A School for Unusual Girls (22 page)

That was it! Suddenly, I understood why she and Ravencross were attracted to each other. They were perfectly matched. Be that as it may, my immediate concern was keeping Sebastian from falling prey to her animal magnetism, because I certainly
did not
look like a warrior goddess. Or a goddess of any kind. Especially not with oak leaves stuck in my hair, scratches on my arms, splotches of mud on my torn skirt, and twigs poking out everywhere.

I handed the galls back to Sebastian, knocked a beetle off my bodice, plucked twigs and bits of bark out of my white muslin skirt, which is, by the way, a very impractical fabric for climbing trees.

Tess caught up to us before I had removed even half the debris. I blew an errant curl out of my eyes and said, “Good morning.” Smiling, as if nothing were amiss.

“Breakfast is in half an hour,” she said tersely. “And you”—she glowered at me and Sebastian—“don't leap to any hasty conclusions today.” With that, she ran past us.

“Hasty?” Sebastian called after her.

“Conclusions?” I asked.

Without answering either of us, or even looking back, she sprinted away, pounding the ground with hard thrashing strides.

“What's she going on about, do you suppose?”

“I haven't the vaguest idea.” I wished he would not stare after her so intently. I glanced up, surprised the sun had climbed so high. I wasn't sure if I had the right to invite guests to Miss Stranje's table, but it was nearly the breakfast hour and it seemed rude not to offer. “Would you care to come in for breakfast?”

“No, thank you. I ate at the cottage with Captain Grey. However, I would like to go to the stillroom and begin working on our experiment.”

Our
experiment. I smiled.

“We haven't much time. Two days from now, I need to have a working formula. Lady Castlereagh is hosting a ball in London and many of the diplomats with whom we exchange information will be in attendance. It is the perfect opportunity for me to distribute the new ink, if we have one, before they return to the continent.”

Two days' time
. It wasn't long enough. Not with my success rate being what it was. I stopped walking and stared at him. “Only two days?” I repeated, hoping I'd heard him incorrectly.

He nodded and gently removed the galls from my hands. “I'll get started, shall I? I could grind these. I noticed a mortar and pestle on the work table.”

“They must be crushed very fine and sifted.”
Two days
. Could it be done? What if my latest idea didn't work? Still bewildered, I mumbled, “Two days to accomplish so much?” And then … then he would leave. Only two days left with him.

“It will be all right.” He dropped the galls into his pocket.

It wouldn't. It wouldn't be all right. Even if I succeeded in making the formula, I would never see him again.
Ever
. He would be off in Vienna, and I would be stuck here.

“You're cold.” He chafed my arms, but my chill wasn't from the brisk air.

“So short a time. I'm not sure if I can—”

“You can. You will. We're very close to an answer.” He cut me off and whipped out a clean kerchief, dabbing at a small abrasion above my elbow. “Look here. You've scraped your arm.”

“It's nothing.”

“I'll decide that,” he said, as if he were so much older and wiser than I. As if I couldn't tell a gash from a minor cut. Nevertheless, I stood and quietly allowed him to attend to it.

“These things must be cleaned out to avoid infection. This is what comes of you climbing trees,” he scolded. “There was no need. I made it perfectly clear I would be here to help.”

“I didn't think you'd come.” I liked him leaning close to me. I liked the comforting smell of freshly ironed linen on his neck cloth and the inviting scent of honeyed scones on his breath. Only two days, I mourned silently.

“Widgeon,” he chided, and tied his kerchief around my arm. “I told you I would be here.”

“You say a great many things, my lord. And I never know which are said in jest and which are serious.” He looked up from bandaging my arm and gave me a singularly confusing grumble.

Properly bandaged, I headed toward the house. “You will find cheesecloth in a drawer along the back wall,” I said, “for sifting the powder.”

“Yes,” he responded, matching me stride for stride. “But, Georgiana, tell me something.”

His pensive tone made me stop. His coat sleeve brushed against my arm. “Back there, under the oak tree, you wanted me to kiss you, didn't you?”

“
Me?
” How dare he ask such a thing? Never mind that it was true. One simply did not ask rude questions like that. “No. Heavens, no. Of course not.” I took off at a bruising pace, barely able to keep from running. Phobos loped happily along beside me, tongue hanging out, oblivious of my embarrassment.

“My mistake,” he called after me.

“Yes.”

Mistake
. Mine, apparently, not his.

My heart slid down into the vicinity of my toes. It felt as if I kicked the poor abused organ with every step I took. Yet, I hurried even faster to get away from him. If I could've dashed away without seeming like a shame-faced schoolgirl, I would have. As it was, I scurried ahead of him into the garden, darted up the steps, and called over my shoulder, “I really must hurry. Don't want to miss breakfast.”

As if I hadn't lost my appetite entirely.

The moment I got through the door, I did run. I took the stairs two by two, up to our dormitorium and collapsed facedown on my bed. If only I could hide there for the rest of the day. Except I wasn't alone. Tess stood across the room. I groaned, pressed my face into the goose feather coverlet, and yanked a pillow over my head. Even buried under all those feathers, I heard her footsteps as she walked up beside my bed.

“I saw you in the tree.” She poked my shoulder. “Spying on me.”

I groaned again, wishing this morning and its wealth of humiliations would go straight to blazes. “I'm sorry,” I said, but my apology was muffled. Shoving the pillow aside I lifted my head. “I am sorry. Truly I am. It was a dastardly thing to do. I didn't mean to spy on you. Not really. I was in the tree, and … oh, rubbish!” I smacked the pillow. “It just happened.”

“Never mind.” She exhaled loudly. “Everyone spies on everyone else in this house. No reason why you should be any different than the rest of us. In your case, I suppose it's only fair. After all, I don't need to climb a tree to spy on you. I've spied on your life more than you have mine.” Tess winced, as if spying on my life saddened and exhausted her.

“What do you mean?” I sat up. “You've seen me in dreams?”

She nodded.

A hundred questions popped into my mind. “When? Last night? Before I arrived, or after? What did you see?”

“Before.” She folded her arms across her chest, shielding herself from my interrogation.

“I don't understand. If you'd already seen things about me in dreams, why did you ask Sera what she saw about me?”

“It's complicated. I haven't time. Suffice it to say, Sera sees what
is
. I see what
will be
.” Tess turned to walk away. “Or what
might be
.”

“Wait.” I sprang off the bed and grabbed her arm. “What did you dream about me? Tell me.”

She shook my hand off with a warning glare that made me back away. “It isn't like that. I only see glimpses. A jumble. Flashes. All I can tell you is don't act in haste today.”

“Haste?”

“Yes. Don't leap out of windows before you've thought things through.”

“You dreamed about
that
?”

“About you smashing into a tree. Breaking an arm. The bone splintering.” She grabbed my arm where the old fracture was still tender. “Yes. I lived through that moment with you.”

No wonder she was ill-tempered. “Not my finest moment,” I said by way of apologizing.

“But isn't that what you do, Georgie? Jump before you've figured out the tree is too close. Underestimate how fast straw catches fire.” She let go of my arm and pointed her finger at me. “It's simple. Don't act in haste. And don't let Lord Wyatt leave until tomorrow afternoon.”

I rubbed my arm and watched her head for the door without looking back.

How could I make Sebastian do anything? I wasn't his keeper. What was I supposed to do? Tie him in a chair and sic Madame Cho on him? I certainly couldn't keep him here by any other means. According to him, even the thought of kissing me was a mistake.

Fortunately, he wouldn't leave until the ink was done. That wouldn't be until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. At the rate we were going, it might be never.

Tomorrow would be here all too soon.

 

Fourteen

EXPERIMENTING

I picked at my breakfast, forced myself to swallow a few morsels, and pushed the rest around the plate. After Miss Stranje excused us I slipped quietly into the laboratory. Sebastian was working intently at the table and Madame Cho sat in the corner chair embroidering a long piece of green silk.

He glanced up from sifting brown powder. “There you are. I thought you'd never get here. The galls are pulverized and almost ready. What solution do you plan to suspend them in?”

His all-business attitude suited me just fine. I'd made a lifelong habit of focusing on my experiments rather than expecting warmth from the people around me. If that was the way he wanted it, I could do that now without any problem.

I answered Sebastian in a perfectly calm voice, without a hint of the wild emotions thrashing about in my chest. “Before we know what to put in the gall suspension, I'll need to finish my calculations and formulate the clear iron ink base.”

I went straight to work scribbling ratios and mixing a test solution. I didn't want to take a chance of asphyxiating him again. So this time I stood at the burner, heating the iron salts in a pot of water. I stirred until the minerals began to dissolve. He leaned over my shoulder, watching. I ignored the way his nearness made my skin prickle and tingle just as it does before a lightning storm. I also ignored his low rumbling murmurs of approval when the mixture began to boil. I paid no attention when his arm brushed against mine as he reached around me to adjust the burner. Although, he really ought to have asked me first. Never mind that the heat needed a reduction, I was in charge here. This was my domain. He ought not to think he could anticipate my needs.

When he tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear, it was outside of enough. He had no right to touch my person in such an intimate way. He was my assistant, not my brother, and certainly not my lover. He'd made that abundantly clear this morning. “Don't,” I snapped.

“It was in your way,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I've grown accustomed to looking through my hair. Must you stand so close?”

“Would you have me miss the most interesting part of the experiment?”

I exhaled my irritation. “No. I suppose not. But I would prefer if you stood beside me, instead of breathing down my neck. It feels as if you are a great hulking giant about to thump me should I do anything amiss.”

“What an odd thing to say.” He sounded genuinely surprised, almost offended. Still he didn't budge from leaning over my shoulder. In fact, his breath tickled even more, warming the sensitive skin just below my earlobe. “Young ladies have never complained about it before.”

“Young ladies enjoy you breathing down their necks, do they?” The stupid question popped out before I'd thought it through. I cringed the minute it escaped my lips.

“Prodigiously,” he said into my neck.

I couldn't stop the shiver it caused. “You know what I meant.”

He stood so close, that I felt his soundless chuckle through the slight vibration of his chest against my shoulders.

Madame Cho, our vigilant chaperone, cleared her throat pointedly.

He backed away slightly. “I assure you, it's true. I've done the research. You appear to be the only female in all of Christendom able to resist my charms.” He'd said it in jest, and yet I realized the depressing truth—there were bound to be scores of women in love with him, beautiful women, seductive women, like Lady Daneska.

I stared at the bubbling mixture, scowling. “I suppose you left London littered with broken hearts.” I'd tried to sound glib, sophisticated, witty, maybe even a little bit flirtatious.
Stupid, stupid girl
. No sooner had I said it than I wanted to smack my mouth, because I most certainly did not want to hear about his conquests.

“No.” He moved to my side and shook his head solemnly. “No broken hearts in London on my account.” He rubbed his jaw, stroking freshly shaved whiskers, arousing the scent of his shaving soap into the air between us. “Mind you,” he added, “the continent is an entirely different matter.”

I had the oddest reaction. I wanted to sock him in the belly, or slap that cocky smirk off his face. Either way, it is lucky for him that I had to keep stirring.

“Look.” He pointed at the mixture. “It's getting more transparent.”

I'd been staring at the iron salt solution but not seeing it at all. It did look somewhat clearer, but still retained a greenish yellow tint. He leaned close and, I am embarrassed to report, I studied the color of his skin and the way his dark hair curled around his earlobe, rather than the murky liquid in the pot.

“Uh-oh,” he said, and jerked back. “It's turning brown. What's happening?”

“Drat!” I grabbed a cloth, pulled the vessel from the heat and stared at the now reddish brown contents. “I let it go too long. We'll have to start again.”

He tossed the contents out the window and I started the measuring process again. This time I watched the mixture more carefully as we heated it. Once more it failed to stay transparent.