Someone Irresistible (27 page)

What struck him soundly, though, was not Sir Harold himself, but how very much Mimi took after him, in both manner and appearance, something Nathan had never clearly noticed before tonight. They both possessed a charged, compelling presence and charming wit, drawing attention to themselves with a mere voiced thought, a laugh. Each had the same physical features, the same coloring, same square facial structure, and the same intelligent, deeply probing brown eyes. Overall, Mimi’s features were more feminine, of course, her skin smoother and somewhat fairer, but if they were put next to each other, it would be obvious to strangers that the two of them were father and daughter.

God, what Sir Harold would do if the man learned he’d bedded her!

Such an uncomfortable thought unnerved him when he knew it shouldn’t. Mimi had seduced him; her needs had come first to her, though Nathan realized he hadn’t been an innocent or unwilling partner in her scheme. He liked her, enjoyed her, thought about her when he shouldn’t, made love to her because he’d wanted her desperately, and, he realized with a sudden, acute awareness, cared about her as a person—her thoughts and passions and dreams. She meant something more to him than just a woman to bed, and admitting that to himself now not only was confusing and inappropriate; his irrational feelings would likely be obvious if Sir Harold simply mentioned her name to him. He would need to be exceptionally careful this night.

At last came the call for dinner, as each man took his designated spot at the table inside the walls of the Iguanodon. The fit was indeed tight, with little elbow room to spare, as they all squeezed into the small space, attempting to find a comfortable position. Justin sat to Sir Harold’s immediate right, and directly across from Nathan, who’d positioned himself by the stairs, better to receive his box when the time came; Owen took his seat inside the dinosaur’s molded head with Waterhouse Hawkins at his side.

The toasting began with Owen giving thanks to his contemporaries, fellow scientists, and Prince Albert, who had made the Palace possible

for works of new and speculative science like his. Then others took to the spirit of the evening as the various good wines flowed with each man’s embellished words of appreciation for the opportunity to be involved in such an endeavor, and with such a group of distinguished statesmen, scholars, and nobles, many of whom had to be left off the guest list due to space constraints. Several times his peers glanced his way, but Nathan stayed quiet throughout the saluting, keeping his drink intake to a minimum, observing the spectacle with an ever-growing anxiousness as the evening slowly progressed.

Finally the dinner itself began to arrive. Hired servants in formal black attire first took requests from the rather extensive bill of fare, then delivered each course in a timely fashion. Nathan chose Jullien soup, filet of whiting, and boiled chicken in celery sauce as his first three courses, though he doubted he’d be able to eat much of it with his nerves wound so tightly. For a good forty-five minutes, as the toasting and rowdy laughter settled down with the start of earnest eating, conversation in his immediate vicinity remained neutral and centered strictly on paleontology and the latest finds recently excavated at various English and European quarries.

At last, however, during a superb course of pheasant with Madeira jelly, the topic turned to the original Palace opening in ‘51, and Nathan knew it was only a matter of time before someone mentioned him. Alas, he had never expected it to be Justin.

“Do tell, Nathan,” his friend broke in casually, cutting a tomato half with his fork, “did you ever recover your Megalosaur jawbone that disappeared opening night?”

Silence descended upon the room as they all stopped eating at once.

Someone coughed; another man dropped his fork to his china plate with a sharpness that sliced through the thick night air.

Nathan swallowed a bite of suddenly dry game he’d only begun to chew, then tapped his napkin against his lips, stalling. In that short space of time a low murmur of two or three voices severed the enveloping unrest, inviting comments of an insensitive nature.

“Those shameful skeleton bones,” bellowed Clayton Rollingsworth through a half-drunken slur. “Perhaps the thing walked out on its own and is right this very minute terrifying children and women in Hampshire.”

Several snickered openly at that. Nathan turned to the corpulent middle-aged anatomist, whom he knew only by name and brief introduction, his expression grim, his heart pounding as he fisted his hands together beneath the table. “Perhaps it had help from someone in this room tonight,” he said in reply, his voice amazingly composed.

“Maybe you, Mr. Rollingsworth?”

Someone gasped. Then silence settled over the group again, as those who’d found instant humor in the stupid jest now realized with self embarrassment that Nathan took this matter most seriously.

Seconds of uneasiness passed. Owen made a great display of sipping his port; Sir Harold looked at his half-eaten plate of woodcocks, his hands in his lap. Only Justin continued to eat, undisturbed. Nathan found that rather odd.

Professor Owen cracked the tension by suddenly clearing his throat.

“Yes, Price,” he remarked, sitting up a little. “A shame it was lost. Ever hear a thing about its recovery?”

That the most celebrated paleontologist in England defended his credibility in front of those here tonight provided Nathan a momentary boost of satisfaction.

With the attention in his arena, he replied succinctly, “I’ve not heard a word, no, but I have my suspicions as to who took it.” He looked straight across from him, directly at Sir Harold. “What I don’t know is why, or where it is at the moment.”

“Can’t prove it existed at all,” came a voice somewhere down the table to his right. “Nobody’s ever found a Megalosaur jawbone
whole
.”

It shocked him that a guest would immediately challenge Owen’s obvious conviction that the jawbone was real, but Nathan never looked away from his adversary. “Oh, it was intact and complete, I assure you.

It certainly existed then, just as I’m certain it does even now, to someone else’s advantage.”

“Your arrogance is astonishing, Price,” Rollingsworth blubbered.

“As is your rudeness,” he shot back without moving his gaze.

That started an uncomfortable shifting of bodies as the negative mood elevated.

“Now, now, gentlemen,” Waterhouse Hawkins interjected through a forced laugh, his palms out in front of him. “No need to argue about something in the past. Let’s enjoy ourselves. The wine is good, the food superb—”

“Are you accusing someone here at the dinner table tonight, Price?”

Sir Harold broke in coolly, and very slowly. “Is that why you’ve come to this otherwise festive occasion? To accuse one of these distinguished gentlemen of science and culture of disgracing
you
?”

Low murmurs began again. Nathan knew this was the moment when all would turn in his favor—or against it. But no matter what he did or said, he could not afford to insult their gracious host for this event to

which he had not been immediately invited to attend in the first place—the man who might also make any future career of his possible.

Drawing a long breath, sitting rigidly solid in his chair, he nodded once to Professor Owen, before looking back at Sir Harold. “I’m delighted to be here, sir, as you can well imagine,” he articulated, eyes narrowed, features hard with purpose. “I’ve been excluded from occasions such as this one in the last two years, not by my choice, as I know you’re aware, but because, as you aptly stated, someone chose to humiliate me in front of my peers during the greatest moment of my career.”

“Oh, rubbish,” interrupted one man.

“Indeed,” agreed another. “You are an arrogant pup, aren’t you?”

Nathan ignored the ridicule, the churning in his stomach, and the doubts in his mind, to press forward. This was the night of his life. He would survive it or he would fail.

Taking a sip of his port to give him a moment or two of control, he decided to get to the reason for his being at the most momentous occasion of the year. It was time.

In one fluid gesture, he placed his wineglass back on the table and stood, his chair scooting out behind him on the hard floorboards.

“Gentlemen,” he maintained, smoothing his frock coat to hide his growing anxiousness, “I would like to take this opportunity to share with each of you something I hope you’ll find interesting, if not fascinating.”

“Going to give us a showing again, eh, Price?” Waterhouse Hawkins asked, scratching his chin as he relaxed in his chair.

Several chuckled; one or two groaned. Nathan didn’t know whether the man mocked him or felt genuinely curious, but he didn’t respond.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sir Harold shifting back in his seat, but he ignored it all. With everyone otherwise remaining remarkably silent, he nodded again to his host.

“Something for you, Sir Richard, for the time when this marvelous structure in which we now sit is completed and ready to show to the world all you’ve catalogued, discovered, and taught.” Then he turned toward the steps behind him and motioned to a servant awaiting his signal to carry the large white box to the table.

But upon seeing it again, wrapped precisely and prettily in a bright red bow, as only a woman would do, Nathan’s heart started beating hard and fast, not with nervousness, but with remembrance. A remembrance of long, flowing blond hair caressing his chest, a beautifully wicked smile, marvelous pink-tipped breasts, and a red satin

corset worn for his viewing alone. He swallowed. This was Mimi’s moment, too, he realized, and she couldn’t even be here to savor it as he would. Suddenly Nathan felt a surge of intense desire to be with her, arguing with her in her sunshiny garden, sitting beside her on a settee in her workshop while discussing opposing scientific theories, watching her work in a moment of peaceful quiet, making love to her during a long night of passion…

The low rumble of whispers shook him from his uncomfortable, if not enlightening musings. He straightened as he took the box from the servant and deposited it in his chair, those sitting beside him moving to their sides a little to grant him room—or stay out of his way.

Standing behind it, Nathan faced the group with fortitude on his face, and excitement raging just below the surface.

This was his moment.

He looked into Sir Harold’s shrewd, brown eyes.

And your daughter’s.

Beneath the burning gas chandelier, inside a palace of glass walls and a dinosaur mold of magnificent build, Nathan faced the men who’d rejected him once before. Hands shaking, he reached with careful fingers for the red satin bow and slowly pulled at the ends until the center knot loosened and came free. That done, he grasped the lid with both hands and lifted it, placing it gently at his feet.

He first sighted old newspapers, wadded up and stuffed inside to safeguard the sculpture from movement, thereby keeping it intact.

Nathan reached in and lifted them piece by piece, dropping each one to the floor behind him.

At last his eyes came to rest on the black cover cloth protecting his treasure. The men at his side were now leaning over to view the contents out of curiosity, as the air around the table fairly crackled with building intensity, the entire room still and silent with an anticipation Nathan could not only detect, but actually feel.

Cautiously, he grasped the sculpture with both hands and raised it from the box. Glancing to Sir Harold, who sat stonefaced and unaffected, he tugged on the edges until the velvet came loose and drifted down his upraised arm, disclosing his prize to all of them.

Beneath the hissing bright light, the sculpture lay at last in his palms, long and sturdy and remarkable in its appearance, causing a collective gasp from his contemporaries, a moment of awe followed by low murmurs of amazement and appreciation. Mimi had outdone herself. In its final form, the sculpture was positively breathtaking.

“Brilliant,” Sir Richard offered before anyone else spoke. “And such

likeness. It’s simply… astonishing.”

Likeness
? That confused Nathan, but he didn’t comment for fear of appearing ignorant. It wasn’t the time for ignorance.

Winthrop Bartlett, a paleontologist from Oxford, shook his head in small, sharp movements, his thick, white eyebrows drawn together as one. “Similar, yes…” His gaze narrowed as he cocked his head.

“Especially the curved teeth.”

“Yes, yes,” Owen replied, slowly standing to get a better view. “You’re absolutely right. It’s the teeth.”

Suddenly Justin stood, his brows pinched in dismay, staring at the sculpture with pointed interest, as comments between the men began to flow.

Others followed suit, rising to ogle, moving in to get a closer look. All but Sir Harold, who remained where he sat, his elbow resting on the arm of his chair, his palm lingering on his chin, his wide, arthritic fingers covering what Nathan assumed at first to be the man’s own stunned silence. Then his gaze locked with Marsh’s brown eyes, so candid and fierce like his daughter’s, and that’s when he realized all was not as it seemed. Those eyes were solid, confident, amused, laughing at him. No, not laughing. Challenging him.

Nathan looked down at his prize again, turning it slowly in his hands.

“To what likeness are you referring, Sir Richard?” Justin broke in after clearing his throat.

Nathan swiftly glanced up to him. Justin looked pale, perplexed. He quickly followed his friend’s gaze to their host.

“Oh, the likeness of the Megalosaur jawbone found in Oxfordshire only a fortnight ago,” Owen quickly returned, smiling. “By Colin Smith, the American working with the team from Cambridge.” He nodded toward Nathan’s sculpture. “That one looks nearly identical.”

Nathan had heard of Smith, by reputation, but the bewilderment he felt only moments ago now turned to alarm—not because of the dinosaur found, but because of the look on Justin’s face.

What the bloody hell was going on?

“Was it intact?” Justin mumbled, clutching his wineglass with tight fingers.