Someone Irresistible (26 page)

“That’s why it’s wrapped?” he asked.

“That, yes, and because as long as you glance at it tonight, until you open it, I want the red ribbon to remind you of recent gifts given to you surrounded by such a… vibrant color.”

She had to know that would bring untold hunger and innermost emotions front and center, regardless of whether or not he acknowledged them. He wouldn’t for a minute assert that he comprehended the female mind to any degree, but he understood all too well, from simply having a mother, that Mimi felt hurt by his avoidance these last two weeks. Yet did she really think he’d forget their intimate rendezvous, or not take it seriously?

He nodded slowly, unsure where to lead the conversation from here, but having every intention of making her appreciate his need to keep their relationship perfunctory, at least for now.

“I see,” he said at length. He shifted his body in the sofa, sitting forward a fraction. “Red satin can be very sensuous. Even scandalous.”

For a moment she appeared confused, tilting her head to the side a bit, her forehead gently creasing. Then acceptance filled her eyes and she breathed deeply in acknowledgment, sitting straighter, shoulders erect, chin lifting negligibly in defiance.

“You know, Nathan,” she disclosed very softly, quickly scanning the parlor for intruders, “I’ll never forget the look on your face the day I wore that red satin corset for you.”

“Mimi—”

“And you
liked
it.”

His jaw tightened. “Of course I liked it,” he stressed in a whisper. “I liked making love to you in a ruby red room, I like the red in your cheeks right now, I’d like to see you wrapped up in that red ribbon wearing nothing else at all, but I’m not sure this is something we should be discussing now, today.”

She eyed him candidly for a moment or two, flushing fully. Then she relaxed into her pelisse, into the soft cushion, dropping her lashes to gaze at the reticule she clutched in her lap.

“I want you to know some things before you leave tonight, Nathan.”

He blinked, surprised by such a sudden turn of topic, but he said nothing.

She glanced at the grate, staring into the slow burning fire for a few seconds before swallowing harshly and turning back to him.

Watching him carefully, she admitted quietly, “I’ve kept a secret for so many years that I’m… ashamed of, really. But it’s something that, no matter how hard I try, I can neither excuse nor deny.” She tensed fractionally and added huskily, “I never loved Carter and never wanted to marry him.”

Something stirred deep inside him. Something he couldn’t understand, or explain, even to himself. But it was there, forcing him to feel.

Do not feel.

He shifted his large form uncomfortably on the sofa, sitting fully forward, both feet on the floor, elbows on knees, hands clasped in front of him, staring at the peach carpet unseeing.

“Why are you telling me this now, Mimi?” he asked solemnly.

She paused, then whispered. “Do you think I would have let you make love to me without feeling?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head minutely. “What feeling?

Whose feeling?”

She grasped his arm lightly. The touch of her skin scalded him, even through his shirt, but he couldn’t bring himself to jerk free.

“I didn’t love Carter, Nathan, and I—” She cleared her throat. “As awful as this sounds, there were times with him in bed, intimately, that I closed my eyes and dreamed I was with you.”

Jesus.

He looked at her again, incredulous, the tension in the air descending upon them, enveloping them, oppressive suddenly.

“What?”

Her breathing faltered, but she gazed at him starkly, her expression fierce and without the slightest trace of prevarication, “It was wrong, and Carter never knew, but—” She brought her palm briefly to her mouth, in a manner of shielding her words, before she clutched her gloves with both hands to continue.

“I wanted you to marry me, Nathan,” she said in a voice barely audible. “That’s why I went outside with you and kissed you that night at the Crystal Palace. I wanted you, not Carter. I wanted you.”

He stared into her vibrant brown eyes, remembering that night as if it were yesterday—the bright blue of her gown, the brilliant gas lights reflecting off her hair, her throaty laugh, the warm, humid air, that shocking, amazing kiss that he’d thought about for months. And her marvelous, grave voice when she’d whispered,
Think about me
.

His pulse began to pound in his ears; his palms began to sweat.

Static charged the air, thick and heavy, emotionally stirring.

Do not feel.

“Mimi…”

With a shaky bearing she stood beside him, gazing down, never looking away from him.

Boldly, intensely, she breathed, “You should have been my first.”

Her beauty enraptured him; her conviction entranced him. In that instant it told him everything.

I should have been your only.

Swiftly, turning away, she lifted her skirts and walked to the door. He stood then, bracing himself against an inner assault, legs unsteady, remaining silent even as his heart begged her to stay.

With her hand on the latch, she paused, glancing back to him, her features unreadable but marked with determination.

“I love you, Nathan. I
love
you. Remember that tonight.”

And then she was gone.

« ^ »

D
ammit.

Damn, damn,
damn
the female sex. All of them. Every last idiotic one of them and their unexpected voiced concerns of romance and declarations of love at the most incredibly absurd times. This was supposed to be his night, the night he’d been anticipating, for which he’d been waiting, for more than two years. Yet now, as he sat in his hired coach, dressed formally in recently purchased evening attire of white silk shirt, waistcoat, and neckcloth, and black trousers, jacket, and hat, on the brink of what he considered his greatest discovery, he could think of nothing but Mimi. Mimi and her remarkable laughter and clever, devilish mind. Mimi and her tantalizing figure created especially for lovemaking. Mimi and her beautiful blond hair brushed over her perfectly rounded breasts. Mimi and her soft moans and breathtaking eyes that hinted at hidden desires when he aroused her.

Mimi and her husky voice and striking, haunted face as she told him she loved him.

Loved him.

Mimi, Mimi, Mimi…

Nathan rubbed his aching temples with his fingertips in the darkness, his other arm resting possessively across the top of the white box, crushing the satin bow with each jolt of the coach’s wheels as it meandered slowly south to Sydenham along the neglected city street.

A priceless present wrapped in a red satin bow.
I’ll never forget the
look on your face the day I wore that red satin corset for you
.

Christ, she’d gotten under his skin, as no woman ever had. She played with his emotions, tormented him with her presence, constantly penetrated his thoughts. What the hell was he supposed to do now? And why would she tell him such a thing tonight, of all nights? She had to

know how nervous he’d be, how his mind would be centered on making the best impression of his career among fellow paleontologists, anatomists, and statesmen. Was her staggering confession purposefully meant to undermine him during the most critical moment of his personal quest? He didn’t know, and couldn’t possibly begin to guess.

He’d spent the last five hours pacing the floor of his room at the boarding house, stopping himself several times from reaching for the door to go to her, to clarify, to shake the truth out of her.

To make her say it again.

I love you, Nathan.

Nathan clenched his jaw and shoved his fist into the coach’s seat back. He didn’t need this from her. Not now. There was so much unresolved between them, so much unsaid. So much doubt.

Regardless of what had been spoken between them this morning, the fact remained that nothing could be done about Mimi and her feelings—

truth or lies—until this pivotal occasion was over, until he’d discovered, with certainty, who’d initiated his ruin, especially if it meant the end of her father’s reputation, as he suspected it would. Until that time he would do his level best to think of nothing but his plan of attack, the moment he would unwrap the box and lift the lid. The moment all in attendance would finally learn what he’d known all along. Then he could allow himself to think of her, to consider tomorrow. Only then.

Please, God, get her out of my mind.

« ^ »

T
he engraved invitation, on the sketched wing of a Pterodactyl, read: Mr. Waterhouse Hawkins

requests the honor of Mr. Justin Marley’s

company

at dinner in the mould of the Iguanodon

at the Crystal Palace on Saturday evening

December the thirty-first at five o’clock

—1853

an answer will oblige

Nathan stood at Justin’s side, in an uncluttered workshop of the newly rebuilt Crystal Palace, gazing at the spectacle before them. The invitation had not exaggerated the extraordinary event that was soon to take place. Arranged by the Crystal Palace Company, with an eye toward publicity, the banquet would be hosted by Owen, and artist and sculptor Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins, as dinner would be served to twenty-one scientists and dignitaries inside an actual mold of a life-size Iguanodon. Although the new Palace would not be officially opened by Queen Victoria for several months, just the speculation of its eventual grandeur was enough to send a surge of excitement through each man here this night. As it did for Nathan right now.

He and Justin stared straight ahead to a short wooden stage of sorts where the life-size Iguanodon rested, its large head and horned snout to the left, its long, winding tail to the right, its middle cut out and replaced by an oblong table where a seven-course dinner would be served after a round of conversation and toasting. Above it, directly in the center, hung a chandelier to provide lighting, and surrounding the mold and lining the marquee hung plaques that bared the names of the great dinosaur discoverers—Cuvier, Owen, Mantell, and Buckland, the distinguished churchman who discovered and named the Megalosaurus in 1824.

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” Justin murmured in awe, taking in the scene before him.

Nathan smirked, still holding his heavy, treasured box that would certainly be the highlight of the evening, at least for him. “The society columns said to expect the unexpected at the Waterhouse Hawkins dinner this night, and the night is young.”

Justin leaned very close to him to ask, quietly, “Have you properly thanked the lovely widow?”

Nathan felt heat suffuse his body at that, and he shuffled his feet beneath him, the box growing heavy in his arms, never looking at his friend’s face. “She’s been thoroughly thanked, yes, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Justin laughed and thumped him once on the shoulder. “I’m trying very hard not to. I’m just glad I was able to accommodate everybody’s need to be thanked as they desired.” Swiftly, without waiting for another response, he stepped farther into the room to begin formal

introductions to the men already present and mingling.

Nathan expected it to be awkward for him for the first couple of hours, maybe for the entire evening, and exceedingly so for the other distinguished gentlemen who were not anticipating the ruined paleontologist to be in attendance. To these men, all of good breeding and advanced education, his ineptitude had been revealed the night of the first Palace opening, during the heightened moment when, with the help of his own elevated arrogance, he’d lost every ounce of respect he’d gained through years of scientific research and study. Still, Owen had given the approval for Justin’s extended invitation here tonight, and although many might have initial misgivings toward him as an originally uninvited guest, few would display them, or comment openly.

It simply wouldn’t be proper to do so. And this was precisely why Nathan could never have confronted each individual man immediately following his great ruin. Gentility forbade gross wrongdoing or gossip, and acknowledgment of misconduct by one’s contemporaries would be socially disastrous. Coming forward with information wouldn’t happen, although Nathan was certain that someone here tonight, maybe several men, knew exactly what had become of his Megalosaurus jawbone nearly three years ago.

For more than an hour, severely nervous but hiding it to the best of his ability, Nathan followed Justin’s lead by making his own introductions to these same gentlemen as they arrived, his prized sculpture, still in its box, now sitting fairly inconspicuously to the left of the small staircase that led to the dining table. Quite to his surprise, however, he was actually well received by his former peers, many of whom remembered him, and appeared to think rather well of him regardless of his fall in status. They asked a little of his whereabouts these last two years, and he obliged their curiosity without hesitation or prevarication. Many seemed quite fascinated by his recent finds and accounts of his physical labor in contrast to his scholarly efforts, so much so that he quickly became the center of attention, if not sympathy, though that would never be admitted by anyone.

At last, on the heels of Waterhouse Hawkins, Professor Richard Owen arrived to much cheering and applause, followed closely by Sir Harold Marsh. As expected, Owen’s wide forehead and high cheekbones flushed with excitement, his keen eyes waxed triumph in the wake of such an ensemble of England’s finest scientists and their utter incredulity at the site of the magnificent Iguanodon in the budding beauty of the new Crystal Palace.

It was Harold Marsh, however, who promptly drew Nathan’s undivided attention. Tall and lean, he stood with stately bearing, his

white side whiskers flaring with every good-natured smile. But at close observation his face looked tired, his features strained, the creases in the skin a little more pronounced. He avoided eye contact with Nathan until propriety forced him to accept the inevitable introduction with grace, but even after shaking hands and exchanging polite queries on the state of each man’s individual health, Nathan felt the odd man out. In a manner of speaking Harold Marsh belonged here and he did not and everyone knew it, though thankfully not everybody knew of his deep animosity toward the sculptor—nor his uncontrollable fixation with the man’s bewitching daughter.