“Oh my, did… did someone see…?”

  “No.” Matilda shook her head and peered at Minerva through her fingers. “No one saw, but I cannot agree that no harm was done.”

  Minerva bristled with fury. “Did he…? Oh, my word, Matilda, did that terrible man—?”

  “No!” Matilda exclaimed, going a deeper shade of scarlet, but shaking her head with vigour. “No, he did nothing wrong. Well, he steered me into a room where we could be alone, which he ought never to have done, but we were about to leave—at my request—when someone came in and we had no choice but to hide ourselves.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “No,” Matilda replied, wretched now. “You don’t see. The circumstances were somewhat fraught, and our hiding place was tiny. We were forced into very close proximity and… and….”

  “Oh, and he took advantage of that fact I suppose?”

  Minerva’s eyebrows went up as Matilda shook her head once more. “No, not exactly,” she said, clearly mortified. “Well perhaps a little but… but when I told him stop, he did. No… it… it was me.”

  “Matilda!” Minerva exclaimed, though more with delight than shock. “What did you do? What happened?”

  With burning cheeks and a deal of stammering, Matilda outlined what had happened with Montagu. By the time she was finished, the poor woman looked ready weep with shame.

  “Oh, Matilda.” Minerva got up and went to sit beside her, taking her hands. “Montagu is a very handsome man, there’s no denying it, and he’s been pursuing you for months now. It’s hardly surprising you should have desired him, you’re only human.”

  “Yes, but he isn’t,” Matilda objected, swiping away a tear. “He’s… he’s cold and manipulative and I must be the greatest fool alive to want such a man. It’s like falling in love with a serpent.”

  Minerva sighed and leaned into her. “If you’re a fool, I’m no better. I wrote to Mr de Beauvoir again, and he replied this morning. It… It was rather to the point.”

  Discovering it was her turn to blush, Minerva gave Matilda a brief summary of the letter.

  “What is wrong with us?” Matilda demanded, throwing up her hands. “Why can’t we fall in love with nice, ordinary men?”

  Minerva shrugged. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  Matilda gave a bark of laughter, though it sounded a tad hysterical.

  “What will you do about Montagu?”

  “I don’t know. Try to avoid him?” Matilda replied, though she sounded half-hearted about the idea. “What about you? You will be careful, Min, dear? It sounds as if he’s only too willing to seduce you and cast you aside if you pursue him.”

  Minerva nodded. “I know, that’s why I have to be the one in charge of the seducing.”

  “What?” Matilda exclaimed, horrified.

  “Oh, not like that,” Minerva said, laughing a little. “Not exactly like that, anyway. No, I will seduce him into falling in love.”

  Chapter 2

  Tonight I am to speak at Joseph Banks’ conversazioni. It is just another lecture, the same as any other. I am not the least bit troubled by it and will not even notice one extra female among those assembled. It will be over, and we will be done.

  ―Excerpt of an entry by Mr Inigo de Beauvoir to his journal.

  22nd December 1814. Joseph Banks conversazioni, Soho Square, London.

  “Thank heavens for that.”

  Minerva turned at the sound of Helena’s voice, feeling as though she was a sleepwalker woken in a strange place as the sound of chatter rose around her and people got to their feet. She gave Helena a sympathetic smile.

  “You didn’t enjoy it?”

  Helena returned a quizzical expression. “And you did? Good Lord, he may as well have been speaking Russian for all I got from it. When he started talking about diamonds, my hopes rose, but it went swiftly downhill. How could he say diamonds are the same as a piece of charcoal? Surely that’s heresy, and when he spoke of burning a diamond… My dear, I almost swooned.”

  Minerva laughed and shook her head. “The bit about diamonds was fascinating, if rather depressing. Does it take the romance away from them, do you think, knowing what they are made of?”

  “I should say it does,” Helena grumbled, regarding the diamond bracelet she wore and wrinkling her nose. She turned her wrist back and forth, and gave a sigh as the stones sparkled like tiny rainbows. “A fellow like that might just give you a sack of coal and have done with it.”

  Minerva giggled as she imagined the look on Helena’s face if any of her beaus tried such a thing, and Helena’s eyes flashed with amusement.

  “I don’t understand it, you know,” she said, lowering her voice. “The allure this fellow holds for you.”

  “I’m not sure I do either,” Minerva admitted. “I just… I love to hear him talk, to know all that knowledge is stored inside him. How amazing to understand such things, to prove the way things work or what they are made of.” She shook her head in wonder. “I think he’s fascinating.”

  Helena rolled her eyes, exasperated.

  “Well, you have your Mr Knight,” Minerva objected, indignant on de Beauvoir’s account. “I don’t understand the attraction to him, either. He looks frightfully fearsome and bad-tempered.”

  “Your Mr de Beauvoir isn’t exactly a hail-fellow-well-met,” Helena retorted. “I could feel his eyes burning into us every time he looked our way, which was far too often. I was only glad you were the focus of his attention and not me. He’s terribly intense.”

  “I know.” Minerva gave a wistful sigh and Helena threw up her hands. “You know, I understood a fair bit of his lecture.” Minerva added, a tad defensively.

  “Good heavens!” Helena pressed her gloved fingers to her breast and adopted a look of scandalised horror. “Min, darling, you’re surely not… an intellectual?”

  Trying and failing to subdue a snort of laughter, Minerva blushed and got to her feet as the elderly gentleman beside her sent a reproving glance her way.

  “Come along,” she urged, taking Helena’s hand and guiding her away from the chairs, and into the throngs of people now clustering around de Beauvoir. She looked at them all with dismay. “I’ll never get to speak to him at this rate.”

  Helena drew her away. “It’s never a good idea to look too keen. Come and eat. Look, there are some delicious little treats here. Oh, and champagne,” she added, clapping her hands with delight. “It was almost worth coming.”

  Minerva sighed but allowed her friend to steer her towards the refreshments table. Helena seemed delighted by the food and the champagne, though Minerva was too nervous to eat a bite. While the little knot of people around Mr de Beauvoir thinned a little, it didn’t dissipate entirely, and Minerva wondered if she would be able to speak with him at all. She sighed, dejected and unequal to elbowing her way through an intimidating wall of intellectual and scientifically minded men.

  Helena had seen someone she knew and wandered off to greet them, so Minerva turned back to the refreshments table, wondering if perhaps she should eat something. Despite having dressed more soberly than usual, in a gown of deep plum velvet, and despite there being several women present, she felt rather out of place. As least she could look less like a misplaced item if she was busy with the food. She lifted a small pastry and put it on a plate, more for something do to than with any desire to eat it. With a resigned expression she picked it up and was about to bite into it when a shadow fell over her.

  Minerva turned and looked up, and her breath caught.

  Those unusual grey-green eyes stared down at her, enigmatic and every bit as intense as Helena had stated, and Minerva could do nothing but stare back. It was irritating to realise all the clever little things she’d thought of saying on seeing him again had vanished from her mind, and she could do nothing, say nothing, only gaze back at him. In her defence, he seemed to be equally at a loss, and the moment stretched on between them.

  Minerva felt colour rise to her cheeks and cursed herself, fighting for something—anything—to say.

  “You should eat,” she said, inwardly rolling her eyes, but at least it was better than silence. “Here, let me prepare you a plate.”

  Relieved to have something to do for a moment while she took herself in hand, she set about arranging a tempting variety of bite-sized morsels on a plate before turning back to him.

  “Here,” she said, smiling as his dark brows drew together a little and he stared her offering as if it was a platter of beetles. “It’s food. You eat it. I know a brilliant man like you must have little time for such inconsequential bodily needs, but you must look after yourself. I think you’ve lost weight again.”

  The frown became a scowl. “I do not need treating like a child.”

  Minerva raised her eyebrows. “No, but at the very least you need a housekeeper to feed you and sew your buttons on. Having your clothes pressed properly would be a good idea, too. Did you sleep in that coat? It looks like you may have.”

  He stiffened and Minerva sighed. “Oh, dear. I beg your pardon. We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I so hoped we wouldn’t. Only, do please eat something. I can’t bear the thought of you working all hours on an empty stomach.”

  Minerva received the kind of look he likely reserved for puzzling residues left in the bottom of a boiling tube after one of his experiments, but then he gave a huff, and took the plate. She watched, pleased, as he devoured it in short order. He even appeared surprised to discover it had all gone. Beaming at him, she took the plate and refilled it before handing it back to him.

  “When was the last time you had a proper meal?”

  He huffed, evidently impatient, and she had to wait until he’d finished chewing to hear the answer. “I eat.”

  “Yes,” she said, deadpan. “About as much as you sleep, I imagine.”

  “And do you spend a deal of time imagining me sleeping, Miss Butler?”

  There was challenge in his eyes and she held his gaze, though with difficulty, determined not to be frightened off.

  “Not just sleeping.”

  To her astonishment, it was his cheeks that pinked in response to her words, his eyes suddenly dark.

  “Did you not receive my last letter?” he demanded, shaking off whatever had sent colour to his face and returning to the belligerent scowl. “Do you still not understand what you are doing?”

  Minerva nodded. “I received it, and yes, I think I understand. I risk ruin, and you risk falling in love. It seems a fair wager.”

  His expression of astonished outrage was so fierce that she almost laughed.

  “I risk nothing, you little fool,” he muttered, glaring at her.

  He was angry at her for putting herself at risk. She understood that and appreciated it, so she smiled at him.

  “Then you have nothing to lose by accepting my wager. Or perhaps I should appeal to the natural philosopher in you and in fact suggest an experiment?” Minerva tilted her head, interested to see how he took this.

  “An experiment?” he repeated, a glimmer of interest in his eyes. “What do you mean? What kind of experiment?”

  “To prove the existence of love.”

  He made a sound of exasperation. “To prove the absurdity of the notion, perhaps.”

  “Fine,” Minerva said, nodding her approval. “Fine, prove it doesn’t exist if that suits you better. I have every intention of proving otherwise. You are doomed to failure.”

  He stared at her and she warmed under his scrutiny, remembering how she’d wondered what it would feel like to be the focus of his undivided attention. Marvellous, she decided. She could not read his expression with any certainty, though there was curiosity there.

  “You will not trap me into marriage, Miss Butler.”

  She gave a little laugh. “I should not want to, Mr de Beauvoir. Either you want to marry me because you love me, and to be without me would cause you pain, or I should not wish to be your wife. I have no desire to trap an unwilling husband.”

  He let out a breath, looking every bit as exasperated with her as Helena had done earlier. “Miss Butler, what you are suggesting―”

  “Is an experiment,” she said, before he could make it sound tawdry.

  “Is an affair,” he amended, his expression hard.

  Her heart gave an uncertain little kick in her chest, making unease roll through her. He was right of course, and she knew what she was risking. “No,” she said, carefully. “I am suggesting a series of…tests. We shall spend some time together, getting to know each other, and… and I will allow you one kiss after every meeting. Then we will gauge how you feel about me.”

  She thought that sounded reasonable—reasonably mad, possibly—but would not give him the idea she was about to hand over her maidenhead, for she wasn’t. She was prepared to take risks, but not be a complete fool.

  He’d grown very still, and she could hear her heart beating in her ears.

  “You’re serious?” He looked as if he doubted her sanity, let alone her sincerity.

  “Quite serious.”

  “Minerva, darling, do introduce me to your friend.”

  Minerva jolted in surprise as Helena appeared, giving Me de Beauvoir a cool assessing glance. She gathered herself as best she could, hoping her friend had not overheard the conversation. “Mr de Beauvoir, may I present Lady Helena Adolphus.”

  De Beauvoir gave a stiff bow. “Lady Helena. I believe I have corresponded with your brother.”

  Helena nodded. “Bedwin has an interest in the sciences. In fact, he asked me to invite you to dine with us if I had the opportunity to speak with you. Something about elements,” she added with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I believe your work interests him.”

  “I should be honoured,” he replied, looking a little surprised.

  There was a stilted silence and Minerva pinched Helena’s arm, willing her to leave them alone.

  “Well, we ought to be on our way, Minerva,” Helena said, ignoring her. “It’s getting late.”

  Minerva glared and Helena’s lips twitched.

  “Good evening, Mr de Beauvoir. I will send an invitation to dine with us after Christmas.”

  “Lady Helena, Miss Butler. Good evening to you,” de Beauvoir said politely, before taking his leave and walking away.

  “Helena!” Minerva stared at her in outrage once they were alone. “Why did you do that? I was actually getting somewhere.”

  “That much was obvious,” Helena retorted, her expression grim as she escorted Minerva to the foyer to retrieve their pelisses. “And not only to me. For heaven’s sake, Min, have a care. Whatever were you talking about? He was looking at you like you were one of Gunter’s ices on a hot day.”

  Minerva flushed, taken aback by both Helena’s words and the subsequent images they produced.

  “N-Never you mind,” she replied, putting her nose in the air.

  “Well, I do mind,” Helena retorted. “And if you want an invitation to dine the same night as him, you’d best tell me everything.”

  “Oh, Helena!” Minerva squealed and grabbed hold of her hand. “Truly?”

  “Yes, truly,” she said, tutting. “Though I’m not at all certain I’m doing you any favours. You will be careful, won’t you, Min?”

  Minerva saw the anxiety in her eyes and nodded, patting her hand. “I promise. I am in no rush to be ruined and shall take every precaution, though… I may need some help.”

  Helena snorted. “Oh, I just knew that was coming. Well, I suppose I’d better get Robert to invite you to stay again, though if you tell Prue I had a hand in any of this I shall never speak to you again. She’s quite terrifying when she’s in a temper.”

  “I swear I won’t, and I promise to help you with your Mr Knight,” Minerva agreed at once.

  They had to hold their tongues whilst they donned their pelisses and made their goodbyes, but once safely in the carriage they were free to talk again.

  “Well, as you and your mama are with us for Christmas, it will be easy enough to ask for you to stay on. Oh, does that mean your mother will want to stay too?” Helena said, aghast at the idea. “That would put a wrinkle in the plans.”

  Minerva shook her head, delighted. “No, she’s going back to Bath in the new year. In fact, she wanted to drag me with her, and she knows I don’t want to go. This will be perfect.”

  “Hmmm,” Helena replied doubtfully. “That remains to be seen. So then, Miss Butler, out with it. What nefarious plan have you cooked up? I’m all ears.”

  “Ah,” Minerva said, biting her lip with anxiety, and wondered just how to make the planned experiments sound anything but mad and scandalous.

  Chapter 3

  I was sorry that we could not complete our fascinating conversation last night, however, I’m sure it will thrill you to know that I am staying with Lady Helena for Christmas and for some time into the new year. So I shall be present at the dinner you have been invited to. Perhaps we may speak privately then?

  I do hope that you enjoy a Merry Christmas, Mr de Beauvoir, though I cannot help but worry that you won’t pay the holiday any mind. Do at least try to eat something, for my sake. I worry for your health.

  I hope you like the little gift. I embroidered it myself.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Minerva Butler to Mr Inigo de Beauvoir.

  25th December 1814. Church Street, Isleworth, London.

  Inigo flung his papers aside with a curse of frustration.

  “Concentrate, damn you!” he exploded, smacking his head with the palm of his hand as if he could beat his brain into doing as he wished. The bloody thing seemed to resist any other method, so it was worth a try. He groaned and let his head fall to the bench, banging his forehead against the wood several times to see if that helped. “Stop thinking of her. Stop it, stop it, stop it.”

  His brain wasn’t listening. His brain was an idiot.

  He sat there for a long moment, his head pressed to the bench, staring at the blur of dark wood. A sigh escaped him, and his stomach growled.

 

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