Page 1 of Things We Do for Love and Science
Chapter One
God, this is annoying.Delia should have refused. John should have collected the DNA sample himself. Why did he rope her into this? She glared at the clock on the opposite wall. Twenty minutes had passed since she’d been admitted to this grand-but-crumbling mansion, assuring a doubtful-looking caretaker that she had an appointment to speak to Lord Renwood. At four, not at four-twenty, not at four-thirty.
He should get a move on. She didn’t have time to sit around here all day.Just hand me the box with your ancestor’s teeth, and I’ll be gone.
She drummed her fingers on the wooden desk’s polished surface in front of her. The earl was elderly and probably not too light-footed; she should cut him some slack, but if he didn’t make it into his office by half past, she’d search for him.
She swept a glance through the room. Walnut desk: ancient, monumental. Leather armchairs: dust gathering in the button indentations. A skeletal wooden bookshelf only held a few books on...Accounting?
An air of faded and pruned grandeur pervaded the room. Either the earl had a penchant for minimalism, or the rumors were true that the Renwoods were broke and selling off everything of value.
The hands of the clock crept forward. Four-thirty, this was it. She marched to the door, but before she could grab its handle, it opened and revealed a man, young not old, and apparently made of marble judging by the immobility of his stance.
She blinked at him and tried to control her features. He had an uncanny resemblance to his ancestor from the eighteenth century whose DNA she was after.
“Hello,” she ventured. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I had an appointment with Lord Renwood at four. He must have forgotten.”
The man stared at her as if she were a member of an alien species. Her face warmed, and she didn’t know what to do with her hands. She settled for clasping them in front of her stomach.
He shook his head and seemed to emerge from his reverie. “I...” He took a deep breath and continued‚ “I presume you’d arranged a meeting with my father. He...” The man paused to steady himself, then stepped into the room and pushed the door back without closing it fully. “He passed away two months ago, and I well... ah...I’m Lord Renwood now.”
“Oh.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I am sorry Mr....eh...Lord Renwood.”Only two months ago. The poor guy. He must still be numbed by grief.
“Gabriel,” he said. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to get here, but I live in the gatehouse. This is where I work, and I had no clients today so...”
“Of course, yes, Gabriel, I’ll leave now, straight away. Sorry to have intruded at a time like this. I had no idea.”
She took her bag, ready to flee.
He stopped her. “Please sit, Ms....” He gestured toward the armchair she had occupied and waited until she was seated before sinking into the chair opposite hers.
“Delia.” She tugged at her left sleeve. “I’m a geneticist at Renwood University and work in the lab of Professor John Winter.” She stopped short. No way could she ask this grieving man for the bones of his ancestor, especially those of the one renowned for his longevity.
The door creaked, and a large, amber-eyed dog with shaggy, gray fur pushed through the widened gap. His tail wagging, claws clicking softly on the hardwood floor, he made for her and laid his head on her lap.
She gave a small laugh and scratched behind the Irish Wolfhound’s ears. “You’re lucky I like dogs.” She lifted her head and smiled at Gabriel who remained solemn.
“That’s Renoir, the family dog. Come here, buddy.” He patted his leg, and the hound ambled over to him to lay at his feet.
Had Renoir been the old earl’s pet?He had the same sad and melancholic air as his current owner. Dog and man watched her with rapt attention. Only the clock on the wall filled the silence with its precise ticking.
She played with the string at the hem of her jacket. The sooner she stated her request, the quicker she’d get to leave. She gathered her courage and began again. “My boss, er, Professor Winter, has embarked on a project that examines the reason for the unusual longevity of your eighteenth-century ancestor, Lord Edwin Kirwan, third Earl of Renwood. Your late father had agreed to support—”
“Ah, I remember, my dad and his little science project.” He rubbed a hand over his brow.
She winced at ‘little’ but was prepared to let it pass.
“I fear he didn’t get around to...ah... having the bones of my great-great-great-great grandfather extracted from his, er, tomb but...” He trailed off, his gaze glued to her face.
Heat rose in her cheeks again. She suppressed the impulse to run her fingers through her hair. John would get a piece of her mind once she returned to the lab.
“I mean,” Gabriel started again. “You’ll probably understand that I don’t want to go down to the family vault yet.”
“Oh, God no, I’d never ask that of you.” She stood, and the young earl also rose.
Overwhelmed by grief, the man was nearly catatonic in his responses. An ache tugged at the center of her chest. She laid a hand on his arm, but before she could remove it, he placed his hand over hers—large and warm with slender fingers. She nearly jumped.
“I’ll leave you now.” She inched free from his grasp.
