Someone Irresistible (3 page)

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October, 1853

M
imi Sinclair sat at her workbench, in her private studio in back of her Chelsea townhouse, studying the paperwork that accompanied the Pteranodon skull she was ready to draw and sculpt. It was an amazing discovery, this one, a rare fossil found by a French archaeologist, turned over to her for processing by her father. He still kept his studio behind his home in Holland Park, but he was out of the country with Richard Owen at the moment. It was all for the better that she do this sculpting anyway, as her father’s eyesight had deteriorated considerably in the last few years and his arthritis had recently begun to worsen. This replica had to be exact and without flaw for a year long display at Owen’s Zoological Garden, so Mimi had accepted the work for her father. Of course nobody but those in her family knew that she did the craftsmanship herself, but that was beside the point. As a woman, she wouldn’t be able to receive great acclaim for her efforts, though in this small regard she accomplished something both worthy and praised.

Artistic talent ran deep in the family, in the blood, and she took pride in hers, even if it came in little, sometimes insignificant, amounts.

She’d been working a great deal more of late, and she liked that. It

kept her mind active and was time well spent. Since Carter’s death she had found less and less to do while in mourning, aside from household management. Calling on friends was inappropriate, and Mimi despised not being social and attending a party or two each month. God should never have made her a widow at so early an age, but obviously God hadn’t asked for her opinion on the matter when he’d taken her husband so suddenly. Art and sculpture were all she had now, as she was still in half mourning. Soon, though, she would be able to regain her social gregariousness. It wasn’t in her nature to be quiet and solemn anyway. In truth, she despised the somber nature she’d been required to accept these last two years.

Laying her sketch pad on her lap, she began to draw with her pencil.

The afternoon sunlight shone a brilliant, pale yellow through the long clear west windows behind her, illuminating her drawing as she worked. She had placed an old cushioned settee in her studio for such a purpose so that she didn’t have to carry whatever fossil she might be sketching at the moment to her living quarters just to be able to sit comfortably. It was peaceful, too, in the solitude. Rarely did anyone bother her here.

The sketch soon took on a shape of its own. The Pteranodon was a relatively small creature and would be easy enough to construct. She would start it tomorrow, probably. With notes from Monsieur Lamont, the French archaeologist who found and delivered the fossil, she should be able to build a very good likeness. It was all they had anyway. There really was no definite way to mold a reptile millions of years old with any precision, or at least that was her opinion. Much of it was guesswork, although the scientists were getting better every day as more and more fossils were recovered from deep beneath the earth.

The Pteranodon fossil sat across from her, on a wooden four-legged table that had lost its polish years ago. She studied the angle of the jaw, the long, sharp beak. The jawbone wasn’t very large, and she’d heard that this particular beast was something of a birdlike dinosaur, which was how she intended to portray it when she finally got to the sculpting—as a bird, with wings spanned wide. Mimi was looking forward to it.

“Mrs. Sinclair, there is a gentleman to see you. Are you at home?”

Mimi glanced up to find her parlor maid, Stella, standing at the doorway, her starched gray uniform signaling to all the half mourning status of the household. Her reddish-brown hair looked slightly unkempt, her cap tilted to one side, but then for Stella this was custom.

She was an attractive girl, as was required of a parlor maid, but regardless of the negative impression she might give because of her

constant flustered look, Mimi kept her because she liked her.

Without stopping the motion of her fingers on the pad, she replied,

“A gentleman?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s waiting in the morning room. Said he wants to discuss a bit of work.” She raised her brows and lowered her voice.

“Very nicely dressed, he is, too, though he didn’t have a card.”

Mimi wiped the back of her hand over her left cheek, brushing stray hair off her face, curious because Stella rarely offered opinion on callers since it was not of her station to do so. He must have made an impression. Handsome, probably. The work part, however, intrigued Mimi more. He likely wanted a sculpture for home or yard decoration.

But she remained extremely selective about her sculpting, creating only from fossils and other scientific drawings, and only a few people in all of England knew she did this kind of artwork. She didn’t care at all about pottery birdbaths, clay bowls, or metal statues, but she would decline his offer personally.

“I’ll see him, Stella.”

Her maid curtsied and walked away, her light footsteps tapping on the wooden floorboards as she returned to the front of the house.

Mimi stood and tossed her pad and sketching pencil on the chair.

Then she smoothed her boring gray work skirt, rolled down the sleeves to cuff them, and brushed her blond hair with her fingertips until all loose ends fit neatly inside the bun at her nape. Following that, she hurried as fast as was proper to the front of her modestly fashionable home to meet the waiting gentleman.

The day was warm for October and the windows of the house had been cracked open to allow fresh breezes to enter. She walked into her morning room, decorated in light peach and lavender silks and brocades, colors Carter had disliked but that she favored, to find the stranger standing rather than sitting. He faced a large oil painting of Hyde Park in late autumn, studying the colorful leaves blowing across the lake from a mild wind. The man was tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, his clothing expensive, but his dark hair too long to be fashionable.

Mimi smiled, standing straight, hands to her sides. “Do you like it?

My mother painted it. She used to adore sitting in the park, and had a good eye for symmetry and color…”

Her voice trailed off as he slowly turned around, his dark brown eyes locking with hers, expressing a mix of emotion too vivid to be real.

“I’ve seen this spot in person,” he remarked intently, his voice cool and deep, “only the last time was June, I think.” Carefully, he glanced

down her figure, then up again. “It’s as lovely as I remember.”

She didn’t know whether he meant the painting anymore, but that hardly mattered in the least. Only a few small feet away from her stood a very aloof, challenging, totally changed Nathan Price.

Mimi swallowed then clamped down with her teeth to keep from gaping. He was still as handsome as she remembered, even more so, if that were possible. He wore an immaculately tailored suit in deep olive, and a starched white linen shirt, topped off with a Byron necktie in pale green, knotted precisely. The colors enhanced his hair and eyes, and especially his smooth bronzed skin. Standing comfortably in her morning room, he looked elegant and sophisticated. For a moment Mimi was speechless.

He didn’t smile at her shock, didn’t move as he waited for her response.

In an attempt to remain composed, Mimi reached out to her side, grabbing the padded back of a peach brocade chair to steady herself.

Hopefully he wouldn’t notice how she swayed, how her instantly speeding pulse made her body grow hot all over. She just hoped to God her cheeks weren’t red.

“Professor Price,” she returned in greeting. “How… kind of you to call.” A ridiculously formal thing to say in their situation, but she felt of a sudden like she’d temporarily lost her mind. Better to stick with formality.

He didn’t alter his rigid stance, but he nodded once. “How kind of you to receive me, Mrs. Sinclair.”

The measured way her name rolled off his tongue meant something, but she didn’t want to speculate on that. His voice, though, she would never forget. It had been two and a half years since that fateful night at the Crystal Palace and yet as the memory came flooding back it seemed incredibly like yesterday. Except for him. Professor Nathan Price, standing here before her. Every sharp edge of her remembrance of him was exact, and not a day went by that she didn’t think of him in some regard. But that was a secret she would never reveal.

She motioned with her palm to the settee next to the fireplace.

“Won’t you please be seated?”

It was seconds before he turned and stepped toward it, but when he did, she followed his fluid, graceful movements with candid eyes. His clothing accentuated his strong physique and dark coloring most becomingly, and she mentally scolded herself for yielding to his sheer attractiveness. He was not cattle on display, and she was still in mourning. She had no business staring at a man as if she hadn’t been

with one intimately in years. Which she hadn’t—but then, that was beside the point.

She sat across from him on a matching settee, awkwardly, or so it felt, adjusting her plain gray skirts around her feet before folding her hands in her lap.

“What can I do for you, Professor?” Immediately, at the slight raising of his brow, she wished she hadn’t said that. It made her vividly recall that marvelous and confusing night when he’d seemed to notice her as a woman for the first time, that utterly romantic and splendid kiss behind the hedge. Now she simply tried not to show how uncomfortable she was, how angry she still felt over his complete dismissal of her following his horrid showing at the Crystal Palace. How the memory of him stirred her inside even as she sat across from him, waiting for his reply without dropping her frank gaze.

“I have a request of you,” he began without pause or affectation. “A mutually beneficial request that involves sculpture.”

He wanted her to ask him to explain, she knew that intuitively. But she refused. “I see.”

“Do you?”

The words were spoken simply, to entice her. He goaded her on purpose, though why, she couldn’t be sure. From the wry twist of his lips he seemed to be enjoying how unsettled he’d made her by his unexpected presence in her home.

Sighing and lifting the side of her mouth whimsically, she replied, “I suppose you’d like me to ask you about it.”

“That’s irrelevant,” he returned bluntly. “I think you’ll do it anyway.”

That irritated her a little, and she ground her fingers into her palms.

“Perhaps you should get to the point, Professor.”

His dark eyes narrowed minutely, and he leaned back to relax on the settee, but he never dropped his gaze.

“I’m very sorry you lost your husband,” he said coolly.

She blinked from the abrupt change in subject, but otherwise she never wavered. “Are you?”

That unexpected rudeness didn’t faze him. “Of course. I knew Carter for years, as a colleague. His death was unfortunate.”

“Yes,” was her simple reply, an attempt, especially with this man, to keep her pent up emotions out of her voice. He didn’t deserve an explanation, but she felt like giving him one anyway. “It was sudden and entirely unforeseen. Blood poisoning, or so the physician said. He’d cut himself badly while working in the field and it didn’t heal properly.”

Through a deep exhalation, she added, “We were only married for a few months.”

He nodded and looked away for the first time, toward the cold fireplace. After a moment, he murmured, “And you never had a child?”

That made her fidget, feel hot again, and she adjusted her body on the settee. She refused to be baited, though, and so gave the standard answer. “No, we were not blessed in the short time we were together.”

He tossed her a quick glance but added nothing.

“Did you ever marry?” she asked, unable to help herself.

He smirked but didn’t look at her. “No.”

Mimi liked that simple answer to an uncomfortable degree. She was also growing tired of the absurd formality. Aside from their last intimate encounter more than two years ago, they knew each other better than this.

Boldly, she lifted her chin, angling her head in question. “Exactly why are you here, Nathan?”

Without pause, he looked back at her and stated, “I’m here for your services, Mimi.”

Her eyebrows rose faintly. “I beg your pardon.”

Grinning slyly, he added, “I need your help.”

“With a sculpting project?”

His smile broadened, though it wasn’t a particularly happy smile.

Then he folded his hands in his lap. “Precisely.”

For a reason unknown to her she had trouble believing him. “I’m not sure what you want, Nathan, but if it’s to sculpt a dinosaur, I think you’d better speak with my father—”

“Actually,” he broke in, “I’d prefer your work.”

Her palms began to sweat and she rubbed them lightly on her gown over her thighs. “I don’t readily sculpt dinosaurs, Nathan.”

“Well, now, that’s interesting.” He cocked his head to the side. “I’ve heard that you do.”

“From whom?” she blurted.

He leaned forward to whisper, “It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t.

What’s important is that I
know
you do, Mimi, and I need you to help me with the skills you possess. Should you choose to keep it all a secret for the rest of your life, nobody will ever hear from me that you were the sculptor.”

Her heart began to beat fast again. Nobody knew she sculpted reptiles save her father and Mary, and her father’s continued reputation

was paramount. Nobody had broken the silence. Nathan had to be guessing.

Still, the whole possibility that others knew of her work agitated her, and she found herself at a loss for words. Nathan must have assumed as much, for at that moment he stood again swiftly, his legs brushing her skirt, his large bearing filling the space between them so that she had to lean her head back and look up to see him. He immediately turned and began to walk slowly around the settee, away from her, the fingers of one hand rubbing his cleanshaven jaw.

“I’m sure you’ll recall the night of the Exhibition opening,” he started, voice bland.