Page 76 of Inventing Vivian

“Oh, if you don’t mind”—he took off her hat, tossing it onto the crate—“for the full effect.”

Vivian’s hair was pulled up tightly in braids and pinned to her head. He remembered for a moment how it had looked at the dinner party, curling over her shoulders. “Shall we?” He put a hand on her waist and nodded his head, counting to the beat of imaginary music.

Vivian followed his steps, but she was stiff and quite obviously uncomfortable.

“Which do you prefer?” Benedict asked. “A crowded ballroom or a dark warehouse full of rats?”

Vivian gave a half smile. “Are they really so different?”

Benedict laughed. “Why, Vivian Kirby, I believe you made a joke. I thought you said your conversation while dancing offended or embarrassed your partner. So far, it has done neither.”

“I have hardly begun, Your Lordship.”

“Do your worst.”

Vivian looked him directly in the eye. “Human skin is crawling with over one hundred species of bacterium.”

Benedict grinned. “Fascinating.”

She glanced around and looked back at him, narrowing her eyes. “If a rat doesn’t constantly chew, filing down its teeth, they would grow to a length of five and half inches in his lifetime.”

“Wonderful,” Benedict said. “Utterly delightful.”

“You are humoring me.” Vivian stopped moving, but she didn’t pull away.

“I am interested in what goes on in that intelligent mind of yours.”

“But why?” she asked. “Why does it matter?”

“I told you,” Benedict said. “Because I like you. I like you very much.” He slid his arm farther around her back, pulling her closer, and then cupped the back of her head in his hand, touching his lips to hers.

Vivian softened in his arms, melting against him. But a moment later, she froze. She pulled away, her breath jerky and her cheeks flushed. “Why did you do that?” She touched her fingers to her lips. “I didn’t think. I didn’t know you were...”

Benedict watched her bluster, thinking she looked even lovelier when she was caught off guard. “I should have asked first,” he said. “But I hoped you wouldn’t mind.”

She took another step back. “I told you, my lord. A relationship between us won’t work. You may think we are suited, but I fear you’ll be disappointed soon enough. You will want to be with someone more like yourself.”

“Vivian.” He touched her arm, glad she didn’t pull away. “Do you remember what your father and I talked about the other night at dinner? The concept of yin and yang?”

“I remember.” Her expression indicated she thought it to be nonsense.

“I have found that opposites are not only complementary but necessary, not only in nature and science but in relationships as well. Vivian, we are different; it is true. But that is what makes us perfect together.” He touched her elbow. “Don’t you see? We complete each other.”

She looked up at him, and for a moment, he saw hope in her eyes. Hope and something warmer. Encouraged, he touched her other arm, moving closer to embrace her.

But Vivian pulled away. She folded her arms, looking toward the window. “I don’t—” Her head whipped toward the door. “Sulphur dioxide is an airborne pollutant, and many woods contain volatile alcohols that have a solvent action, making the metal more susceptible to the effects of moisture.”

He frowned. “Vivian, you don’t have to keep—”

“My lord.” She started toward the door, moving quickly. “Can you really break a board with your hand?”

“It is much easier with my foot,” he said, following her. “But yes.”

Vivian looked closer at the track and the rollers on the bottom of the door.

He wasn’t exactly sure what she hoped to see, especially in the dim light. “I can’t kick through this door, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “These boards are too thick.”

“You wouldn’t have to,” she said. “If the steel is corroded, perhaps you can knock the door loose from the track.”

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