The Heart of a Bluestocking

by Renée Dahlia

  ‘Not here. We can’t discuss this here, not where they might overhear,’ she said.

  ‘Again with the sensible comments.’ He smiled. She didn’t smile, instead frowning at him.

  ‘How can you flirt with me at this moment?’ She tilted her head to the side and regarded him with her eyes flickering around the space.

  ‘It’s the simple truth.’

  ‘No, not here.’ She waved her hand in the air. ‘You stay here. I will get Higgins, and we will return to my house to discuss this.’

  ‘Higgins?’

  ‘One of my footmen. I don’t travel anywhere without at least one of them.’

  ‘Except to Dalhinge’s estate,’ he said, raising his eyebrows. Her shoulders dropped a fraction and she glared at him.

  ‘If I’d had anything to say about that, Higgins would most definitely have been with me. And possibly Jones as well.’

  ‘Does that mean I am the only man you’ve ever travelled alone with?’ he asked. The idea that she trusted him enough to take such a huge step thrilled him all the way down to his toes.

  ‘Yes. But don’t read anything much into that.’ She lifted her chin, and walked away from him, leaving him to stand in the hallway, grinning at her back.

  Ten minutes later, Claire and her efficient footman met him at the front door. Clemton indicated that their carriage was ready, and all three of them walked down the front steps into the brisk, keen wind that whipped through the city streets at night. Claire wrapped her pelisse tighter around her shoulders, while the footman held the carriage door open for her. She stepped inside in a rustle of fabric, as the long layers of her dress spread out behind her. Ravi cursed the current fashions that hid her behind a barrier of silk, lace and ribbon, buttoned all the way up to her throat.

  ‘In you get,’ said the footman.

  ‘Are you Higgins?’

  ‘No, I’m Jones. Higgins does the day shift.’

  Ravi bowed his head to Jones, and stepped into the carriage. Higgins must be the footman who came to his offices, and then to Scotland Yard when he’d first met Claire. Less than two weeks ago, that day seemed like a lifetime ago. Ravi wondered if his whole life would forever be split into before-Claire and now. Every time they spoke, the connection between them grew, as if someone had placed two seeds in a garden that day and now they grew entangled in each other. Sometimes fighting for sunlight, other times relying on each other, but always reaching for the sky together. He sat opposite her, while Jones slipped inside and sat beside him.

  ‘Now, tell me why you agree that Thackery might be the perpetrator of this plot against Father,’ she said. Her voice was matter-of-fact, showing none of the desire that raced in his system. Time to stop being distracted by her energetic face, and get back to the job he’d been employed to do, in a manner of speaking. To be technical, this was more of a puzzle with a prize for the winner who found the way to the centre of the maze, and that pile of mixed metaphors was the perfect description for the way this journey prodded at his emotions.

  ‘I can see you compiling your thoughts into precise lawyer speak. Just spit them out, I don’t require the detailed version with every possibility and pitfall negated,’ she said.

  He smiled.

  ‘We aren’t that bad.’

  ‘“We” being lawyers? Yes, you are. Every discussion with a lawyer takes longer than any normal person, with pauses and spaces so that only the correct words are used.’

  ‘Such as indemnities, clauses, binding agreements with respect to claimants, that type of thing?’ He laughed.

  ‘Plaintiffs, settling fee, liability, and my favourite of all, the overuse of whom,’ she said.

  ‘What’s wrong with whom?’

  ‘It’s not 1760 anymore. Besides, I did say the overuse of whom, as if using it formalises the discussion towards being more important than it is.’

  ‘Importance, no. We lawyers prefer the use of whom as it renders the language with precision, and therefore the determinate position is easily discernible.’

  ‘As I was saying,’ she said with a poker face, before a smile broke out and she roared with laughter.

  ‘I’m pleased that amuses you.’

  ‘Are you? Or are you upset on behalf of your profession?’ she said with a snicker.

  ‘Do you get upset when people denigrate doctors?’

  ‘No. Most doctors are snake oil salesmen, charlatans, or butchers. Hardly any are true scientists, or read the latest research. My profession is constantly changing and improving,’ she said.

  ‘Laws change all the time.’

  ‘Yes, but the flavour of the approach doesn’t. It’s all about protectionism.’ She winked, and a surge of heat swept over his tongue as if she’d brushed him with those long eyelashes.

  ‘I can’t argue with that, except to say that I do enjoy arguing with you,’ he said. Beside him, Jones made an odd noise, as if he was choking on a laugh, and he glanced at the footman who was vainly trying to pretend he hadn’t heard anything.

  ‘Go on, Jones. Laugh,’ said Claire. ‘I wouldn’t want you to burst a blood vessel as you sit there.’

  ‘You shouldn’t taunt him.’ Ravi pushed his glasses up his nose.

  Claire shrugged. ‘Jones has been my evening footman for several years. Nothing much will surprise him,’ she said.

  ‘That’s true, Doctor. Perhaps the Mister is the one who is taunted,’ said Jones. Claire laughed again, the sound sending shards of burning light through his veins.

  ‘He shouldn’t take his profession so seriously if he is taunted by a few throw-away words,’ she said.

  ‘I doubt that you would respect a lawyer who was flippant about his job,’ said Ravi. He wanted the words to sound defensive of the job, and a little bit serious, but Claire grinned at him. Her gold-streaked eyes sparkled.

  ‘A lawyer that couldn’t focus on the details wouldn’t be much use, that is true, but given your role here is more of a detective than a lawyer, the requirements—’ her gaze slid down, brazenly over his body, before meeting his eyes again, ‘—are broader,’ she said.

  He swallowed. He had to kiss her again. Soon. Until then, two could play at this game.

  ‘Would you like to extend the terms of my contract?’ He glanced at Jones and bit back the euphemism.

  ‘Perhaps we should discuss your theory on Thackery,’ she said, tightly. She turned her face slightly away from him, and he knew he’d misspoken but had no clue as to which word had upset her. He dragged in some air.

  ‘The theory is fairly basic, but often the biggest mysteries have simple solutions. Thackery, in my opinion, is making a two-pronged attack to take over Carlingford Enterprises. Part of his strategy involves marrying you.’ He paused to breathe.

  ‘I guessed as much.’

  ‘Yes, you mentioned that, and that was to be my next statement. The other is to disable Mr Carlingford so that he can step forward into the role Mr Carlingford currently holds,’ he said. A wave of satisfaction hit him as she shifted on her seat and leaned forward to stare at him.

  ‘You think he’s been working his way up in the company, and he has created an opportunity to get rid of Father and run the whole show?’

  ‘Yes.’ Colour drained from her face and she gasped. ‘Oh, of course, if he marries me, and controls both my portion and Father’s, he believes that will be enough. Wil’s voice won’t matter.’ She thumped her fist on her thigh. He winced as she hit herself.

  ‘Yes, that would appear to be motivation enough,’ he said.

  ‘Why that … that pompous git! How dare he.’ Her eyes flashed, and colour rose on her cheeks again.

  ‘The evidence points in his direction—’ He started to outline when she spoke over him.

  ‘Wait.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What about Mother’s role in this? She’s been pushing him towards me for months now. Surely she wouldn’t be complicit in a plot to remove Father? It’s not in her advantage,’ she said.


  Ravi once again thanked his own family for their acceptance and love. He hadn’t grown up with this continuous positioning for success, this financial competition without genuine love.

  ‘Perhaps she just wants you to be happy, and she equates marriage with that state,’ he said.

  She laughed cynically, an ugly sound.

  ‘You’ve met Mother. I doubt that my happiness is something she has ever given any thought.’

  ‘Pardon me for asking then, but how …?’

  ‘One difficult person in my life doesn’t mean that everyone in my life is awful. I have Wil, I have Father, I had several wonderful governesses, and I have my two best friends. Don’t feel sorry for me, just because Mother isn’t the idealised version of motherhood.’ A tear shimmered in the corner of her eye, and he wanted to reach out and wipe it away. But she blinked and sat up straight and stiff.

  ‘I wouldn’t dare feel sorry for you,’ he said.

  She smiled. ‘You say the sweetest things sometimes.’

  He reached out and brushed one finger across her temple and down her cheek. Her soft skin under his touch filled his chest with heat, and her signature violet scent hung in the air between them. Jones coughed, and Claire’s eyes flicked in the direction of her footman. Ravi snatched his hand back, and straightened in his chair.

  ‘First thing in the morning—’ He attempted to get the conversation back on track, rather than further illustrate how Claire unravelled all his self-control. ‘I’m going to write to Officer Wedsley, and have him investigate Mr Thackery.’

  ‘Excellent. We may as well use his connections and skills for our benefit. Will he want any other details?’

  ‘If only I knew someone in the horse racing world, it might provide the final points to untangle this puzzle,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, but I do.’

  ‘You know someone?’

  ‘Yes. My friend, Lady St. George, breeds racehorses with her husband,’ she said. She tapped her finger on her lips. ‘They have a farm in Newmarket. I don’t know if they know much about the betting side of it, but I guess they must if they are at the track all the time.’

  ‘At the very least, they’ll know someone that we can ask about it. It’d be handy to understand the scam from the bookmaker’s point of view, and to get a better understanding of how that whole side of it works. There might be a clue in there that everyone has missed,’ he said. He ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘That makes perfect sense. There is no need for you to come to my house to discuss this further,’ she said.

  A wave of disappointment washed over him at the dismissal, yet was no surprise. He’d been anticipating a private moment with her this evening, ever since he’d seen her arrive before dinner laced into that fabulous dress that emphasised her curves and sang to her bold nature with its vibrant colours. He nodded, and swallowed. Damn it, he really wanted another scorching kiss. And more. Unfortunately, not tonight. The carriage pulled to a halt, and Jones opened the door for Claire. She stood up, and sent him a hesitant smile.

  ‘Good night. Jones will let you know what time we need to meet the train tomorrow,’ she said. She stepped out of the carriage, and Jones followed.

  ‘Mr Howick, the driver will take you home,’ said Jones over his shoulder. The footman’s attention quickly returned to his task of keeping Claire secure, and Ravi relaxed as the carriage rolled on. While he appreciated that she trusted him enough to have travelled alone with him this morning, he was glad that she had trusted staff with her to keep her safe as she went about her business.

  Late at night when he had unrequited desire was probably the wrong time to ponder why he desired Claire. But that kiss this morning was seared onto his mouth, and his memory. He wanted, needed, to kiss her again. Her soft skin, her smart mouth, the rich taste of her on his tongue, he wanted to bury himself in her, to be surrounded by her. This growing desire was greater than just the physical, there was more in the way she teased him, taunted him on an equal footing. How she respected him for himself, not for his connection to Dalhinge. He thumped the seat beside him with his fist. The surge of anger earlier tonight had surprised him. He thought he’d banished all that nonsense into his past, but it had come racing back when he overheard Claire and her mother discussing him.

  One day the world would move beyond this segregation of people into classes, races, and cultures. One day, he hoped against hope, that the world would just see everyone as people. None were superior, or inferior, to another, but even as he hoped for this, he knew it wouldn’t be true in his lifetime. As Claire had pithily said, ‘I can’t even vote.’ There was much work to be done, and he must solve this crime so he could begin his journey towards making the necessary changes. Sanjay had created a household where everyone was equal and respected, his brother used his position at Lords to push for this change for the rest of society. Ravi could be part of this change. And they weren’t the only ones who wanted the power base in society to shift. That was the beauty of the industrial and scientific progress that had been made in that last eighty years. People outside the traditional power structure had money, and they wanted the political power that came with it. People like Claire’s father who believed, against all odds, that a woman could run his business. People like those who began the Uprising in the year of his conception who saw a future for India independent of British Rule. Those ideas hadn’t gone away simply because the Crown had tightened control. A successful Uprising would come. For the first time, when he pictured his future, he saw someone beside him. Claire. His physical desire for her hummed in the background, but it was her intelligence that made him hope she might be the catalyst for reasserting his planned role in life.

  Chapter 16

  Claire rubbed her eyes and stretched under the warm blankets as the morning sun seeped through the crack in the curtains. She’d been woken with the memory of yesterday’s kiss, a kiss that surpassed her own experience, and by far exceeded her expectations. Under her blankets, cocooned from the world, and safe in her own space, she traced the edge of her breast with her fingers. Desire built as she explored herself, Ravi and his wild kiss dominating her mind. She slipped her fingers between her legs, playing with her nub, sending pleasure through her body. She pressed her fingers against her slickness, toying, playing, until she exploded with the memory of Ravi making her lips tingle.

  Last night, when she’d arrived home, Clemton Jnr had spent ten minutes updating her on the household news. It had only been a little over a week since she was last home, and yet there was news about a new maid, and Cook’s sister’s baby, not to mention the pile of correspondence on her desk. She’d sighed, and told Clemton to send a note to Ravi. To delay their visit to Newmarket by a day, so she could catch up, and perhaps ask Officer Wedsley to come along. She’d asked Clemton to organise the train, and to send a telegraph to Josephine. There were always more tasks to do. She probably should figure out what to do about Ravi, but first she was going to enjoy her own bed for a while. And for more than just her own self-serving pleasure. She rolled out of bed, used the necessary, then dove back under the covers.

  She reached out for the book sitting on her bedside cabinet with anticipation. The book was Mrs. Oliphant’s latest, The Son and his Father, and Claire hoped it would be as good as her favourite book by Mrs. Oliphant, Hester. She’d been only at the beginning of her studies when Hester was released, and she’d devoured the book with the main characters who showed such tenacity. Poor Hester, demanding equality with her love, and in the end betrayed by her demands. She enjoyed how Mrs. Oliphant’s books had an ironic view of romantic relationships, while illustrating the power imbalance that men had. Claire sighed. She knew that critics didn’t like Mrs. Oliphant because she was a woman, and prolific, but she was pleased that her favourite writer could churn out two amazing books a year. She settled back against her soft pillows and opened the book.

  A loud knock jerked her out of the book, and she blinked and sat up. She shook out her arm, glan
cing down at the book—one hundred pages—no wonder her arm hurt, she’d been reading without moving for ages. She put the book back on the bedside table, and dragged the blanket up to her neck.

  ‘Yes?’

  Clemton entered the room. ‘You have a guest. I have put him in the drawing room.’

  ‘Thank you, Junior. Who?’ She held her breath. Ravi? Only one night of sleep since she’d last seen him, and the thought of seeing him again had her impatient.

  ‘Mr Howick. He introduced himself as a lawyer for Mr Carlingford,’ said Clemton Jnr. Claire resisted the urge to fling off the blankets and rush to see him. She clutched a handful of blanket, to act boldly with her body wasn’t her style, preferring to use her voice to keep everyone at a distance.

  ‘Yes, he’s working with me on a project for Father. Perhaps offer him some breakfast, and I will join him soon.’ Her voice cracked a little as she tried to banish the hankering that pooled as heat between her legs at the thought of spending more time with Ravi. Clemton Jnr just bowed his head and left the room, ever the consummate professional. After the door shut, Claire took a moment to contain herself. The moment stretched as she traced her jaw with her finger, gradually moving to follow the line of her lower lip. Shimmers of desire spread quietly over her body and she couldn’t help but think how much better this would feel with Ravi’s fingers on her lips. She’d kiss them, maybe even suck one into her mouth. What would his skin taste like? Clean, perhaps with a hint of soap, or bitter and potent like hops? She shook her head. Get up. Carry on with the day. Ignore these pleasantly uncomfortable feelings that Ravi caused. He wouldn’t fit into her plans for her life. He would want, like all the men, a quiet, biddable wife who would help his career, not charge off doing her own career. She sighed. Wife. Where did that thought come from? She didn’t want to be anyone’s wife, wasn’t capable of being anyone’s wife. All Mother’s nagging on the issue must be rattling her brain. She threw back the covers, relishing the cool morning air on her ankles as her bare feet landed on the rug beside her bed. Her long cotton nightgown normally covered most of her body, although she’d bunched it to her waist earlier. It slid down over her skin as she stood up.