Expedition of Love (6 page)

Stephen scanned the young men across the table. Such closed minds. A shame, really. He'd thought each to be highly intelligent, the top of their class, although his opinion had been based on their studies and not their social and political views.

He did agree, however, that Miss Peterson did not belong on the expedition, but not because of any lack of intelligence. On the contrary. Her photographs alone displayed more than a unique talent. They revealed a deep understanding of the world around her, allowing others to share in that rare view. She also presented herself to be a strong woman, with a distinctive point-of-view, and her recall of fossil history was a pleasant surprise, and no doubt a small sampling of her knowledge. But would she be able to match wits with these young men?

He focused his gaze on Mr. Walters. “Yes, I have devised a test."

"Well then, by all means, Stephen, present it. I for one am quite curious,” Edwin said.

He cleared his throat and adjusted his spectacles, not wanting to do this, but had no choice. He only hoped that Miss Peterson wasn't setting herself up for a humiliating experience.

"Just a minute, Doctor,” Mr. Walters interrupted. “Before you begin, I would like to propose—let us say—a rule, so there will be no misunderstandings. I suggest that Miss Peterson tell you in confidence her answer, while I tell Mr. Anderson mine. Then neither of us shall be able to alter our response upon hearing the other."

"I hope you aren't suggesting my daughter would cheat, young man."

"No sir, of course not. I'm merely saying that this will dispel any mistaken judgments."

"It's quite all right, Papa. I totally agree with Mr. Walters. It is a reasonable suggestion. Is it all right with you, Doctor?"

Stephen nodded. “Then are we ready to begin?” Everyone murmured their concurrence. “A geologist has collected three different rock specimens from an excavated site. Sedimentary, igneous, and metamorphic. But in his haste to complete his task before dark, he mislabels all of the sacks. How many specimens did he have to remove from how many sacks to determine the content of each?"

Edwin grinned from ear to ear as he sat back looping his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, his watchful gaze darting between his daughter and young Walters. He obviously believed she would be able to answer his question. Stephen hoped so. He didn't wish to make the test too difficult, and yet he didn't want to look as if he were trying to make it easy for her. Although his puzzle was in fact quite simple, many people would easily arrive at the wrong conclusion.

Mr. Walters leaned toward Mr. Anderson and whispered his answer. Miss Peterson looked to her father then turned toward him with a mischievous grin. Did she know the answer? He prayed she did, because he would not cheat to save face. Even for one as lovely as hers.

She leaned closer, her jasmine scent teasing his senses, and whispered her answer. He clenched his teeth against the warmth of her breath tickling his skin and heating his thoughts.

Concentrating on her words, pushing with all his might against the longing swelling in his chest, he suddenly realized she answered the puzzle correctly. As she pulled away, relief filled the empty cavity left behind by the withdrawal of her provoking presence.

Richard Anderson noisily cleared his throat. “Well, Doctor Baxter? I have my own answer, but am curious as to theirs."

"What was Mr. Walters answer?” Stephen asked.

"Two."

All eyes turned to Miss Peterson then back to him. “Miss Peterson's answer was one, gentlemen."

Edwin slapped the table with a hearty laugh. “Well done, my dear!"

"Thank you, Papa."

"Just a minute. Do you mean to say she's correct, sir?” Mr. Walters asked.

"Yes. The answer is one."

"The clue was the word
all
, Mr. Walters. With each of the sacks mislabeled, only one rock from one sack would need to be removed. That would indicate the contents of the other two sacks,” she explained.

Stephen waited for a moment, observing with great interest how his students received the news. Not too awfully upset, more like astounded.

Mr. Walters sat back in his chair. “Good heavens. You're right. I don't believe it. How could I have made such an oversight?"

"We all make mistakes,” she said softly, then sipped her cordial.

Stephen noted she hadn't sought to gloat or hold her triumph over his young assistant's head. She was quite an extraordinary woman.

"Miss Peterson, my apologies. Although I still don't believe that the female mind is as developed as the male's, you have proven that you are a—unique woman,” the young man said.

Although his words echoed with a hollow sound, she didn't seem to mind. Her lips lifted into a pleasant smile. “Thank you, Mr. Walters. I believe there is hope for you yet."

They all chuckled companionably, but Stephen could see the trace of disappointment in her eyes. She was truly saddened that Mr. Walters maintained such an insular point-of-view.

Slowly, she came to her feet, prompting all of them to stand. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will leave you to your cigars and take a stroll about the deck before I retire. Goodnight."

They all bid her goodnight and watched her leave. Stephen instantly felt bereft of her presence, and nearly followed her out the door. What a sorry state he was in.

His three assistants stepped to a small gaming table in the corner and started a round of cards while he moved to one of the portholes. Watching the rolling waves flashing in the moonlight amid the inky blackness, he struggled against his uncommon desire for a woman he could not have. Where had his resolve to remain unwed gone? Why did he continue to think of her, torturing himself beyond reason?

"Care for a cigar, Stephen?” Edwin asked.

"You know I don't smoke."

"Ah yes. I'd forgotten. Care to tell me what's troubling you then?"

Not about to reveal his true conundrum, he turned from the small window and asked, “Are you sure this is wise, Edwin? I'll grant you, she is remarkable, but—"

He gripped his shoulder. “All will be well. You needn't worry about her."

The young men laughed at some marvelous card play of Mr. Walters'. No, he wasn't worried about Miss Peterson. Although young Walters seemed a good sport, something about the way he watched her bothered him. The predatory gleam in his eyes unnerved him. And even more troublesome, did Stephen himself look at her with that same hungry gaze?

"She put him in his place, eh?” Edwin said with a wide smile.

He chuckled. “That she did. But I doubt he'll beat the drum at the next suffragette meeting."

His friend's deep bellowing laugh smoothed the edge of his worry.

"No doubt, no doubt.” Edwin looked at the young men and took a long draw on his cigar. “It seems, however, he has plans of some sort."

Stephen followed his gaze and watched Mr. Walters step out of the salon. Surely he wouldn't be seeking out Miss Peterson.

His stomach churned at the thought. “If you'll excuse me, I think I'll turn in early. All the excitement has me somewhat fatigued."

"Of course, my friend. I think I'll stay here and teach these young pups a lesson in poker."

Hardly hearing a word of what his friend said, Stephen made his way up to the deck, unable to convince his feet they should be moving toward his cabin. He half-heartedly tried to convince himself he needed a breath of fresh air before retiring, but knew it was no use. He wanted to see her once more and take the image of her lovely face into his dreams.

"You're a masochist, Baxter,” he mumbled.

A quick glance about produced no sign of her or Mr. Walters, so he moved to the bow of the ship and watched the water churn and roil beneath the schooner. He breathed in the salt air, wishing it would cleanse his mind and rid him of his desire for her, and yet he would not trade the few moments they had shared, however insignificant.

"Mr. Walters!"

He turned at the sound of her stern voice. She stood in the shadow of one of the large masts, her body caged against the rail by Mr. Walters’ arms.

"If you do not step back to a proper distance I shall have to see to it that you take a swim. Something I doubt my father or Doctor Baxter would appreciate, since we would have to come about to pull you out of the sea."

The young man laughed and pressed closer. “And how would you see to it that I take a swim?"

"Leverage and gravity can work wonders when combined properly,” she said stiffly.

Stephen didn't hesitate another second and moved across the deck. Somehow, he knew she would manage to toss his ill-mannered assistant into the water without displacing a single braid upon her beautiful head. And as much as he wished to do so himself, he couldn't allow that to happen. They would waste too much time in retrieving the foolish youth, not to mention he might actually drown.

Stephen reined in his anger as he approached, afraid he would give in to the desire to apply his fist to the young man's person. Causing such a scene would damage the rapport between teacher and student. A relationship he needed to maintain in order for the expedition to be successful.

"Enjoying the night air, Miss Peterson?” he asked casually.

Mr. Walters jumped several feet away from her, his guilt-ridden face clearly visible in the moonlight.

"I believe I've had my fill, Doctor.” She eyed Mr. Walters with disdain.

Stephen extended his arm, intent on keeping his gaze on her features, but they begged to lower to her heaving breasts. “Then may I escort you to your cabin?"

"Yes, thank you.” She slipped her arm through his then looked back over her shoulder. “Goodnight, Mr. Walters."

Inclining his head, he said goodnight, his gaze refusing to meet Stephen's.

He would have to keep a close watch on the young man, for her sake and his own, or else he might kill the foolish youth.

Keeping his gaze forward, he assisted her below deck to her cabin, unsure of whether or not he should mention what happened.

Reaching her door, she looked up at him smiling. “Thank you, Doctor, you're timing was impeccable. I truly didn't wish to impede our progress by having to come about and pull Mr. Walters out of the ocean."

A grin stole across his lips and he chuckled.

Her eyes widened with her smile. “I once thought you didn't know how to laugh, and here you've done so twice in one evening."

His skin prickled with the heat increasing beneath his collar. “Yes, well.” Clearing his throat, he adjusted his spectacles instead of pulling at the starched cloth closing off his air.

"Goodnight, Doctor Baxter, and thank you again."

"Goodnight, Miss Peterson."

She slipped into her room, and he turned to his own door across the hall. The woman made the most unusual comments. He paused once he stepped inside. Did she mean she had actually thought about him?

Shaking his head at the ludicrous idea, he went through his evening ablutions, thoughts of her never far from his mind. He hung his jacket in the closet and removed his tie and stiff collar. As he unbuttoned the top two buttons, there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?"

"It's Geoffrey Walters, sir. May I speak with you?"

Ah, the assistant worries for his position. And so he should. Stephen yanked open the door and looked the young man over somberly.

"I, uh, wanted to let you know, sir, that it won't happen again. I mean, the incident with Miss Peterson. I behaved rather poorly and have no excuse."

"In the future, Mr. Walters, I suggest you remember your manners or you will find yourself on your way home with no recommendation from me as to your future in paleontology. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir. It won't happen again. Goodnight, sir."

He closed his door and rubbed the back of his neck. One day and already he was having problems. Miss Peterson's presence was going to prove a challenge in more ways than one.

A soft tap against the door pulled an exasperated sigh from deep in his chest. His mind still on his assistant, he yanked on the handle without a thought, and there stood the cause of all his problems.

"Miss Peterson. Uh, excuse me.” He reached behind the door to retrieve his jacket.

"Please, Doctor Baxter, that isn't necessary. I've seen a man without his coat and collar before."

Her soft assuring voice ceased his fumbling fingers as they tried to free his jacket from the infernal hanger.

She glanced down at the opening in his shirt then snapped her gaze back to his face. “I just wanted to thank you for what you did."

His palm grew damp where it gripped the door handle firmly. “You already have, Miss Peterson."

"No, I mean, I overheard what you said to Mr. Walters. I fully understand the importance of working as a team and hope this hasn't caused any damage."

"Everything will be fine, I assure you. But if there should be any other incidents, I hope you will feel free to inform me."

"Of course, but I'm sure he won't be so forward again."

The image of her virtually enclosed in Mr. Walters’ arms turned his stomach. “Let's hope not.” It most definitely would not happen again. Not while he breathed.

"Well, I just wanted to thank you. Goodnight, Doctor Baxter."

He replied in kind and watched her return to her cabin.

No, Geoffrey Walters would most definitely not be touching her again. She was far too good for him or any other man of his acquaintance.

Including himself.

Chapter Four

Kristina tried to let the soft rocking of the ship lull her to sleep, but her gaze remained transfixed on the swaying shadows over her bed. The sight of Stephen Baxter without his somber gray jacket and collar robbed her mouth of all moisture. The sliver of skin and stray dark curls peeking from beneath his shirt teased her imagination and warmed her blood.

She'd seen her father in the same disarray before, and more so whenever he had fallen ill. She always served as his nurse, never allowing a stranger to take care of him. That being the case, why did the glimpse of Doctor Baxter's chest affect her so? It made no sense.

She puzzled on it for several hours, confused by her body's reaction, and yet as a scientist she was intrigued. Unable to come to any definite conclusions, she decided an experiment was in order.