To Catch a Rake (21 page)

She laughed. “It’s just words. Granted, not as enjoyable”—she smiled—“but you’ll survive conversation. Gives me an idea though. Tell me about the field guide. How it came to pass, the inspiration that spurred you to write it.”

“I find I’m not irritated at all over your version of female talk—surprising that. The expected flattery is the worst.” He pulled her onto his warm chest, facing him. “The field guide started as a jest between three friends the year we left Oxford. My friend Ross quickly became successful on the exchange, but he could always use more funds to invest. Meanwhile, the jingle-brained Boyce and myself struggled to find professions. At the time, I resisted engaging in my father’s occupation. I suppose it was some sort of rebellion on my part.”

“Understandable.” Her hands roved over his chest, stroking him in the direction of his smooth chest hair.

He smiled. “Boyce’s brother owns a publishing firm, so my friend challenged us to pen the field guide to help his brother’s business become profitable.” He chuckled. “But our reasons were more like a chance to best each other. In the long run, it proved an easy way to make instant funds separate from the control of our parents. The three of us all had experience with women from an early age, so writing the books was easy.”

“You had intimate relations with the same number of ladies in your field guide?”

He blushed, a heartwarming, rosy contrast to the dark stubble around his cheeks, the dimple in his chin, and those fathomless black eyes. “No, no, of course not, at least not that many. While every lady is unique, most of the descriptions arise from our previous experiences, hopeful imaginings, or just pure fiction. The book is mostly the product of three young colts with little to do, under the influence of a great deal of brandy.”

She laughed.

“After its publication, we received many compliments. It got to the point where strangers would shout at me walking down the street, ‘Hail there, my good fellow. Enjoyed your book.’ The handbook and field guide amused and entertained a large number of men, which I discovered to be quite gratifying. If you ask me today, I have only a few regrets. At the time, I was too daft and too young to realize the notoriety gained from its publication might affect the success of my future profession. Frankly, I’ve heard the majority of the ladies enjoyed it too.”

“You never became fond of these ladies in your past?”

He stared, wide-eyed. “Fond of them all. Two of the relationships lasted for over a year. Yes, I was devilish fond of them all.”

“Fond is the wrong word. Did you ever fall in love?”

“If you expect me to carry on a conversation about romantic love”—he rolled his eyes—“we can leave here this instant.”

“Why can’t you speak easily about simple emotions like love?” She clung to his chest.

This time he gazed at her like she had instantly become a candidate for Bedlam. Then he shifted his glance to the cracked plaster ceiling for several minutes. Finally, without turning his head, he simply replied, “I’m a man. I do not understand why, but men avoid that like the plague. You must not have been married long if you cannot understand that.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” He fell silent, so she expected him to fall asleep at any minute. “You must have fallen in love with some lady very hard to be so reticent and bitter about it.”

He sat up and pulled her along with him. “I’m not bitter,” he said, a defensive tinge coloring his voice. “Romantic love has no use, does it? Look at my father. When my mother had a stroke, he walked away from the tunnel. Walked away from the most exciting achievement ever constructed by man. Even when I pleaded, begged, he walked away.”

“But the woman he loved needed him more.”

“He could afford a servant to look after her.”

“Then they both would be alone.”

“Pardon?”

“She would be bedridden, ill, and alone. While he could help his son and build the most amazing achievement in England, but it would not signify—not really. How could it? I never witnessed any regrets in your father’s word or tone about his current situation in life. My guess is without her by his side to celebrate with him, the achievement became less meaningful. Maybe now he does his best to work on the project, whenever he feels he can spare the time, solely for your sake. You have to give him credit.”

“Perhaps a little, when he does provide help. But she is not in danger or pain and spends most of her time sleeping. A servant can be easily engaged to care for her, but he refuses to leave her side and gives irrelevant excuses. I am his only child—his son, for God’s sake. Since I am beginning my profession as an engineer, it is a crucial time when my whole future and career depend upon his assistance. He has vastly more experience than I do and can guide me as no other man can.” His voice softened on the last word, so he stopped speaking and rolled over to face the wall.

She could not see his face, but he seemed wounded by his father’s preference for his mother’s company. After this exchange, her previous concern about forming an unrequited love posed no threat. Instead, she found an overwhelming desire to help him achieve his goals by any means possible.

A little while later, they made love again. Only this time, in a slow method more romantic than the exploring engineer. His skills were achingly tender, but exhilarating nevertheless.

When she could no longer be pleasured, they remained in each other’s arms as the rain beat harder, the torrent blurring the small leaded glass windows.

He pulled her onto his chest. “I feel I must hold you, a gesture I’ve always made because it is required. But today I desire it. Another strange change in my normal behavior, is it not?”

She nodded, not knowing what to say.

“Perhaps the ease of a perfect day, in the company of a beautiful woman, could be the reason.”

She smiled up at him. “Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Drexel.”

He chuckled. “Time to call me George. And I suspect in the long run I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

They leisurely dressed, left the inn by the side door, and, under the gray skies of rain at dusk, walked back to town. Thankfully, the rain had rendered the streets deserted, affording some level of privacy.

Just two blocks from Swallow Street, they happened to meet Grizel and Sybella. Both Learned Ladies had been at the tunnel earlier and stopped to pay a call on a mutual friend. After greetings were exchanged, the two other women fell silent. They merely glanced at Mr. Drexel and then back at her, suspicions of an attachment or an assignation written on their expressions.

Meta thought that if she dismissed them or hurried away, they might become even more suspicious, so she decided to pretend nothing seemed amiss or improper. “I stayed so late talking to Mr. Brunel, Mr. Drexel kindly offered to walk me home. Dusk can be a frightening place in London. Would you ladies like to join us? Mr. Drexel can walk us all safely to our residences.”

The two women reluctantly agreed, and the party started off.

George winked at Meta, then wore a ridiculous smile the entire journey.

Grizel was dropped off first. Unfortunately, Meta’s town house was just around the corner, so she would have to leave the party before Sybella. Thus she would not have the chance to speak freely to George again.

It rained harder; the cold water poured off the edges of their umbrellas.

She turned to give her farewells to George, in case she might never see him again. But she couldn’t think of a word to say of any importance or ones suitable to mention in front of her friends.

He must have been in the identical situation. “I’m at a loss for words.” He shook his head. “Funny that.”

One glance at Sybella’s knowing smirk and Meta became more composed. “I’m not, Mr. Drexel. The words are thank you.” She gulped. “Thank you for the escort.”

“Yes, that’s it. Thank you, madam. Everyone involved with the tunnel owes you and the Learned Ladies so much.” His active hands twirled the umbrella. “Will I ever see you again?”

She glanced at Sybella—the small smirk had disappeared. If her friend had suspicions before, her matter-of-fact farewell must have vanished them. “I see no reason for it,” Meta said. “Unless you can persuade Lily to change her mind better than I can, which I doubt.” She held out her hand. “Mr. Drexel, if I don’t see you again, I wish you the best of luck with your tunnel. From now on, I will eagerly look forward to the evening’s newspaper to hear of news of the tunnel’s progress. Farewell, sir.”

“Until we meet again, Mrs. Russell.”

Thirteen

“Sir, I have done it.” George yelled, standing outside the drawing room door. He received no response. Perhaps his father had not heard him, so he yelled toward the upstairs part of the house again. “The card shuffler, I’ve solved it.” He returned to the drawing room and waited, assured his father had heard him the second time.

Staring at the simple oak box on his desk, he swelled with pride at his accomplishment. The box had been a devilish nightmare to invent. It started as a flip comment made while playing cards with his two best friends, Ross and Boyce. His friends probably didn’t recall his promise to build a shuffler, but he remembered. Now years later, fiddling with it in the few precious moments of his spare time he used to relax, he solved the problem of separating the individual cards. The cards had always seemed to hang up upon the metal levers meant to separate them. Today as he studied the problem, his mind wandered to the appreciation of Meta’s appealing curves. Then inspiration struck. The concept of a wheel’s curve turned out to be the solution of his card separation problem. Without her knowledge, she had provided him with assistance, which he knew would please her.

His father entered the room, joined him at the desk, and nodded his appreciation.

George considered his father’s manner upon hearing the good news far too casual. Considering the importance of the accomplishment, he should show more enthusiasm than just a nod, for heaven’s sake.

“Congratulations, Son.” Michael smiled and patted him on the back.

George waited for further praise but received none. While he appreciated the pat, he frankly felt a touch more admiration was due, given the years he had worked on the shuffler. He then remembered Parker was in town, so perhaps his friend would better appreciate his success, since he had suggested the shuffler in the first place. George leaned out of the door, called for Mrs. Morris, and asked her to send a note around to Parker, suggesting they take luncheon together. He returned to demonstrate every detail of the shuffler to his father.

“What are you going to do with it, now that it’s a practical reality?” His father turned the wheel again, opened the box, and pulled out the cards shuffled into four separate compartments. “I recommend you seek a patent. And perhaps we should put more effort into investigating a possible market.”

“Yes, I’ll apply for a patent. Perhaps Burns might consider putting it into production.”

“I agree—at least it sounds like a good start.” Soon after that comment, his father returned to his mother’s side upstairs.

George sighed and shook his head, frustrated that his father had clearly understood and appreciated his success yet only spent ten minutes altogether admiring the clever little machine. He’d have to depend on Parker to show the appropriate amount of enthusiasm during luncheon. He returned to the large desk and tested various positions of the wheel in relation to the deck of cards.

He traced his finger along the curve at the top of the wheel, eliciting memories of Meta—warm, pleasant memories. Quite different from the many pleasant memories he had following his other liaisons. Those tended to reflect conquest or success in some form. In his relations with Meta, his intent started as a celebration of success. But the second time they made love, on that rainy afternoon, he discovered a newfound desire to express gratitude and give pleasure. Please her, yes, like the other women who shared his bed. Except the act became more tender in a manner he could not quite fathom. It differed too because the memory of their lovemaking stayed vivid with him. Every day a sight, like this curve before him, or a sound, like a sigh, or a touch, like that of soft skin, created a flood of tender recollections. She would surely appreciate his shuffler, and he regretted the fact that they were unlikely to meet again.

“Hallo, hallo,” Parker shouted, bounding through the drawing room door. A frequent guest, he never rang the bell, for the stated purpose of saving Mrs. Morris the bother of coming up from the kitchen. “Happy day, what?” Parker bounced over and shook his hand. His friend’s green eyes appeared to sparkle brighter than he had ever seen them. Parker had always dressed in the first stare of fashion. His garments spoke of hours spent with his many tailors and boot makers. Today his drab coat and simple waistcoat hinted that his friend no longer had time to spend on his appearance; therefore, his new marriage must suit him very well.

George slapped his best friend on the back. “Cork brain, come look. Remember that day—what is it—three years ago, when I promised to build a card shuffler? Well, I did it!” He held out his hand. “Shall I demonstrate?”

“Yes, yes, please do.” Parker moved close to the desk and bent down to watch the machine close up.

George placed a pack of cards in a little compartment on one end and then turned the wheel several times. After he felt no resistance on the handle, he opened the opposite end of the box revealing shuffled cards in four separate compartments.

“Well, I’ll be.” Parker straightened and vigorously shook his hand. “Congratulations, ol’ man. Never thought it possible, but I’m not surprised. You always were a clever fellow with the whatnots. What are you going to do with it?”

“Patent it first. I don’t want anyone to steal it.”

“No, no, shuffling cards is so troublesome, you’ll probably make a packet on it. Mum’s the word.”

George smiled, delighted his friend understood and celebrated at the appropriate level his achievement deserved. “A packet would be welcome. We could use some extra monies around here at the moment.”