Chapter 4

Elise smoothed her skirts and stared at her reflection for the first time in her life with open concern.

"Mary, do you think I should change into the sapphire-blue gown or..." She plucked the lace just above her breasts, all too aware of how low the neckline was. Her breasts might pop free after one deep breath if she wasn't careful. She hadn't ever noticed that this gown was supposed to settle this low, but her maid, Mary, had tugged the gown down when Elise had first put it on.

Her maid chuckled. "Stop fussing, milady. The persimmon suits your eyes and hair better than the blue." It amused her that her maid called her milady because when she'd been born her father had called her a perfect little lady and the butler and Mary had adored the pet name of milady for Elise.

"Are you sure? Mr. Holmes said the blue?—"

"Ach!" Mary tutted. "That windbag doesn't know a thing about ladies, let alone ladies' fashion. You look fine in blue, but any colors in the red or pink family make your eyes shine and your skin glow. Trust me."

Mary adjusted the sleeves on Elise's shoulders and then wiggled the elaborate bustle of pale-green bows and ribbons at the back of her gown. She adjusted it properly and then tied the bustle into the hidden loops of the back of the overskirt to secure it in place.

"There. 'Tis all settled for you to go down and meet your guest." Her maid beamed at her like a proud mother hen. "Your mother would be glad to see you like this, milady."

"Do you think so?" Elise bit her lip and slid another pin into her hair to keep the tight and elaborately styled coiffure that Mary had made in place. She had so few memories of her mother, but the ones she did have were full of smiles. Her mother had been an exquisite beauty, but also clever and full of life. That pang of longing for a mother she barely remembered was surprisingly deep, the pain ancient, yet still as fresh as if she were a child all over again. Her hands trembled as she touched the lace on her bodice again.

"I do. She always wanted to see you happy and find a man worthy of you, just like she found your father. Now here you are, finally showing interest in a man. And not just any man, but a handsome earl. 'Tis about time you married and settled down. Your father could use a grandbaby or two to make him feel young again."

Elise gasped. "I couldn't possibly think about children right now. Besides, I don't know why a grandchild would make a difference to Papa."

Her maid rolled her eyes. "Because when you have a child, your parents have a chance to love that child as they once loved you. It will remind him of the happy days when you were little and your mother was still alive." Her maid collected a pair of stockings from the floor and Elise's walking boots.

"Besides, you deserve to have a fine man courting you. You work too hard, milady. You deserve a bit of fun now and then."

Elise sighed in exasperation. "I told you, Mary. Lord March isn't coming to court me. I am studying him for the advancement of natural science."

Mary raised a brow as she stared at Elise through the reflection of the mirror.

"That and to win a bet against Mr. Holmes," she added quickly.

Mary shook her head. "Call it what you like, but that man will be courting you tonight, especially when he sees you in this dress. You'd best remember to take notes on that. You ought to be studying romance. And never mind about that Mr. Holmes and his silly wagers." Her maid then bent to retrieve Elise's day gown from the floor to put it away.

"Romance," Elise muttered. "How silly." She was far too busy discovering things that would change humanity's understanding of the natural world to be worried about things like carriage rides, flowers, and kisses. What nonsense. She tucked a defiant strand of blonde hair back in place and went downstairs. Mr. Roberts, her father's butler, was waiting for her.

"Has Lord March arrived yet?" she asked. Roberts shook his head.

She checked the grandfather clock by the door and frowned. It was two minutes until eight. What if he didn't come? She walked over to the slender window next to the door and peered out across the square at the townhouse that she now knew was his. It had surprised her to realize that they lived so close and yet she'd never been aware of it. Of course, he'd left for Paris so long ago, and she had never been one to think about gossip or society... but still. His own house had been just there across the square all this time...

Beneath the glow of the streetlamps, she saw Lord March exit his townhouse and step down onto the street and come toward her house. His steps were sure and his shoulders rigid. She remained hidden beside the window, her eyes lingering on the fine figure he cut. Her stomach tumbled and she ducked out of sight as he started up the steps to her home. A hard knock upon the door brought her back to herself.

"Shall I answer it?" Roberts asked. No doubt he was wondering why she was acting so unlike herself. She had never worried about guests arriving before.

"No. Wait... yes, you answer it. But let me go back upstairs first. Then send for me when he's here."

Roberts took her odd order in stride, and she rushed upstairs to hide just out of sight. The door opened and she heard March speak.

"Prospero Harrington... er... Lord March, to see Miss Hamblin for dinner." He still wasn't used to calling himself March, it seemed.

Roberts sent a footman up the stairs to where she was hiding and he whispered, "Miss Hamblin, Lord March is here for dinner."

Elise thanked the footman with a nod and waited a brief moment, as if she'd heard the butler from down the corridor, then took a deep breath and stepped out of her hiding place. She halted midway down the stairs as her eyes locked with those of Lord March.

He was the finest specimen of a man she'd ever seen. Not that it mattered, but she didn't make a habit of gawking at attractive men. Interesting. She would be taking notes on her own responses to him later.

Seeing him now brought her back to that moment earlier this afternoon at the society headquarters when he'd come into her study for the interview. She'd been struck then by his looks, but also by something not quite as tangible that created a heightened awareness of his innate maleness. She'd been around many men in her life, many who sought to remind her of her place in society as a woman, that she was beneath them, that being a woman was somehow a crime.

But not with Prospero. When he'd stood close to her and they'd spoken, his gaze had moved over her, not with predatory lust, but with honest male interest that held none of the usual superiority she was used to when men looked at her. She'd felt... feminine, truly feminine, for the first time in her life. With him, feeling feminine seemed to be a strength, something to be proud of because it made her feel... powerful. She was not simply some object to be coveted. She felt a strange sense of mutual attraction and desire that put her and Prospero on the same footing.

Prospero was taller than most men, with broad shoulders. His dark-blue evening coat had been tailored so well that it fit him like a second skin. His dark hair was cut slightly longer than was fashionable, and he had no mustache, despite the current trend to hide one's face with a stylish beard. His features were so perfect that the ancient Greek sculptors would have wept with need, demanding to capture his beauty in marble. His eyes filled with heat as he looked up at her, his hat halfway removed from his head. Had she stopped him quite literally in his tracks? The thought sent a frisson of pleasure through her. She'd never cared if she'd affected a man like that before, but now she did. Why was that?

"Miss Hamblin." He seemed to recover quicker than she did as he handed his hat to the butler. "You look lovely tonight."

They were silly words, words that any man could say to a woman, yet they had her heart fluttering strangely in her chest.

Don't be a fool, she chided herself. He's only being polite.

"Good evening, Lord March." She came the rest of the way down the stairs, and he bowed over her hand when she offered it.

"Please call me Prospero. If we are to work together, it would be far more comfortable, and appropriate." He then pressed his lips to her knuckles before he straightened.

Her skin tingled where he had touched her with his mouth. She'd forgotten her gloves, which wasn't unusual for dinners at home, but tonight it made her all too aware of this gorgeous earl. She'd heard women murmur about a certain type of men being dangerous, and she honestly hadn't quite understood what they'd meant. Danger, to her, had been the idea of a man pulling out a knife or something else that would threaten her physically, but now in this single, seemingly innocent moment, she finally understood what they meant.

That single kiss had completely blanked her mind of rational thoughts, though it had happened for only an instant. The naturalist in her examined the response, and the resulting concern was what would happen to her if he were to kiss her mouth... or other places far more... intimate than her hand? Might that same mind blanking occur again... and for far longer? Many animals had courtship rituals, but none like this. Did the lioness feel a mix of fear and excitement when a male lion nuzzled her neck? Or was she simply comfortable in her choice of mate and had no doubts? Was it only humans who added extra layers of concerns and worries when it came to such rituals?

She shivered a little, and Prospero seemed to notice. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, focused on the movement of her body like a wolf spotting a wild hare dashing away in the underbrush. Yet he waited. He didn't chase her. Somehow that waiting only seemed to heighten everything about his effect on her.

"W—well, Prospero it is, then." She cleared her throat, her skin suddenly flushed. Was it too hot in here? Had the maids lit the fires in every room in the house? It certainly felt as though they had. "I suppose, given the circumstances, you must call me Elise."

"Elise." His soft, sensual voice made her feel even warmer.

"Well... dinner should be ready for us." She gestured toward the dining room and started walking but Prospero gently captured her arm and tucked it into his. She looked down at his arm entwined with hers, startled.

"Shall we begin your first lesson about men? Most of us prefer to have the honor of escorting a woman to dinner. I say most men because I sadly know that some men do not act with respect or chivalry toward the female sex these days."

She looked up at him, more curious than ever about him. "And if you remove all civility, remove all chivalry, how would you behave? I mean, if you were a man without civilized laws and customs to guide you?"

He seemed to ponder her question quite seriously as he escorted her to a seat at the end of the table.

His gaze danced quickly over the expensively furnished room with a vast table, cherrywood paneled walls, and dozens of paintings of men hunting or women lounging beneath swings in pastoral scenes. Her mother had decorated this room years before Elise had been born and it was still beautiful, unchanged, like a memory of her captured in a bottle. Prospero didn't know this, of course. He would simply see a lovely room like in any other home in Grosvenor Square.

"I suppose you want an honest answer, not a gentlemanly one?" Prospero's hands lingered on the back of Elise's chair as he pushed her in toward the table.

"Of course. Honesty is key for any study." She turned to look up at him. He leaned down in that same moment, and they were close enough that their lips almost brushed. His eyes were such a vibrant blue, like a summer sky free of clouds. Heat spread through her body like a growing fire as she stared into those eyes and forgot everything else around her until he spoke again.

"Well then, honestly, most men will do anything to have even a chance to be near an attractive woman." Elise's breath caught, but before she could protest or ask another question, Prospero continued. "We pretend we want business and power more than anything else, but when it comes down to it, women will always be our deepest desire."

Elise finally found her voice. "Women, in the plural?"

His smile broadened. "Men curate their fantasies based on the women, or the singular woman, they are interested in at the moment. It differs based on the man as to whether he fixates on one woman at a time, or more."

Elise's throat felt dry. "Do all men have these... fantasies?"

"Well, let us say I took a fancy to you. I would fantasize about how much I'd like to get you alone." His voice was like silk. "I would spend countless hours planning to lure you into a dark alcove for a stolen kiss or caress. All men create fantasies of the things we want to do to you when we get you women alone. In my case, escorting you to dinner, letting me touch you ever so innocently, allowing me to inhale the scent of rosewater in your hair or the aroma of the flowery perfume that clings to your skin. Those are the sorts of things that stimulate my senses." He closed his eyes briefly, and her heart skipped a beat as he inhaled slowly, deeply, as if breathing in her scent to the depths of his soul.

"That's all so silly, though," she protested, her mind whirling. "My perfume, the smell of my hair? Any acquaintance of mine would make note of it. Why would that appeal to you as a male in such a heightened fashion?"

Prospero's eyes opened, snaring her. "Because, my darling Elise, all of this adds to my knowledge of you, which creates the illusion of possibility. A sweet scent or a rosy hue to your skin makes a man think of where it might lead, and that always leads to thoughts of sex. The primal man in me—the one you asked about, and the one for whom I answer honestly—hungers to take what my body so desperately wants."

"And if this wasn't part of a scientific study, what would a man such as yourself be looking for right now if you were alone with a woman for dinner? Hypothetically speaking, of course...?" She could barely speak the words, her breath was so shallow with a strange excitement. It was as though she'd discovered a new species of butterfly or noticed a pattern in the migration of doves. He lifted his hand to stroke the backs of his knuckles along her bare arm.

"Hypothetically speaking, I'd want to ravish you... to strip you of every bit of silk and satin, cover your body with kisses, and stroke you in all the secret places that make you gasp and writhe. Then, when you beg for me, I will introduce you to the greatest pleasures that our mortal bodies can experience. A real man, a good man, craves to take a woman to such heights of pleasure that she fears she might die from the intensity."

His voice was low, hypnotic, and she found herself staring at his mouth once again in fascination. His lips curved up in a rakish half smile, as if he was all too aware of that fascination. The greatest pleasures that our mortal bodies can experience... His words echoed in her mind until she could only imagine what he might mean.

"Does that honest answer suit you?" he inquired.

It took an embarrassingly long moment for her to collect her thoughts. She gave a jerky nod.

"Good." He took his seat opposite her. Two footmen entered the dining room and approached the table with the first course of carrot soup, which they ladled into Elise and Prospero's bowls before retreating to the far corner of the room along with the butler to give them some privacy.

Prospero waited for her to try her soup. "May I ask you a question?"

"Yes, please consider this an open discourse between us. You may ask me whatever you wish." Questions would be safe, assuming he stuck to matters of natural science.

His expression turned thoughtful. "I noticed your father isn't dining with us. And your mother, is she here this evening...?"

"She died when I was a young child. Papa usually dines with me, but he had a business dinner at his club." It was a question she was used to answering. Whenever her father had business dinners at home, the gentlemen dining with them, if meeting her for the first time, always inquired after her mother, who would have been the expected hostess.

"Ah. Which club does he belong to?"

She was glad when he didn't ask about her mother. Sometimes she didn't mind talking about her, but so often, that old grief, so deep for a child who loses a parent too young, could overcome her. It was a subject better left undiscussed.

"White's. You aren't a member, are you?" She knew the answer, but she didn't want him to know she'd prepared a complete dossier on him. Not yet, anyway.

"No, I'm over at Berkeley's. My family has been there for more than half a century. I was invited to join White's as a young man, as well as a few of the other clubs, but I ended up at Berkeley's. Some things are in the blood, aren't they?"

"Quite true." She'd made a study of inheritable traits in animals, and she believed that people could be the same. "One can see it most clearly in dogs. They can inherit traits like eye color, fur pattern, even fur texture, but I also believe that some traits, such as herding or preferring the company of humans to being alone in pastures on farms, can also be an inherited trait bred into them over time. I'd love to expand my research further..."

She halted when she heard him chuckle.

"What?" she said, a little flustered. Was he making light of what she'd said? She was used to men mocking her.

"You, my dear Elise, are quite..."

She waited to hear what he would say and predicted it would fall in one of two disappointing ways.

"Fascinating," he finally said.

That wasn't at all what she'd expected him to say.

"You... you don't think I'm mad for comparing dog traits to men and their choosing of club memberships?"

"Mad? No, not at all. I think you might be rather brilliant," he replied.

She nearly sagged in relief at the clear honesty in his voice.

"Please never hesitate in telling me your observations. I find them truly interesting."

"Really?"

"Really." He flashed her that charming smile that had an all too noticeable an effect on the temperature of her body.

"You're blushing again. I must endeavor to continue doing whatever it is that makes you flush like that," he mused.

"Was I? Oh..." She hastily tried to think of something to change the subject. "Did you know that in 1851 a German physician named Carl Reinhold August Wunderlich discovered that humans have an average body temperature?"

"No, I had no idea," Prospero replied, leaning forward. "Tell me more about this Carl fellow."

She happily dove into a discussion about temperatures and measurements, and then the question of whether the average temperature shifted given age, gender, and general health conditions. All through it, he asked questions or added his thoughts, and she found she was truly having a pleasant evening with him.

As they finished their soup course, the footmen brought out roasted pheasant. Elise was startled by how easy it was to talk to Prospero. She'd never before realized that she might enjoy talking with a man. Most men at dinners kept the focus on themselves and bragged about their money or connections or their own banal observations, and they expected her to hang on their every word while they asked nothing of her interests.

With Prospero, conversation was smooth and easy. He had made her laugh with tales of his adventures in Paris with his friend Guy, the Viscount De Courcy. However, she sensed deep beneath his tales and amusing anecdotes that he had suffered much. She heard the longing in his voice as he spoke of his home and his old friends.

"Has it been hard, coming home?" she asked.

"Yes," he admitted. "Everyone has changed, and yet nothing feels changed. It's like I've come to watch a play on the second night, only all the actors are different while the scenery is the same as ever. It makes me feel..."

"Out of place?" she guessed.

He chuckled dryly. "That's exactly it. Out of place in a setting that should be familiar but with players that I don't recognize anymore. Everyone wants to avoid me, except the few good friends I've had since boyhood."

"If there is one thing I know about people, they do not handle discomfort well. And I mean discomfort of any kind. People who know of your past will either look beyond it to see you or they won't. I suggest wasting no time on the latter." She set her glass of wine down on the table firmly as she made her point.

"Wise advice," he replied with a smile, softer than his previous rakish grin. To her surprise, she found she liked both expressions equally, as they were part of a complex tapestry that made up his personality. She adored complexity in all things because it gave her a sense of wonder and awe to study it and learn everything she could. Which was exactly what she planned to do with this man.

He pushed his plate away and drank the last of his wine. "So tell me, how do we begin this study of yours?" Elise felt strangely like she was the one under a magnifying lens rather than him.

"I would like to learn about your average day from start to finish, explore your nightly and morning rituals, and then expand into deeper subjects like your personal philosophies, things you see as triumphs and failures in your life. Mostly, I'm interested to know what motivates you on an instinctual level from day to day. Do you, say, eat only when you feel hungry, or do you eat every day at the same time? Do you feel the need to prove your strength against other males in physical tests, such as boxing or fencing? Do you enjoy hunting, and if so, why? Is it the thrill of the ride or the need to end the life of another creature? These are the sorts of things I came up with to start."

"Not that I'm not happy to be the chosen fellow for this study, but why not choose a more typical man? A dockworker or a factory laborer or even a clerk at a bank? My background isn't exactly average. Won't that affect your study in some way or skew the results in a particular direction?"

"Actually, your background is what I was most interested in. You see, it's easy enough to study those other men from the laboring classes. They are motivated by food for themselves and their families and a need to keep a roof over their heads. They cannot afford to indulge in the unusual activities that upper-class gentlemen do. A man of your station, by freedom of your title or money, have more flexibility to do as you please, to let your instincts and desires guide you. I don't wish to study the average man—I wish to study a man who lives on a knife's edge, a man with your exact history."

Understanding lit his eyes. "You knew about my past, and that was part of the reason you chose me? Because I've done something most men haven't when I faced Jackson in that duel and then lived in Paris the way I did."

Elise feared for a moment he would be furious, that he would see all too clearly that she'd marked him as the target for her study long before the moment he'd stepped into the society's headquarters for his interview.

"I suppose... that I can understand that, although it does leave me feeling a bit... unsettled. I want to put that part of my life behind me."

"Of course. I have no desire to make you relive any of it. I just wish to study someone like you, someone complex."

"Fair enough. Very well, I give my consent to continue the study."

She waited for the footmen to clear away their plates before she addressed what she considered to be a sensitive subject.

"I also have a room prepared for you to sleep in tonight."

He stood and came over to her, offering her his arm once more. This time the gesture, which she'd always seen as one of politeness, carried a charged sensual energy to it because she knew what he was thinking. It was undeniably fascinating and unsettling to have an insight into the male realm of thought where she'd never been privy before.

"Hypothetically, what do you think of when a man offers you his arm?" Prospero asked as they exited the dining room.

"Me?" she asked, surprised by her own question being turned back on her.

"Yes, as a woman, not a naturalist."

She tilted her head as she considered it. "I suppose I see it as a sign of trust and a sign of respect. I appreciate the consideration that a man will adjust his length of stride when we walk side by side. I am not as short in stature as many women, but I still like not having to run to keep up with a man who is taller than me."

"Respect is all that comes to mind? Nothing else?" His eyes glinted with mischief.

"Yes, that is all I think of." She was lying, however, and she knew by the flash in his gaze that he was well aware of it. She remained silent until she showed him to a room on the floor above them.

"This will be your bedchamber for as long as you require during our study." She opened the door, and he examined the room without comment.

"I'm sorry that I don't have a valet for you. Would you like me to hire one?" she asked uncertainly.

"That won't be necessary. I'm quite used to dressing myself until I can find a man of my own."

"Speaking of which... do you need any help? My butler, Roberts, has quite a network of connections with other households in the city. I could task him with posting your position notices when you hire your new staff."

Prospero turned to her. "My pride demands that I ignore the help, but frankly, I could use it. My contacts upon returning to London are not what they once were."

Elise made a mental note of this choice, how he was aware of his own pride but pushed it aside for the rational logic of accepting help from her. Then she realized that her help being accepted by him gave her a flash of her own feminine pride. She thought of Cinna's comment about defeating men. This didn't feel like a victory over an enemy, however, but rather a shared moment between two people partnering together.

"Write something up tonight. I will tell Roberts to put notices up for you tomorrow." She started to pull her arm away from his, but he caught her gently by the elbow.

"You mentioned seeing a man's nightly rituals. Shall we begin this evening?" He raised a brow as he waited for her answer in the blend of candlelight and shadow just inside the doorway.

Was this how Persephone felt when she faced the choice of stepping into Hades's beautiful twilight realm? Would she taste the bittersweetness of a pomegranate?

Prospero was challenging her, testing whether she would go through with her plan to study him. Did he think she would be too afraid to watch him undress?

She lifted her chin. "Please give me a few minutes. If I am to observe you this evening, I shall need pen and paper. I should also like to change into a tea gown to be more comfortable."

He released her and stepped inside his newly appointed bedchamber. "I shall await your return."

She whirled away and went to her own room. Mary quickly helped her change out of her evening dress and corset before she changed into a more comfortable light-blue tea gown. She stepped into fur-lined slippers and collected a notebook and a pen from her writing desk before she returned to Prospero's room.

He stood by the bed, leaning back against it, his legs crossed at the ankles as he waited for her. He said nothing when he took in her change of clothing, but she saw surprise in his eyes. It was a bit unusual to wear a tea gown in front of a man while alone. Tea gowns were less formal, less restrictive on a woman's body, and he was no doubt aware of that fact. It didn't usually make her feel exposed, but she did now as his eyes lingered on her unrestricted breasts beneath the thin silk.

She settled into a chair and placed a book on her lap to support her notebook, then looked at him expectantly.

"You may begin. And please, explain things as you go along."

He pushed away from the bed. "Very well."

Why the act of him moving away from the bed and toward her with purpose made her heart suddenly flutter wildly, she wasn't sure. Men never affected her like this.

Prospero is a specimen to be studied, she reminded herself. No different than a moth or a beetle.

But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself, the truth was that this man did affect her. He presented such an elegant picture in his dark-blue tailored evening suit and gold waistcoat. He removed his frock coat and reached for the buttons of the waistcoat.

"I prefer to remove my waistcoat first, normally by starting with my pocket watch," Prospero said.

"Do you have a pocket watch?" she asked when he didn't reach for one.

His blue eyes darkened. "Not at the moment. I had to sell it in order to buy passage back to England."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"You need not apologize. You couldn't have known." Prospero's tone was gentle, but she heard the melancholy in his words.

She forced her gaze down to her paper and made a few notes about watches and waistcoats. When she looked back up, he was studying her, his hands holding the edges of his waistcoat slightly open. She swallowed as he peeled the garment off his body to reveal his crisp white shirt of thin linen. He reached up, removed his ascot, and tossed the tie onto the bed before undoing the buttons of his collar.

Heat blossomed in her cheeks as he unfastened his cuffs and pulled his shirt out of his trousers.

"I tend to remove my shirt next. I can keep it cleaner that way if I wash my face or shave in the evening, which I usually do."

"You shave in the evening? Why?"

He seemed to consider her question seriously. "I don't do it every evening, just on the evenings when I know I will be spending time with a lady."

"Oh? What does that have to do with you shaving at night?"

He chuckled and crooked a finger at her. "Shall I demonstrate?"

"You want me to...?"

"Come here, yes." Prospero's grin was playful—and dangerous.

"Oh, I don't need to?—"

"Come here, my little naturalist. Study me." He said it so seductively that Elise found herself moving toward him before she could consider how this likely wasn't a good idea.

She was alone in a bedchamber with a notorious man, and here he was asking her to come closer. But he was a gentleman, and she needed to be close to him in order to properly study him, didn't she? What harm could it do to be just a little closer?