Page 59 of A Daring Pursuit

“You are the epitome of the terrier with a rat. You being the terrier.”

She turned that impish grin on him. The one that no one could resist. “I suppose that makes you the rat.”

“I suppose it does,” he grunted out. “What’s in the box—”

“Why?”

He let out a sigh and set the boxes in a clearing on the table, keeping his back to her. “Why what?”

“Why is Docia coming? You aren’t going to marry her, are you? She’s not right for you. I think you should marry—”

No. This isnotthe conversation he would have with his fourteen-year-old, romantic-minded cousin. Still, memories of heat and fire of Miss Wimbley’s—Geneva’s, though she’d yet to give him leave in using her Christian name—lips the night before hitting him with the force of combining potassium permanganate and glycerin. It was a combination that mimicked his insides: a vigorous exothermic reaction that typically resulted in flames and smoke. Spontaneous ignition in which it was referred in the scientific community. Flames and smoke? Yes. That aptly described the portents surging through him.

“Noah?” Isabelle’s voice jarred him.

A rush of blazing heat raced up his neck. “What’s in these boxes, poppet?”

“Oh, insects for my board. I picked them up in various locales on the Continent.”

Noah lifted the top of one and peered in—with great caution, of course.

“They’re dead.” Her amusement poured over him.

He pulled off the lid and retrieved a paper written in her neat hand, and read:Euscorpius italicus, Valle Maggia, Tico, Switz. “Good God, Belle. Where on earth…”

“It says right there.”

Noah shivered. The scorpion was large, a good inch or two from tail to pinchers. The bluish tinge was unique. “I pray you don’t name another chamber after this monster. It’s enough to instill nightmares.”

She let out a giggle that did injustice to her youth and intelligence. “I could rename the Brimstone for Docia,” she said slyly.

He shot her a warning glance. “Just don’t show this… this”—he indicated the scorpion, feeling a little green—“to her first.”

“Did Miss Wimbley say she wouldn’t return without Docia? I think you hurt Miss Wimbley’s feelings when you accused her of trying to kill Julius.”

“I did not accuse her of trying to kill Julius.” He had no intention of informing the little matchmaker he suspected Miss Wimbley of having an accomplice.

“Yes, you did. And it hurt her feelings. I like her.”

So do I.“I didn’t intend to hurt her feelings. In any event, I told her you were hosting a musicale.”

“What?!”

He masked a grin and selected another box, carefully opening that one as well.

“There’s nothing to fear, Noah,” she said. “They’realldead.”

He shot her a scowl. He couldn’t think of another thing he despised more than bugs. Perhaps adders. Yes, he despised adders more.

She laughed. “Papa refused to allow me to bring home live species. He thought the captain might succumb to a bout of hysteria and sink the ship. When?”

“When what?”

Her growl of frustration was most satisfying. “Whenis my musicale?”

“Ah. Rather soon, I suppose. But that’s up to you, of course,” he said.

“Goodness,” she said on a breathless huff, dragging her foot in her haste to the door. “I must practice. I wish Lady Abra had been able to remain. Sadly, I think that mean old stepmother of hers would not have departed if Lady Abra had stayed, though.” She disappeared, her uneven steps echoing up the stairs.

---