To Catch a Rake (13 page)

The minute she spent incognito, listening to the wheels clanging on the cobblestones, brought her back to reality and the impropriety of her situation. She watched his intense desires smoldering within his gaze as the sound of the carriage faded into the distance. This interruption allowed her to regain her fortitude, so she pushed his shoulder hard. “Put me down now.”

He stilled; only his chest moved from his rapid breathing.

“Please.”

Following a nod, he gently lowered her feet to the ground and steadied her until she could stand by herself.

She righted her crooked spencer and brushed her skirt into some order.

The wicked smile grew. “Well?”

She could play his monosyllabic, single word game too. “What?”

“My performance?”

“Pardon?” She immediately flushed. Did he expect her to comment upon the kiss—in words? She quickly passed off the event as sudden excitement or irresistible physical attraction or a mixture of both. A fleeting, stolen moment, unimportant, and never to be repeated. The sort of behavior normal for a man with Mr. Drexel’s reputation, but not a common situation for her. She certainly would never put herself in a position of instigating a kiss again. In the future, she must summon up her personal will and not succumb to the potent allure of an all too attractive, well-practiced rake. Any stain on her reputation could affect her sister’s chances of making a respectable match and damage the future of all of her siblings. She must do her best to remember that her family’s welfare came before hers.

Ah, but she gained so much pleasure from his kisses.

“Madam, your blush gives you away. By performance, I did not mean my stunning and exemplary technique during our celebratory kiss. I meant my clever scheme to show your James the error of his ways. I didn’t know if it would work, mind you. But it did! Spectacularly too. And you! You, madam, remained…mostly silent. Imagine a woman who knows when to hold her tongue. I am honored, Mrs. Russell.” He gazed at her with a fierce appreciation in his dark eyes.

While she now realized his motivation had been one of blowing off steam and celebration, she ached to kiss him again. Her continued forwardness utterly shocked her.

What was wrong with her? Had she gone mad?

Unfortunately, her rapid breaths still caused her chest to rise and fall, enough for him to notice, so she tried to divert him. “You
can
string more than one word…”

He stepped closer.

“Word together.” She recognized the eminent danger of seduction—another kiss likely foremost in his mind. A gesture of no worth, other than cheap excitement for them both.

Standing imperiously over her, he too was breathing fast.

She summoned what remained of her strength of character and pushed him back. “Indeed, you were articulate and splendid.” She stepped back farther. “Quite the performance. I can see why you are so thrilled. But it is time for me to return home.” She caught his gaze. “Understand?”

He paused, then squinted. “Right.”

She chuckled.

“Very well, madam. It’s time for my favorite Lepus to expose her fluffy white tail as she hops on home.” He tilted his head, as if to catch sight of her backside when she started walking.

She stood fixed and held out her hand in an obvious motion for him to go first, denying him a chance view of her backside. “After you, sir.”

He chuckled. “Very well.” He presented his arm.

She placed her hand on his broad arm and, without meaning to, she caught a glimpse of
his
backside—a very attractive one indeed. Shocked by her forward behavior, a pot of tea was needed to recover her wits. “While your tactic to change James’s mind was risky,” she said, “I do admire its success. I cannot thank you enough for your effort.” She glanced up and smiled at him. “You must now realize that pleading your case on the basis of stirring up strong emotions can be successful?”

“Humph.”

When they reached the front door of Broadsham House, she turned to bid Mr. Drexel farewell but was interrupted when Fitzy threw open the door.

“Drexel! It
is
you. I saw you walk by the window and thought what perfect timing. Well met, sir. Come on in.” He held the door open.

Mr. Drexel hesitated.

“Has luncheon been served?” she asked Fitzy. She focused on pulling off her kerseymere gloves, instead of Mr. Drexel’s wide-eyed expression.

“Not yet,” Fitzy said. “We were waiting for you to return. So you see Drexel, you must dine with us. I want to hear all the latest engineering difficulties at the tunnel. That Mr. Marc Brunel is a remarkable man. Please say yes. I would love to hear all about him, and your work too, of course.”

Meta hoped he would stay for the midday meal. She was curious to understand the reasons behind his questionable speech about gentlemen marrying rich, ugly wives. How did he know this tactic of describing an imaginary future wife would prove successful with James? Was it solely to motivate James, or was there some personal truth to his words?

Mr. Drexel peered up the street, no doubt formulating a good excuse for taking his leave.

Meta hoped he would agree, for Fitzy’s sake, so she whispered to him, “You need not worry. There will be no emotional scenes to make you uncomfortable.”

“I don’t avoid emotions, in a proper context, just nonsensical conversations about feelings with females.”

“Eww, I agree,” Fitzy said, joining the male side of the argument. “But please, Drexel, I’d like to show you a wood model I have completed. It is an exact replica of the great shield now tunneling under the Thames. I do believe you will be impressed.”

Mr. Drexel focused those wide brown eyes on her, a clear unspoken plea for her intervention. Perhaps for her to devise an excuse for him to leave, which would not hurt Fitzy’s feelings.

She wanted him to stay. It would present her with a chance to thank him properly for speaking to James without the interruption of a kiss, so she repeated her brother’s invitation.

He sighed and removed his beaver hat. “I must not remain long. How many mewling infants did you say reside under this roof?” He sounded like he expected her siblings to bite him on the ankles.

“Not a single infant. My youngest brother, Tom, is just eight.” She smiled and gently pulled him into the vestibule. “The meal will be short, not a grand repast. I promise.”

He stared down at her hand clinching his arm. “Very well.”

She jerked her hand back, then masked the embarrassment created by her improper touch by asking the butler to inform Cook that luncheon should be served in fifteen minutes.

“Weee!” Tom shouted, flying down the stairs, his little knees pumping away.

Mr. Drexel stepped back and stood full against the wall.

Her brother ran past both of them without a flicker of recognition.

“Tom!” she shouted, but her brother continued to run. “Thomas!” She took a rushed step forward to pursue him, but stopped. By now her brother had run downstairs and out of sight too fast for her to catch him. “That was my youngest brother, Tom.”

“Clearly your resident infant.”

She grinned. “You have a point.” She then led Mr. Drexel to the small schoolroom at the back of the house, near the mews. Fitzy’s wooden model of the great shield rested on one of the oak tables in the sunny white room.

Fitzy could barely contain himself. His rapid description of this model came out so fast; no sane individual could comprehend him. All they heard were mumbled words like “iron,” “brick,” “water,” and repeated “Brunel,” “genius,” “Brunel,” “genius.”

“Slow down,” she said. “We cannot understand you.”

A blush crept up from under his high collar and stained his cheeks. “Oh, I am sorry, sir. But I needn’t explain a thing to you, obviously. What do you think of my model? It’s a first attempt, so I don’t expect it to be up to professional standards. But I am pleased with it, and Meta said it was very fine.” He clutched his hands together, anticipating Mr. Drexel’s response.

She hoped their guest would not be too hard on an eager beginner.

Mr. Drexel went through the motions of examining the model carefully. He then straightened. “You are correct in that the initial drawings indicated hydraulic screws, but they proved to be too costly. At present, we employ hand screws to move the poling boards forward once the dirt is removed. Other than that one small detail, your model is a perfect rendition. You are quite justified in being pleased with it. Well done.”

Meta could have kissed him right then in front of everyone, an irritating urge that unsettled her completely and left her cheeks blazing.

Thankfully, no one noticed her red cheeks, because Fitzy held everyone’s attention by gushing about his achievement. “I’m pleased to hear I got the details right.” He glanced down. “Except for the very small one about the hydraulics. It is the details that are important in capturing the essence of an engineering design. Isn’t it, sir?”

“Yes,” Mr. Drexel said, “nothing else matters. Some argue that the drawings must be pleasing to the eye, but for me the details must be scrupulously correct. Great effort must go into it to make sure of this. It is the rendering of details that separates a good draftsman from a brilliant one.”

He turned and caught sight of her blush.

Fitzy continued without pause. “I plan to cast one of the great bolts in plaster too. While some may consider it just a bolt, the sheer size, intricacies, and the use in some magnificent construction move my emotions. So for those very reasons, I believe they are true art. I cannot wait to show you my results.”

Mr. Drexel grinned, placed his hand on Fitzy’s shoulder, and caught her gaze. “Me too.”

She silently thanked him with a smile.

He gave her a wink. A simple gesture, yet accompanied by an expression of ardor that made it wicked.

Luncheon was announced and the entire family gathered around the dining table. The light meal of cheeses, fresh bread, and a cold game pie provided plenty to eat for the family and their unexpected guest.

Tom spent his time stabbing a toasted piece of bread with his fork, despite Meta’s direct admonition not to do so.

Susanna, age fourteen years, ignored her meal. Instead, she seemed to be either fascinated or frightened by Mr. Drexel, taking turns from blatant stares to looking like she wished to flee at the drop of a spoon.

Meta understood Susanna’s apprehension. Mr. Drexel’s dark countenance, extraordinary height, and nervous hands did not resemble any gentleman her sister had encountered before at home. He repeatedly tapped the table with one forefinger, a motion that Susanna eyed with some suspicion.

During the meal, Mr. Drexel answered all of Fitzy’s questions with great patience, a somewhat surprising event due to his earlier hesitation to accept the family’s invitation to dine.

“What is your exact title on the tunnel project, sir?” Fitzy asked. “Is it engineer? There seem to be many engineers at work every day. What exactly do you do at the site?”

“Right now I am a temporary engineer, one of Mr. Brunel’s assistants. There are probably three of us performing the same job when needed. Of course, Mr. Brunel trusts his son, Isambard, and rightfully so. He works tirelessly and rarely gets more than four hours of sleep. He truly is a remarkable man. My current ambition is to join Isambard and be promoted to one of the resident engineers. If I’m successful, it will provide additional opportunities to meet influential men who can advance my career as an architect of public works. But of course, if that comes to pass, I will be spending much more time at the site than I do now.” He gave her a brief grin.

Then the oddest thing happened. When she caught sight of his grin, electricity shot through her, or at least what she expected electricity felt like. A sudden jolt, not painful, but rendering her keenly aware of being alive. She shook her head. Had other women felt this too in his presence? Was this electricity the reason he proved irresistible to all females? She reconsidered her extreme response and refused to believe it meant anything significant, other than overwhelming gratitude for his efforts on behalf of her beloved siblings.

He lifted both brows and beamed the wicked smile.

Confused, embarrassed, and mortified about her body’s unusual response to him, and doing her best to hide it, she gave him a neutral smile and focused on eating her meat pie.

By now her siblings had become adjusted to this large, acerbic man at their table, and they no longer seemed awed or frightened.

Tom amused himself by repeatedly grabbing everyone’s attention by shouting, “engineer, engineer, engineer.”

Susanna and Lily, who had been absorbed by their own personal conversation, now turned their interest to this unconventional gentleman sitting just several feet away.

Susanna spoke first. “Mr. Drexel, have you ever danced in the ballroom at Almack’s?”

Involved in an animated conversation about a suspension bridge with Fitzy, he answered her in an offhand fashion. “Attended once, Miss Susanna—most boring Wednesday evening of my life. My only excitement was relieving myself on…”

Meta gasped, then held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t say anything vulgar in front of the children.

Mr. Drexel paused and caught her startled expression. “Right. Relieved myself
of
my male companions of the evening to stand up with every wallflower in attendance.” He gave Susanna a courteous nod, then focused on slicing his cheese.

Meta thought Susanna might swoon. She remained staring at the man in a brazen, admiring fashion Meta needed to comment upon once they were alone.

Now emboldened by his response, Susanna continued. “I beg pardon, sir, but I have no one to ask, you see, and I have several questions I’m dying to get answers to. Do gentlemen really admire satin ribbons? My suspicions are that it is only ladies who do so.”

He stared at Meta, his dark eyes unusually wide.

She had no intention of rescuing him.

He must have understood her reticence, because he forced a smile and turned to Susanna. “When I was at Almack’s, I admired every…ribbon in the room.”