rods to align several metal bars parallel to his ulna.

He ran his free hand over his eyes. “This conversation surpasses anything remotely appropriate.”

“Our entire situation is inappropriate.” She tightened a series of screws above his radius. His entire arm was now encapsulated in several pounds of metal. “But I wish to know.”

He ought to refuse.

“A scientist at a loss for words?” she mocked. “Can you not manage to verbally convey the attraction of my bosom?” Seemingly unaffected, Olivia lifted a tension gauge and began to take spring pressure readings, carefully recording the numbers into a notebook.

A choked laugh emerged from his throat.

Her hand stilled as her eyes met his. “Come now, what is it about these two mounds of flesh that appeals to you so much?”

Resistance snapped.

“Very well. Step closer.” With his free hand, he caught her hip, urging her closer until she stood between his knees, her chest at eye level. “Men are physical creatures,” he began, wishing he dared pull her closer still to press her against his hard length. “Often words fail us.”

She scoffed. “You love to lecture.”

“That may be. But we are in a laboratory. Perhaps a bit of hands on demonstration? A bit of experimentation?” He looked into her eyes and waited. He would not touch her without permission. “Unless you are adverse.”

“Not at all.”

Thank God.

He ran his hand up the side of her rib cage, stopping as the edge of his thumb brushed against the side of her breast. “A man tends to become non-verbal when confronted by such opportunity.”

“Try.” From the look on her face, retreat would not be permitted.

“What do I think?” His gaze drifted downward. “At first, my attention is caught by tantalizing slopes and peaks, by promises hidden in their curves and shadows. Generally, at this point, I would tear my eyes free and force my mind elsewhere.”

“But?”

“But, upon the rare occasion that I am permitted to look, I begin to think about touching.” He ran his thumb across the silk of her bodice, over the generous swell.

She leaned into his touch.

Encouraged, he continued. “I wonder what their soft weight might feel like in my palms.” He slid his hand to cup her breast, lifting it. “And then I think about doing this.” He stroked his thumb across the silk over her taut nipple.

Her breath caught. A most beautiful, satisfying sound. With blood rushing away from his brain, it was a moment before he could speak again.

“I begin to anticipate further what sounds you might make.” He lifted his hand, drawing the tips of his fingers over the swell of her breast, until they rested lightly at the edge of her bodice. He ran his fingers back and forth over lace ruffles that barely concealed the rosy edge of her areola.

His gaze lifted. Olivia’s eyes were dark with desire. The pulse at her throat throbbed. Desire growled, threatening to chase away rationality.

“By the time my mind has drifted this far into a fantasy of thought, I’m imagining the expression upon your face should I reach behind, dip my fingers where they ought not be.” He matched his actions to his words. “To pinch this tight peak between my fingertips.”

With the tiniest of gasps, her back arched pressing her breast into his palm. Her eyes drifted shut, waiting.

But he’d already taken this too far. He willed himself to stop, willed the throbbing in his groin to subside. Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew his hand from beneath the row of ruffles. “And that, dearest pretend wife, is all your pretend husband is prepared to explain or demonstrate.” His body knew that for the lie it was, but his mind demanded time to untangle a knot of conflicting desires.

“All?” Her eyes, hazy with desire, opened. “I rather like your approach to laboratory experimentation.” She dragged in a deep breath. “Perhaps another time I can convince you otherwise…‌ for I’ve many more unanswered questions.”