Someone Irresistible (28 page)

“Good God, no,” Waterhouse Hawkins interjected, flicking his wrist.

“So far Smith’s only found one side of the right lower jaw, certainly not the complete bone back to front.” He gestured to Nathan’s sculpture with a brush of his fingers. “But it looks very much like that one, with

the long tooth coming up from the center. That’s never been seen before that I know of, at least, not whole and in one piece like that.”

Justin blinked, then turned and looked across the table at him again; Nathan could only stand there, stumped, trying not to appear the bumbling idiot he felt at that moment.

“Indeed,” Owen said to Nathan. “If this is a copy of the one stolen from you at the Palace opening, then it’s proof of what you found years ago, I should think. Only two or three of us here have actually seen the Smith jaw, and we’re the only ones who’d know.” He chuckled with genuine pride, shaking his head and raising his glass. “Good showing, Nathan.”

About half of the men joined in the toast, one or two murmuring praise and cheerful admiration; Justin sat down hard in his chair.

“But do tell, Professor Price,” Bartlett insisted with a crooked smile, leaning forward so that his rotund belly cut into his empty plate. “Who was your sculptor? That’s certainly a fine piece of handiwork.” He shot a quick peek to his right, down the line of curious men. “You do that, Benjamin? Harold?”

Waterhouse Hawkins quickly answered in the negative, nonplussed; Marsh had yet to make a sound, hadn’t moved a muscle, only continued to watch his silent accuser from across the table through perceptive, narrowed eyes.

He knows something.

And it was Nathan’s moment to confess, should he want to. His moment to tell the world of Mimi’s talent, as it became immediately obvious that Sir Harold was waiting for him to do so.

But he had promised Mimi…

Nathan dropped his gaze to the white sculpture, perfectly formed, that still rested hard and cold in his hands. The plaster and steel mold, solid in its construction, was getting heavy now, but he turned it, looking for truth. Something.

What is it?

Then he studied what the others had found so engaging. The tooth.

Two of them, actually. The Megalosaurus dinosaur had one long, curved tooth reaching up from each side of its lower jaw, above all its other chewing teeth, that the ancient beast had presumably used to tear at its prey. But he had known that. They had been present on his jawbone of three years ago. It had been evident—

Nathan felt a violent shift within him, from steady trust, to utter disbelief, to complete and paralyzing rage. Within seconds his head

began to swim. The room grew agonizingly hot as the air closed in on him, making him dizzy, forcing the breath from him, causing his body to break out into sweat that beaded on his upper lip, his forehead, and his neck.

The teeth had been fairly intact on his fossil, outlined to completion on his original drawings of three years ago, but not on the recent ones.

Not the ones Mimi had sketched, the ones from which she’d sculpted the jawbone that now lay in his hands. He’d purposely left them out as the only way to trap the thief. Nobody should have known about the extra two teeth, or at least, not their size and location and perfect curvature, except for the person who’d stolen the jawbone originally.

Hers were too good, too obvious here.

Mimi knew.

His head jerked up. His gaze locked with Sir Harold’s and held it.

You both knew.

“Professor Price?”

The voice didn’t register, only echoed in his mind. Nothing registered but the sounds of laughter at his long-ago humiliation.

Son of a bitch.

His body turned as rigid as stone, and he clamped his teeth shut to keep from spilling his fury and contempt right here at the dinner table on the night of his life, in front of Richard Owen. But he never looked away from the man who had ruined him.

The man and his daughter.

“This brilliant likeness, gentlemen,” he breathed seconds later, through a thick, tense silence, “was sculpted by Mrs. Mimi Marsh Sinclair, Sir Harold’s very convincing daughter.”

Gasps followed; low mumbles ensued. And then, very slowly, Sir Harold nodded almost imperceptibly and lowered his lashes in acceptance, in defeat.

“I beg your pardon,” huffed Waterhouse Hawkins, thoroughly shocked as were the rest of them.

”
Ladies
do not sculpt dinosaurs, Price,” Rollingsworth barked, appalled.

Without responding to either man, Nathan carefully laid the treasure made from delicate, caressing hands of talent and clever deception once again inside the box. That done, he straightened and turned to his host, chin held high while attempting to keep his dignity intact and the crumbling he felt inside unnoticed by those present and staring at him.

“Professor Owen,” he said steadily, voice low, “with my thanks, I give

you this sculpture to place on display in the Crystal Palace. I also someday soon expect to present you with the fossil from which this likeness was created, to show alongside it.”

He heard remarks and whispers voiced in disapproval of his continued audacity, but he brushed over all of it. Instead, he turned and faced Marsh for a final time. “Forgive me for leaving this lively occasion early, gentlemen. I have important business to settle that cannot wait.”

That got him. Sir Harold jerked up in his chair, only to be grasped at the sleeve.

“Harold,” Justin warned softly, holding him back.

Confusion rang anew in the Iguanodon. Nobody understood.

Lips tight, eyes bright with purpose and utter loathing, Nathan simply stuck out his arm and pointed at the man who had betrayed him.

It was enough.

Then he pivoted violently and stepped from the table, his shoes clicking on the wooden floor as he walked toward his final confrontation.

Mimi.

She hadn’t broken his heart as his lover; she had crushed it as his friend.

« ^ »

M
imi sat on the settee in her workshop, in near darkness as the dull beam of one low lamp shone beside her, across her black crepe skirt, leaving her face in shadow. Hands folded in her lap, she’d been waiting for more than an hour, listening to the pattering of light rain, freezing, though she knew the mildly chilly house had no bearing on each shiver, that the cold she felt came from within. Nathan would be here soon, she knew, to confront her, to query her, to push her into an argument. That thought actually made her smile despite her raw nerves. She knew the man so well in such a short time, knew how he’d respond to this shock she’d given him tonight, knew how he’d bait her for answers, knew he’d

probe her for secrets she couldn’t reveal, knew that he felt deeply for her as a woman, regardless of the fact that he didn’t even recognize this in himself.

Taking a long, full breath, Mimi closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cushion. It was almost ten, yet in anticipation of Professor Price’s visit, she’d kept the lights on in the house, had kept the fire burning, and had had Glenda prepare tea for two. Nathan could use the warmth, coming in from the rain, the winter night’s air, and she would play the perfect hostess to counteract his outrage and resentment.

All evening, or rather since she’d left him this morning, Mimi had tried to envision the look to grace his face when he finally opened the box. Oh, how she wished she’d been there! What a marvelous sight that must have been for him, when he’d lifted the lid to lay eyes on his jawbone of years ago. Certainly he would be mad at her, furious for keeping it from him and hiding it all this time. But he would also be standing under glaring bright lights in the Crystal Palace, in front of some of the most important men of their day, including the majority of his fellow paleontologists who’d witnessed his original downfall, commanding their attention with a matchless dignity. Mimi knew her best hope for Nathan’s ultimate forgiveness of her would be if they’d at last been in awe of his long-ago find, and had finally accepted his somewhat arrogant pronouncements as fact, thus restoring his credibility. Only that, she knew, would soften the blow to his pride and nurture the wounds that had not healed after all this time.

She knew he’d come to her afterward, and that’s why she’d paced the quiet, chilly hallway and rooms of her home during the evening hours, unable to work or concentrate on household matters. Now, as the night progressed and his arrival approached, she’d positioned herself in her studio, wearing a severe gown in black that symbolized her mood and exemplified her status, should he forget. It was the only place where she felt she’d be on equal ground during the confrontation to come.

And just as she’d suspected, at long last, she heard a slight commotion coming from the front of her home, a few muffled words, then silence—except for the sound of his long, slow footsteps as they echoed in the narrow hallway to her workshop, growing closer with each step.

Mimi straightened, her posture ramrod stiff, her face shaded behind lamplight by design, her fingers curled together tightly in her lap as her apprehension mounted with every breath.

Then he appeared at the doorway to her workshop, ahead of Stella, rather than behind her to be introduced properly. “Intimidating” was

the first word to come to mind, as Mimi finally beheld the marvelous sight of him that instantly filled her heart with joy and the room with a low-burning energy.

He wore a tailored suit of fine black wool, cut to perfection, outlining his magnificent physique with precision. His hat had been left with Stella in the foyer at his entrance, though Mimi could see the outline of it still in his silky hair that she wished she could run her fingers through. He’d indecently loosened his neckcloth, yet such action seemed appropriate for the moment, at least for Nathan. But it was his stance, his overall bearing, that made her pause. He stood as unyielding as cold marble, looking at her not with confusion or basic anger, but with a hollow emptiness piercing her from round, black, emotionally vacant eyes. Not hot and seething as she’d expected, but frigidly enraged.

Mimi shivered again, visibly this time, realizing at that moment that the encounter to come would likely be ugly.

“Urn… Professor Price to see you, Mrs. Sinclair,” Stella announced from behind him.

Mimi didn’t move her gaze from his. “Inform Glenda that we’ll take tea—”

“I don’t want tea,” he murmured in a tone of winter
ice
.

She blinked in surprise at his disrespect, then glanced to her maid, who looked utterly flustered. “Tea, Stella. Now.”

“Ma’am,” she mumbled, casting a worried glimpse at Nathan before quickly departing.

Mimi sat where she was, waiting, or hesitating, wondering at his mood, his colorless features that told her nothing. She gripped her fingers together tightly on her thighs, doing everything in her power to keep from standing and going to him. She couldn’t bear to be physically tossed aside, and she realized that such a fear grew stronger the longer he stood like a stranger of stone and stared at her as if she were a fly in his sherry.

“Well,” she began matter-of-factly, her features pleasantly set, heartbeat quickening, “how was the dinner party?”

He didn’t move a muscle, though his lips thinned to a flat, straight line.

“Where is my jawbone, Mrs. Sinclair?”

His tone of absolute contempt hit her as soundly as a forceful slap to the face. But it was his words, rather, that sent her reeling. Still, she refused to let him see how unnerved she felt right now.

“I suppose it’s where you left it, Professor,” she replied coolly, and, she noted, a bit more sarcastically than she’d intended.

He slowly shook his head in disgust. “Where did a gentle, lovely woman like you learn to be so vicious, Mimi? From your father, or your husband?”

Her eyes widened and her hands began to shake. “What happened tonight, Nathan?” she asked with mounting trepidation, her voice low and cautious.

For seconds he simply stared at her. Then he slammed his fist into the wall at his side. ”
Where’s my goddamn jawbone
!”

She blinked, and her mouth dropped open in shock, in bewilderment, and in sudden fear for the man she loved. She had never seen Nathan like this. Something had gone horribly wrong.

Very slowly, on unsteady legs, she stood to meet his gaze evenly, arms open at her sides, though she never moved away from the settee.

“What happened tonight?” she repeated in a near whisper.

Time dragged endlessly, in bitter silence, through every calculated breath as he looked at her, until at last he whispered in return, “No more lies.”

Such simple words. Yet it was the way in which he’d said them, in a timbre of repulsion and sadness, that scared her in a manner she’d never felt before. And in one of life’s ridiculous moments, Stella suddenly appeared next to Nathan, who continued to stand just to the right of the doorway, pausing as she glanced up at him after undoubtedly hearing his outburst, carrying a silver tray with china cups, saucers, milk, and sugar, waiting to serve him as a guest at the Widow Sinclair’s request. Mimi suppressed the urge to laugh at such an absurd scene. How odd that she’d thought tea would be appropriate for the occasion and make things better. Her mistakes of the past would never go away. She would need to accept them now, even if it meant losing him forever.

Regrets, yes. Too many to count. But no more lies.

Standing tall with newfound mettle, she looked at her maid. “We’ve changed our minds, Stella. Leave us now without interruption.”

Nathan ignored the untimely intrusion, said nothing. Stella gaped for a second or two, before recovering herself to nod properly, turn, and walk in the direction from which she had come. Mimi shivered again and hugged herself for strength, the thought of imported, hot Darjeeling mixed with the intimate smells of wood and clay in her cold workshop now as thoroughly uninviting to her as it obviously was to Nathan.

“Close the door and come in,” she ordered, no longer desirous of playing the amiable hostess.