Page 22 of The English Duke
Since she agreed with that comment, she remained silent.
“I knew your father a great many years,” he said. “I was introduced by someone in the War Office.”
“I know that. You corresponded and asked him some questions. He was impressed by your knowledge and your curiosity.”
“I liked him,” he said, surprising her. “More than any other man I’ve ever met. I would even consider him a mentor.”
“Which makes it even less understandable why you would ignore him when he needed you and treat his work with such disdain.”
He glanced over at her, answering the second part of her accusation. “Not disdain, Miss York. Never that. I read your letters. I just didn’t respond to them. I should have. At least I should have told you how much I regretted Matthew’s death. What he meant to me.”
She was not going to cry again.
“Your bringing Matthew’s work here means that whatever I achieve from this moment forward won’t be mine. He already found the answer. It would be his victory. His torpedo ship.”
“No,” she said. “He found the answer, but he never told anyone.”
His scowl was impressive, but she wasn’t cowed by the Duke of Roth.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“That last day,” she explained. “He found the answer, but he was saving the information for you. But you never came.”
“He never told you?”
She shook her head.
“I’ve tried to recreate what he’d done, but I’m not certain what it was. I think it had something to do with the gyroscope. Or maybe even the pendulum, but none of my experiments have succeeded.”
The duke smiled and she had the curious thought that it was fortunate he hadn’t smiled before now. Otherwise, she would have acted like a besotted idiot. His face altered and softened. His eyes warmed.
Although improbable and no doubt uncommon, she understood how someone could fall in love at one glance.
“You’ve been working on your own?”
She nodded.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why not?” she countered. “Are mysteries only to be solved by men?”
“Is that how you think of it? A mystery?”
“Yes.” A short answer and the only one she was going to give him. At least until he smiled again. Then she might confess anything.
“Are you angry he didn’t tell you?” he asked.
A question she’d never before considered. She gave him the truth, quickly spoken.
“I wasn’t angry,” she said. “I was hurt. But it was your collaboration and I understood that. What I didn’t understand was why you never came.”
“Forgive me,” he said softly, surprising her yet again.
Just when she thought she had him labeled and categorized, he popped out of his little box and demanded she take another look.
“What happened to you? Were you recovering from your injury?”
“I’m sorry your father died,” he said, which was an answer, of sorts. He had no intention of discussing his leg.
