Page 80 of A Daring Pursuit

Curious. Geneva’s gaze cut back to Mr. Asher. “Oh?”

A genuine smile eased the intensity of his expression, exposing crinkles at the corners of his eyes. This was a man who went after what he wanted regardless of the obstacles. Another admirable quality. He would be perfect for the haughty and enigmatic Docia Hale. Of course, she didn’t know the man; he could be as abhorrent as Martindale, but she didn’t believe that was the case.

Frowning, Geneva glanced about the huge room, but there was no sign of the blonde beauty.

But seconds later, Docia strolled in wearing another soft, pale-yellow gown with emerald gloves tied just above her elbows. French, no doubt. “Goodness, we’ve quite the company tonight, haven’t we?” she said in their direction.

The melodic tonality effect was immediate and all attention shifted quickly from Geneva to Docia. The tension in Geneva collapsed so quickly, she swayed. Noah’s arm was the lifeline keeping her upright.

“You must sit down,” he said, his body vibrating against hers. “I told Isabelle such an event was too soon, but she was absolutely insistent. She felt it would lift your spirits.”

With a forced smile, Geneva concentrated on breathing but that made things worse becausehesmelled so delicious, so male, so right, it banded the air in her lungs. “She was quite correct. One more day in that chamber, lovely as it is, I vow I would have leaped from the tower to the sea below.”

“She also declared that to be precisely your words.” Noah settled her in a chair that was nearest to the fire but still faced the pianoforte that had been placed on a platformed rise. He lifted one hand, signaling a footman she didn’t recognize. “What was all that about with Martindale?”

“Just a little incident in Hyde Park that occurred not long after Abra’s season debut. It’s nothing to concern yourself over.” That was all she’d need. To draw Noah into a duel with the malicious marquess.

The footman rescued her, appearing with a tray of wine-filled glasses. She snatched up one and sipped—sherry. Something she’d never quite acquired the taste for. To say so, of course, would be beyond rude, and well, she was trying to tamp back that annoying portion of her personality.

From the corner of her eye, she observed Docia dealing with, simultaneously, Lord Martindale and Mr. Asher. It was a lesson in decorum that should have annoyed Geneva. Instead, she found herself admiring the woman’s subtle handling of two clearly eligible men vying for her undivided attention. “Why didn’t you marry her?” she asked her companion, her gaze never wavering.

“What?” Noah choked out.

“As I recall, the day Abra and I arrived at Stonemare, you were slated to leave for Scotland that morning to marry Miss Hale. Why didn’t you?” And just like that, the inappropriate question had surged forth, boldness be damned.

*

Heat crawled upNoah’s neck along with his irritation. He wanted to rail at Geneva’s impudence while also respecting her ability to probe what he hadn’t seen so clearly until she’d walked through the door that morning.

The relief that had nearly felled him to his knees. How a brush of her gloved fingers defied a chemical experiment of mixing water with calcium chloride. A method that warmed the skin. Geneva Wimbley was the calcium chloride to his body of water.

The realization had the blood rushing through his ears, as if he’d dropped powder in a beaker and the fuzzing sound churned inside his brain. God, he wanted her with a need that defied logic and, worse, scrambled his common sense. Well, if she could assert her boldness, so could he. He leaned in and whispered, “Why didn’t I marry Docia? Becauseyouwalked through the door.” Though his tone remained low, it carried a conviction that went deep.

Geneva had raised the small glass toward her lips, but she stilled, her eyes widening with… surprise? Her mouth moved, but no words emerged. Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink that sparked a masculine satisfaction through him.

“Did you believe I was jesting two days ago? I want you,” he whispered, “with a craving that refuses to leave me be.”

“But… I… But—” She stopped and drew in a deep breath.

All the while, his own intake of air faltered in a state of dreadful apprehension.

A stirring from behind broke the hold she had on his gaze. She blinked and his eyes followed hers to the double open doors.

Verda held Isabelle’s arm, leading her through the small group. His young cousin smiled without an ounce of guile. She stopped and his aunt made introductions before leading Isabelle to the raised platform. Isabelle was all innocence in her pale-blue frock with its white satin bow tied at her back. Her bright-red locks, which matched her mother’s, hung down her back in long, wavy tresses adorned with another satin bow fastened at the crown of her head. The delicate, gold chain she wore blended into her skin, only reflecting the candlelight when she turned. She curtsied to the company then took her seat on the bench behind the keyboard.

Many of tonight’s attendees would be shocked to learn of her collection of insects—live and pinned—and how determined she was to fulfill her dreams of becoming a doctor. No one knew more so than Noah. It was a difficult path she’d chosen to seek, but Geneva’s words returned full force:Change never occurs without those who do not rush headlong into the fray.Isabelle was just stubborn and headstrong enough to pull off such a feat.

The fact that his cousin was also an accomplished musician, he was certain, had something to do with her mathematic capabilities. They were prodigious beyond compare. Far surpassing Noah’s skills as a child when he’d sat beside Verda inher first few days of invading Stonemare and teaching him how to use the abacus.

Isabelle’s gaze found Noah and Geneva beside him. A bright smile lit up her face. He reached over and squeezed Geneva’s hand, catching the tender smile she cast his precocious, if somewhat, reckless, little cousin. With a small prim and proper nod, Isabelle looking all the picture of the sweet child she could project at will, when seconds later, she might thrust a vile and disgusting spider in his face.

He’d almost banned her from the laboratory for that outrageous prank.

A dramatic hush settled over the intimate setting. Then… her fingers trilled over the keys with a lightness worthy of Mozart. Perhaps he was just a proud cousin. Yet to him, she played with the ease of a master. The name of the piece escaped him, but it began with a quiet restlessness that stirred the mood and shifted to dark and intense. It was an odd one to start out with.

“How talented she is,” Geneva murmured.

“Yes.”

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