A Lady's Formula for Love

by Elizabeth Everett

  The oath that escaped Mrs. Sweet’s lips in response made Arthur’s ears turn pink. Cook uttered an exclamation slightly less salty than Mrs. Sweet’s and grabbed a broom, poking the bristles into every corner, as the footmen who had been lounging at the table went racing up the servants’ staircase and Alice clambered on a wobbly stool, skirts pulled above her ankles.

  Undeterred by the pandemonium, the lady raised her voice over the thud of the kitchen boy fainting dead away. “ ’Tis feeding time, and we must gather them up. Be careful not to step on them. Tarantulas are delicate little creatures.”

  Thomas’s ebony skin lightened to a sickly grey, and he shot Arthur a dark look.

  Damn.

  While Lady Potts commandeered the staff to retrieve her five or six—possibly seven—runaway experiments, Arthur decided that now was an excellent opportunity to check the security on another floor.

  He most definitely was not taking advantage of the confusion to escape Thomas’s ire.

  Unfortunately, Thomas had expert tracking skills, and he followed hard on Arthur’s heels, cornering him at the far end of the second-floor corridor.

  “You said this was a simple job, Kneland,” Thomas complained, peering along the baseboards. “Said I could do it with both hands tied behind m’ back. Don’t seem simple from here.”

  “Take it up with Grey,” Arthur replied. “He told me I’d be looking after an absentminded little widow. Easiest job in the world, he said. Anyway, what’s there to complain about? Grey’s paying three times what we’d get for a job. And there are greens, don’t forget.”

  “For the love of all that is holy! There are three of them in here!” shouted a footman from the front parlor at the other end of the hall. A colossal crash followed in the distance, and a maid screamed.

  Thomas stared at Arthur and raised one bushy white eyebrow.

  Arthur stared back.

  Thomas tapped a toe.

  Arthur surrendered, issuing a wan smile. “I forgot you didn’t care for spiders.”

  “Really? You forgot Cairo?”

  Forgetting Cairo would be ideal, but some things could not be unseen. Still, one must carry on.

  Thomas pinned him with a disbelieving stare. “What about the baboon spiders on that job in Malindi? Now, you and Grey have dragged me to the one house in England where tarantulas are running loose.”

  “Sorry,” Arthur said.

  Thomas blinked, then narrowed his gaze. “Sorry, eh? What are you doing here, Kneland? Thought you were headed straight for the Highlands. Why didn’t you tell Grey to find someone else?”

  The dregs of a dream curdled in Arthur’s stomach. The landlord who owned Arthur’s childhood home had enclosed the land. Like most small landholdings in rural Scotland, it had been consolidated into one vast private property. The farmhouse was gone, and sheep grazed where he once played. A lengthy search for someplace else to rest his head awaited him once he finished here.

  “Takes time and money to find a farm up north these days. Grey promised me the funds,” Arthur explained. “Haven’t you considered getting out of the game?”

  “Aye, but you won’t find me withering away in the countryside. I’m thinking of leaving the service and going to work for the Company out in Jalalabad.” Genuine pleasure lit Thomas’s face. Baboon spiders aside, he grew restless living in one place for too long.

  At that moment, a cry for help came from the library, and Arthur sighed. He ought to apologize to Mrs. Pettigrew for his initial disbelief. Spiders as big as a fist, indeed.

  “I’ll take care of that. You take Winthram off for a pint until it’s safe to come back. I don’t trust him. It’s too much of a coincidence that his brother is with the Omnis.”

  “He seems to like you well enough,” Thomas said. “Follows you around and listens to your every word.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” Arthur lied.

  “He reminds me of a green boy I met, oh, twenty years ago.” Thomas winked. “Took a while, but the boy grew into a good man.”

  Arthur grunted. “Save your twinkling eyes and pretty stories for Mrs. Sweet.” He turned and walked down the hall, shoulders hunched, as another crash came from upstairs.

  “No one said anything about spiders,” Thomas called after him. “If I’d known about the spiders . . .”

  Arthur waved his hand in acknowledgment before entering the library.

  It took a moment for his vision to adjust to the dimness. He knew Violet was in here by her scent alone. A combination of dried flowers and wet slate had haunted him into the wee hours after their kiss.

  There had been no logical explanation for that kiss, and the urge to pull her close and set his mark on her—as though a kiss could be a token of protection.

  What a foolish notion. A kiss couldn’t stop a bullet or lower a fever.

  He might have been lust-addled enough to do more than kiss her if her heavy-lidded eyes hadn’t peered at him with an unrecognizable emotion.

  Unrecognizable it would remain.

  An intense physical attraction could be understood and indulged. Once. Anything more meant crossing a line that involved feelings. Feelings led to complications.

  Complicating a mission meant increasing the odds of a mission’s failure.

  “Oh, Arthur,” Violet called. “I’m glad to see you.”

  From a precarious perch on a wall of shelves so high her cap brushed the ceiling, Violet stood, legs akimbo, one foot on a ladder, the other on a shelf. “I tried to reach a particular volume when the ladder slipped out from under me. It’s stuck now on the carpet, and I can’t get down.”

  This will be the easiest assignment you’ve ever taken. You won’t even know you’re working.

  “What is the commotion out there?” Violet asked as he moved toward her.

  “You shouldn’t be alone in here,” Arthur said. “Where is the footman I assigned to you?”

  “I’m capable of picking a book off the shelf by myself.” Violet waved her hand to brush away his concern, with a disconcerting wobble. “I—Oh! Get it off, get it off!” she shrieked, twisting and turning like a leaf in the wind.

  Instinct took over. Arthur flung his arms out in time to catch her fall. A small, hairy body went flying overhead, bounced twice off the floorboards, and skittered out the door.

  “My, you are efficient,” Violet said with good cheer, remarkably unaffected by her near-fatal tumble. “How did I manage to survive before you came?”

  Arthur’s heart raced at the close call, a spike of anger overtaking his relief. “Do you understand how close you came to breaking your neck? What were you thinking, climbing so high without securing the ladder?”

  Violet blinked at his tone. He set her on her feet, ashamed of his anger.

  “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she whispered.

  “Frighten me?” That hadn’t been fear racing in his veins. Had it? Arthur willed his heart to slow. “I am not frightened. I simply wish to do my job without distraction. Instead, you forget to eat, you leave your windows open, and today you are falling off shelves . . .”

  Arthur faltered when her head dropped as if she were contemplating the carpet beneath her slippers. Truth be told, he had been terrified when she fell. What if he couldn’t have been there in time?

  What would happen if he failed her?

  He cleared his throat and gentled his voice in apology. “At least refrain from tossing yourself off bookshelves before mealtime. If I must save your life every five minutes, I’m happier doing it on a full stomach.”

  When she smiled, a tiny dent appeared below her pillowy lower lip. “Do you forgive me?” she asked.

  He’d never considered a dimple to be erotic. On her face, though, it turned into a marker of where to place the tip of his tongue.

  Her bosom rose and fell from the excitement,
and a deep crimson flush rode high on her rounded cheeks.

  “There is nothing to forgive.” He examined her red face. “Are you feeling well?”

  Clearing her throat, she patted her cheeks. “All this excitement is going to my head,” she said.

  “A headache can presage a fever,” he warned her.

  “No, I meant literally. You see, my heart beat faster, which in turn pumped my blood through the circulatory system at an increased rate, leading to the color in my face.” Her awkwardness disappeared, words spilling forth in her excitement. “William Harvey was the first scientist to study the physiology of blood circulation. There’s much we don’t understand. I’ve heard . . .”

  Something happened when Violet explained a scientific theory.

  She glowed.

  Her stained, work-worn hands flew up with a sudden grace, illustrating a point as if pulling the knowledge from the air. What a beautiful sight, watching her revel in imparting secrets of how the world worked.

  “. . . and such reactions are intensified as the stimulation increases. Am I speaking too fast?” Violet asked. “I don’t want to leave you behind.”

  There wasn’t a trace of irony in her words.

  I don’t want to leave you behind.

  My God, this woman made him feel seen in a way he hadn’t been since childhood. A man used to living in the shadows, an afterthought until called forth by violence—her attention unmoored him.

  “You haven’t left me behind.” The stark truth fell out of him. “I am right here with you.”

  Violet beamed.

  As it had before, restless energy crackled between them, charged with their unspoken attraction. Violet’s lush mouth parted, and her tongue darted out to moisten her plump lower lip. Evidence of her circulation theory fluttered in the hollow of her throat as her pulse sped under his regard.

  “I wish . . .” She broke off. “I mean to say . . .” All the confidence she’d radiated moments before vanished. Her movements slowed, and she held her left hand close to her side—little finger angled away from the center of her body. Poised to protect herself from injury.

  A surge of protectiveness filled Arthur’s chest when it struck him: This beautiful, vibrant woman had no faith in her own desirability, no idea of her allure. That foolish talk of how anger and passion made her unattractive had found its way into her head.

  Kissing might be what she needed.

  What if he . . . ?

  Before Arthur could finish his thought, Earl Grantham barged into the library.

  “There you are. Footmen are running around like lunatics, and you two are alone together in a dark room staring at each other like gudgeons. Again. Shouldn’t you be over at the club, Vi, setting out chairs or blowing something up?”

  Arthur hastened to the other side of the room, grateful for the interruption.

  Yes, that was gratitude racing in his veins. Not an urge to throw Grantham out the window.

  Oblivious to the tension, Grantham wandered over to a settee and took a seat. “You might consider apologizing for leaving me alone with Phoebe the other day. That woman is—”

  “One of the sharpest minds I know,” finished Violet.

  “I was going to say mean,” Grantham complained. “Phoebe Hunt is mean.”

  “She’s wounded,” Violet said. “You understand how those in pain can lash out.”

  Grantham’s ears pinked. “I’m not the one who caused the pain. I offered to protect her, if you’ll recall. If she’d married me, her father would have had no power over her.”

  Violet moved to the window, checking the fit of her cap in her reflection. “Phoebe fights her own battles, and a marriage shouldn’t be a rescue attempt.”

  Grantham cleared his throat and changed the subject. “You’ve put off two parties this week already. You called me back to London for a reason.”

  He threw a packet of envelopes on the low table before him. “If you want the event to be well attended, you must make calls, drop into a musicale or two, and . . .” He broke off his grumpy tirade and essayed a chuckle when Violet scowled. “Do not make that face. A lady’s reputation is everything. Come now, it will be like old times, the two of us plotting together. After all, for the club to be a success, you must succeed as well. Isn’t that right, Kneland?”

  * * *

  VIOLET KEPT QUIET while Arthur and Grantham discussed the question of her security at several social events. What was she supposed to say? Get out, Grantham. I am intent on seducing this man? She had been on the brink of extending an invitation to Arthur to join her later tonight in her bedchamber.

  She was 100 percent certain she would have gone through with it. Well . . . 73 percent certain. Now the momentum was lost. It would take ages for her to gather her courage again.

  Arthur had turned her upside down and inside out with his kisses. There were times when Violet had convinced herself that Daniel was wrong, that her need for physical affection was not unnatural. Other times, she had understood his concern. What else but depravity would set her entire body to vibrating from the excitement of those kisses?

  Violet mulled a variety of scenarios in which she found a way to lure Arthur into lying with her. Or standing with her. She’d even seen a naughty etching once where both partners were . . .

  “I will take over whatever intelligence work needs to be done, Kneland.” Grantham’s voice intruded on her daydream. “Set yourself between Violet and any flying objects, like you did with Dickerson. How hard can it be?”

  Shamed by his offhand manner, Violet admonished him. “Grantham, stop. You are rude.”

  “There is enough security for Lady Greycliff that I might follow up on new information,” Arthur said. “I must have as much information as possible so I can predict any dangers.”

  “Grey didn’t hire you to lead an investigation,” Grantham argued. “What’s needed is brawn, not brains. He hired you to take a bullet.”

  “Don’t say that,” Violet gasped.

  “I’ve taken a few in my day.” Arthur took no obvious offense, his face impassive as he began a recitation. “I’ve taken bullets, fallen off a building, and been set on fire. I’ve even ingested different poisons and built immunity so I could taste one man’s food. That was nasty. Involved mushrooms. Even worse, I had to eat American food for a year. Lucky I didn’t lose my sense of taste after that.”

  The contrast between the violent images and Arthur’s nonchalance took Violet aback. What must his life had been like to speak of such things as though they were commonplace? No wonder he held himself removed from everyone else. Those rare smiles of his took on even greater value.

  “That is horrible,” she said. “I had no idea the government would subject a man to such tortures. I assure you I would never ask such for such a sacrifice.”

  “You aren’t the one who hired me. Grey did,” Arthur reminded her. “He expects his money’s worth.” One finger held back her protestations, and he shot an enigmatic glance at Grantham. “I’ve learned seven languages, eaten meals prepared by Carême, and lived in twenty different capitals on four continents. My work does, on occasion, call for more than standing between a bullet and its target.”

  “My word.” Violet shook her head in amazement. “What a remarkable life you’ve led. You must be exhausted after your adventures.”

  Grantham harrumphed. “I’ve been shot at as well, if you’ll remember.” He crossed his arms. “And stabbed. Have you been stabbed?”

  “Stabbed?” Arthur bent his head in recollection. “Three . . . no, four times.”

  “Drowned?” Grantham snapped.

  Arthur nodded. “Twice I’ve been on guard aboard a ship attacked by pirates. One time, they managed to get me overboard. I caught the ship at the next port and rescued the man.”

  “Hanged?” Grantham persisted.

 
Arthur shook his head while he scrunched his nose. “Can’t say anyone tried to hang me.”

  “Stran—”

  Violet smacked Grantham’s arm in dismay. “That is enough, Georgie.” She shook her head. “Men. Must you turn everything into a contest?”

  “Hmm.” Grantham tossed his head, sulking at either the interruption of his macabre inquisition or the fact she’d used his childhood nickname. Or both.

  “Ingested poison on purpose, eh?” Grantham said. “Doesn’t sound clever. Probably rendered you infertile.”

  Arthur shrugged. “Don’t plan on having a family, so it isn’t a concern.”

  Like the snick of a lock, his expression closed. Once again, Violet wondered what, or who, was the reason for Arthur’s distance.

  Before she could think about it further, Grantham spoke again. “Point is that Kneland is here to do one thing, and one thing only.”

  Arthur turned to Violet and pinned her with his stare. “However I choose to do it, my job is to keep you alive. Until you finish your work, I will not stray from your side.”

  “Neither shall I, my dear.” Grantham smoothed back a lock of buttery-blond hair and crossed his booted feet. “Fetch out your prettiest gown. I’m looking forward to having the most beautiful woman in London on my arm tomorrow night.”

  9

  I DON’T REMEMBER HER being such a dowd. Mind you, that extra stone she’s put on, and her ghastly complexion from hanging about her club doesn’t help. I worry for her health.”

  Violet paused in the act of tasting a biscuit from the refreshment table, her skin pebbling in discomfort at the overheard comment coming from behind a large column. The unknown woman’s emphasis on the word club had made it sound illicit or nasty. Could the woman be speaking about her?

  Extra stone?

  Such a dowd?

  Violet glanced at her ball gown. She’d finished with mourning, but she hadn’t bothered to order any new dresses since Daniel had died. Not considering how much fashion had changed, she’d had her old gowns let out. Within moments of arriving at the ball, she’d understood how outmoded and ill-fitting the gown she wore tonight was.