Eliza had been waiting, with as much grace as she could manage, on Justin Clayworth’s front porch for almost an hour—without knocking, without going in, and only occasionally looking down at the timepiece fitted on a gold chain around her waist. To be honest, she was astonished that no one had yet inquired as to her business. Unmarried ladies did not, as a matter of habit, visit a bachelor’s home without proper escort and invitation; if they did so at all, they did so with the utmost discretion and concern for their reputations.
To pass the time, Eliza removed the letter from Doctor Clayworth from her pocket. It was well creased, smudged with dirt, spotted with tears, and showed all evidence of having been read nearly to tatters. She had long ago memorized the contents, but reading the words her beloved mentor wrote to her—his last, parting wishes—it was almost as if she could hear his voice again. The style was completely his own, and he wrote exactly as he spoke.
There are men who, when adversity or failure strikes in their lives, handle it with aplomb. They become more focused, learning from their mistakes, handling the matter with graciousness, dignity. They persist until they overcome, or they direct their intellect and energy to other matters where they have more success. Above all, they behave with honor and discretion, demonstrating to the world that they are gentlemanly.
My son is not such a man.
Eliza smiled again over these words. From any other, the love behind such a criticism might not have been obvious, but Doctor Clayworth treasured the unusual, the unique, and above all, the spirit of creation, the lust for knowledge, and the drive to succeed that imbued each of his associates and students and could not have failed from reaching his only child.
Eliza tilted the parasol to shade her hand and opened up the auspiciometer. Sunlight—and it was an oddly bright, sunny day, quite unusual for London’s spring—interfered with the device’s function. From a distance, the device looked like nothing so much as a slightly oversized man’s watch. It was only by looking at the face that any would see it was more, much more. Several sweeping hands passed over the surface. One indicated the direction, another counted down toward the Golden Moment: the moment when luck and action combined to bring about the best possible results. She could only have wished it was more accurate as to the timing. The immediacy of this Golden Moment had wavered back and forth for the last two hours.
Most people were fortunate if they’d struck more than a half-dozen of the perfect moments. The opportunity passed them by before they even realized what path their lives might have taken if they’d just said a word, met the glance or made the decision. With the auspiciometer, Eliza had only missed a scant handful. She’d placed the right bets, met the right patrons, stumbled across the find of a century more than once, and invested in the right businesses.
With a little luck, she thought, smiling to herself, everything was possible.
The auspiciometer’s hands ticked up to matching another Golden Moment.
Eliza rapped on the door.
Mere seconds later, a sudden, violent explosion rocked the house. Eliza squeaked in surprise and staggered backward, forgetting the narrow incline of steps behind her. She was teetering on the edge when her arm was firmly grasped by the man opening the door. She blinked and looked up at her savior.
Justin Clayworth was not at all what she expected. His father, the doctor, was an excitable genius, a scrawny, aging man with the barest remains of his hair clinging to his scalp and enormously bushy eyebrows that seemed determined to make up the lack. The son, on the other hand, was tall and broad shouldered. His hair, which stuck all up in the front as if he was constantly running a hand through it while thinking, was thick and a rich golden brown, the exact shade of honey being dripped from a spoon. He had moss-green eyes and a smudge of ash along one narrow cheek.
“And you are?”
“Eliza St. Vincent?” She introduced herself hesitantly. “Professor Clayworth?” Surely this handsome, very masculine man couldn’t be the scientist she had intended to meet.
“Well, which one is it? Because I assure you, if you don’t know who you are, I’m quite unable to assist you. Although I’m fairly certain that I’m Professor Clayworth. So perhaps you are Eliza St. Vincent?” He took her hand in his, and even through the thin leather of her gloves, she could feel the heat of his skin, warming her in places she hadn’t even known she was cold. “In which case, you are about two hours late. Your letters gave me reason to expect you somewhat before I blew up my lab.”
“And here I thought I was right on time,” Eliza responded pertly.
Justin bowed her into the house, eyes lingering on her as she passed. Eliza wondered what he must see when he gazed at her. Women’s fashions were meant to contain and constrain everything about her, from the narrow skirts that hampered her vigorous stride to the constricting corsets that inhibited her breathing. Her long legs pulled taut against the material of her tight skirt, giving evidence to the fact that she spent more time in the field wearing trousers than mincing along in ballrooms. Her curly, unfashionably red hair was swept up and pinned relentlessly in place and still copper coils had pulled free and bounced against her throat. A sprinkling of cinnamon freckles adorned her nose, cheeks and the tops of her shoulders. She was a horror in the sight of every well-mannered woman in London. And yet, when she met his gaze, just before he set about opening the door to the laboratory, he seemed anything but offended.
Describing the lab as an unmitigated disaster was an insult to actual disasters everywhere. The mess was contained to one small corner of a vast laboratory and was constrained to a black smudge against one wall and a pile of ashes that were scattered across the floor. “It doesn’t look like much,” Justin shrugged, “but I assure you, your knock probably saved my life. If I had been standing there, there wouldn’t be much of me left to have a conversation.”
“See?” Eliza jiggled the auspiciometer at the end of its chain. “I’m quite timely.”
“As usual,” Justin nodded. “My father mentioned you had a knack for being in the right place at the right time.”
“The auspiciometer was a gift from my father. He invented it. I could use it to help you with—what were you doing before it exploded?” Eliza was intensely curious. “I’ve never had an experiment fail—”
“Quite so dramatically?” Justin interrupted. He scrubbed one hand across his chin, leaving a charcoal smear.
“At all.”
“Never?”
Eliza nodded absently. “Is it terribly depressing for you?” Of course she’d never failed, not with the auspiciometer directing her decisions.
“Why should it be? Even a spectacular failure is an opportunity to learn. Some of the greatest inventions in history were accidental.”
“And what have you learned from this?” Eliza swept a hand derisively over the dust heap.
“Nothing, yet. That’s the beauty of it. I get to reconstruct my experiment, and my notes, and discover exactly what occurred. And thanks to you, I’m alive to do it.”
“Well, let us get to it, then,” she said. Eliza pulled out the auspiciometer and was stopped suddenly by a warm hand on her wrist.
“Why not try it the ordinary way?” Justin shrugged. “I’m not in a hurry.”
“Why would you want to do that? Do you like failure?” Eliza was astounded. Who would deliberately throw away an opportunity to get something exactly perfect?
“Did you have something better to do?” Justin smiled at her, his intense eyes melting her resistance. Truth be told, she didn’t have anything particular planned. And there was something appealing about spending time with him.
“Your father said you didn’t deal with failure well,” Eliza hesitated. “He asked me to bring some letters to you, and his journals. It was his dying request.” She reached into her satchel to fetch them out.
“My father,” Justin said, gently entwining his fingers with hers, “had not been in London to know much of me, one way or another, for several y
ears. Whatever he had to say to me has waited this long. It can continue to wait. His letters to me described you as being the foremost mathematical mind on the planet. Humor me for a short while. Then I’ll read his remaining letters and you can go back to your adventures, duty done.”
“I agree.” By every measure of polite society, she should refuse. And yet, it was difficult to refuse him anything when he held her fingers so intimately, when his gaze was so compelling.
“Excellent.” Justin handed her the broom. “You can start by sweeping the floor.”
Several hours of work later, Eliza had to admit there was something satisfying in a job done completely on intellect and muscle. The cleaning had been somewhat onerous, but the mathematical equations she then delved into had been so problematical and tricky that she would have welcomed the chance to wash the walls, instead. Her brain ached from a constant degree of concentration that she had not maintained in years. She sank gratefully into the soft cushions of the sofa, tilting her head back against the crushed velvet. Her gown was stained, and probably torn, but she felt as satisfied as those hot days in Cairo, overseeing the dig. The only difference was a strange, tingling sensation that took her a while to identify: anticipation. She had no idea what to expect next, nor when. Even in Cairo, as exciting as that had been, she knew success was within her grasp.
“So, how does it work?” Justin asked. “Your clockwork?”
“The auspiciometer,” Eliza said, pulling it out from her pocket. “You hold it, clearing your mind of everything, save for your goal. The auspiciometer then detects the concentration of karmic particles coalescing around your every decision and will indicate the best time and place to act. It is part timing, part luck. This dial here indicates the intensity of karmic particles, this monitors the exact time left until the action is to be performed. The compass indicates direction if there is a person you must meet, or an object you require. With some practice, you can learn to read it easily, and know exactly when to make your move. And you have to keep it out of the sunlight.”
“You’re kidding,” Justin snorted. “It’s nocturnal?”
“Not precisely. But sunlight has an adverse effect on its accuracy. My father thought…well, he theorized that because people tend to feel better in sunlight, they give off a false kismetic reading. I’m not certain. I haven’t tested it thoroughly. But the evidence my father accumulated suggested that the readings were inaccurate in sunlight.”
“May I?” Justin held out one work-roughed hand. Eliza hesitated and then nodded, sliding the device into his palm.
Justin closed his eyes for just a moment and then gazed down at the whirling dials. “Excellent.”
Eliza shifted closer to him; the auspiciometer was upside down to her view. Already, the karmic indicator was green, the dial rapidly ticking down. Less than a minute remained.
“What were you looking for?” There was nothing in this room that seemed incredible or lucky to her. Justin returned the auspiciometer to her pocket, leaning across her to do so. She shivered as his fingers brushed against her hip.
“I was wondering”—he was closer to her than was proper, his breath soft on her face—“when would be the perfect moment to kiss you.”
His mouth covered hers with warm supplication, tongue flickering gently over her bottom lip, tickling. Feeling the warmth of his breath against her mouth, she wrapped her arms around his neck, melding her body against his with sudden desire. With a strangled groan in the back of his throat, Justin pulled her closer, nearly crushing her in his fervor. “Ah, Eliza.” His voice was rough, shaking. He kissed her again, his mouth warm on hers, his tongue parting her lips. She surrendered to his kisses, one hand sliding restlessly over his back, feeling the heat of his skin through his shirt and vest. He covered her face with kisses, tasting each cinnamon freckle.
Justin caressed her back, her hip, the side of her ribs, the swell of her breast. Even through the fabric of her gown, her nipple puckered in response and she arched under his hand. He lowered his head to kiss her neck, tracing a line of warmth across her collarbone.
With a soft grunt of effort, he lifted Eliza into his arms, cradling her against his chest, continuing to nuzzle at her neck as he carried her up the stairs and down the hall to his bedchamber. Lightly, Justin set her back onto her feet, and then turned her gently, his fingers reaching for the row of buttons down her back. She was breathless with wanting, one hand pressed to her flaming cheeks, the other holding up her dress as it loosened. Working the laces out of her stays, he kissed her again. Each time the lace slipped another notch, her stays loosening, she shivered.
“Are you cold?” Justin asked, a sly grin playing over his full lips.
“Not with you here to warm me,” she responded, daring. Eliza had taken lovers before, of course—an adjunct professor during her years at university, and the lead of her archeological team—but those experiences had been nearly wordless grappling in darkened tents and abandoned classrooms, not brazen trysts in the middle of the afternoon with a man she knew mainly from letters. It was difficult, and then impossible, to be shocked with herself, however, when he nibbled lightly at the ends of her fingers, driving all thought and reason from her mind. Justin deposited a kiss in the palm of her hand and then tugged her chemise down.
Eliza stepped forward, her bare breasts pressing against his vest, as she untied his cravat, adding to the pile of clothing on the floor. Justin trembled under her touch, his skin rippling with gooseflesh. He lightly slid warm fingers down her shoulder and enclosed her breasts, his palms teasing her erect nipples. She panted, leaning her head back, her fingers twining in his hair. He groaned, licking at her neck, leaving a trail of searing kisses. Slowly, teasing, he continued tracing a line of kisses down her neck and across her chest, his mouth seeking her breast. Finding it, he suckled, his tongue a wet lash of sensation. She mewled with need, her back arching, straining up on tiptoes to pull him closer.
Justin kicked off his boots and shucked the rest of his clothing, eager to have her pressed against his skin, feeling the lush warmth of her body. He backed up, sitting on the bed and pulling her to him. His hands encircled her waist and his mouth sought her breasts, licking one nipple, then the other. She folded her arms around his neck, holding his head to her as she abandoned herself under his questing tongue. He left her breasts, his tongue moving down her stomach, his hands sliding down her hips and across her thighs to tease her stockings down.
“Eliza,” he breathed her name. “So beautiful.”
She laughed softly. “I’m not beautiful, Justin.”
He stood then, turning her in his arms toward the full-length dressing mirror. “I beg to differ. Look.” He met her gaze in their reflection, his eyes glowing with desire. He stood behind her, holding her gaze, as his hands slid down her body, his fingers bringing her nipples erect again. Eliza gasped and blushed, embarrassed and fascinated by the view in the mirror. She watched Justin’s reflection intently as he kissed her neck again, one hand tormenting her breast, the other sliding lower, over her stomach, along her hip. She quivered, unable to look away.
“Look how luscious you are, so soft, the curves perfect,” Justin whispered in her ear, his hands tracing every inch of her. Softly, nipping at her earlobe, sending delicious shivers down her spine, he spoke, “You’ve always sought after golden moments…shall I give you one, my dear?”
She quivered under his skilled mouth. “Oh, yes. I want you.”
He nipped her neck, teeth grazing her skin. Her knees buckled as he ran his tongue down her spine, and then nuzzled at the small of her back, his fingers encircling her waist, teasing her hips, brushing across her belly. She couldn’t look away from her reflection, watching the heat of passion paint a rosy pink blush across her cheeks and chest, her nipples hard, her breasts proud and upright. Eliza felt both vulnerable and powerful to see a handsome, strong man on his knees, his mouth worshipping her body. His tongue traced lower, licking just over one hip, and she nearly f
ell, clutching at his shoulders to remain upright.
“My turn.” She regained her balance, and then hauled him up, muscles lean and strong from months of archeological digs coming to her aid as she nudged him onto the bed. He spread out, gazing up at her as she bent her head, kissing down his chest and stomach until her tongue reached his navel. Justin groaned and twisted under her tongue, his hands plunging into the wealth of her copper hair, spilling her curls free of pins. With sudden, urgent need, he pulled her over him, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. One hand trailed up her thigh to reach for her sex. She moaned into his mouth, trembling, and parted her legs to his hand. He pulled back from the kiss, watching her face, his fingers exploring gently, tracing over each feminine fold.
His fingers moved over her clit, circling slowly, his breathing ragged as she shivered over him. Her body writhed with need. She moaned, whispering encouragement and direction. “Y-yes, oh, Justin. Yes, there…oh!” Her fingernails bit into his shoulders, her cries rose until she was nearly breathless. She arched backward, stiff and shaking, each muscle straining, her skin glowing and overheated. She shattered into a million joyous shards. Eliza collapsed against his chest, her racing heart thunderous in her ears. For a long, golden moment, she lay there, secure in his arms. Perfect.
When the world slowed its mad spinning, she shifted, rolling to one side. Eliza leaned on one elbow, gazing down at his body. She traced long, slow lines of exploration down his chest, marveling at the sprinkling of crinkly hair, the silken feel of his skin, the firm ridges of muscle underneath. She locked him with her gaze, watching the play and twist of emotion and sensation along his strong features. The quiver of his stomach as her fingers grazed lightly over his flesh urged her onward. She paused, heightening the anticipation, before allowing her hand to drift lower, wrapping her fingers firmly over his shaft. Justin groaned, his hips lifting off the bed to meet her.
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