Page 2 of Things We Do for Love and Science
Out, out, she needed to get out of here. The dog unfolded his long limbs and scrambled to Gabriel’s side with wagging tail. Such a friendly animal. She had the urge to stroke the gray fur, but her desperation to conclude this meeting was stronger.
“Will you return? Later? I mean, I would hate to be a roadblock to your scientific research. It’s only that...”
“Here.” She handed him her card. “Give me a call when you feel up to discussing your ancestor’s genetic sample with me. There’s no rush,” she lied.
In scientific research, there was always a rush: to secure funding, produce results, and publish them before some other crowd got in ahead of you. But she wasn’t going to put pressure on him now. John could do that if he wanted to.
Gabriel studied her card:Dr. Cordelia Wright, senior lecturer, Department of Biochemistry, Renwood University. He looked up, and their gazes met. “Well, Dr. Wright.” He smiled for the first time. “I’ll make sure to contact you soon.”
“Great, see you then.” Delia threw him a glance, then darted for the door. “Goodbye.”
She sighed with relief and almost ran down the corridor. Thankfully, she wasn’t too far from the vestibule. The last thing she wanted was to get lost in this warren of a manor house.
She descended the grand staircase to the gravel driveway and rushed to her Fiat. Traffic was light and a ten-minute drive brought her to the university. She should have known John Winter would send her off to do his dirty work. It was hardly the first time but easily the most excruciating. She pulled into the staff parking lot and got out of her car. A firestorm raged in her gut, and her jaw hurt from grinding her molars. This kind of thing needed to stop. She was a lecturer and researcher, not his personal assistant.
“So, John.” She closed Professor Winter’s glass office door to shut out the noisy lab.
She compressed her lips and balled her fists in an effort to keep a lid on her anger. Shouting at her boss wouldn’t be a good idea, although she very much wanted to.
She took a deep breath and opened her hands. “Did you know Lord Renwood passed away two months ago?”
“Of course, I did.” John Winter peered over the rim of his expensive steel-framed glasses. “I merely thought the young earl would more likely be swayed by a pretty redhead his age than by a balding man in his early sixties. Was I correct?”
She curbed an impulse to take him by his shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled. “You sent me to talk about ancestor bones with a grieving man who’d just buried his father.”
“And is he going to provide said bones?”
“How should I know?” she snapped. “He has my card, but I won’t be the one hounding him if he takes his time.”
“But you are perfect for the task. Did you see the ancestral portrait gallery?” He pushed back his chair and crossed one leg over the other.
“I didn’t ask for a tour of the house.” She massaged her temple. “I’m sure you’ll understand.”
“You missed out. It’s an interesting place. I would say every third or fourth Countess of Renwood has your coloring, and I think they are due another redhead since the last two were brunettes.”
She was speechless. The gall of this man, but she had to keep him appeased. If he didn’t feel like renewing her temporary contract, he could end her career at this university by withholding his precious signature.
The hope of being awarded tenure was the only thing that kept her going. She couldn’t hop and skip from one research contract to the next. Not anymore. What would she do if John sent her to Renwood Hall again? And he would, she was pretty sure of it.
Maybe the young earl, Gabriel, would take pity on her and ring before she’d have to harass him further.
Jaw tight with suppressed anger, she left John’s office and slipped through the glass door into the lab. Research and teaching, that’s what she was here for, not chasing after dead bits of other people’s ancestors. She rolled her shoulders to release the tension and took a seat at the work bench.
“Hi there.” Her friend, Sandra, waved and eyed her with a cheeky grin. “I see John finally released you from his clutches.”
“Argh, just about. I need this extra task like a hole in my head.” Delia opened the drawer and took out a fresh pipette.
“What’s he like, the lord of the manor?” Sandra leaned over her shoulder.
Delia fought hard to keep irritation from her voice. The day, so far, hadn’t been great, and being cross-questioned wasn’t helping. “Nice, quiet, lonely, sad.” She scanned the lab to see if anyone was eavesdropping, but the other researchers were busy with their own concerns.
“Ah, the poor guy. Is he hot?” Sandra tilted her head.
“He’s the spitting image of his ancestor with the longevity gene.” Delia made a conscious effort not to dwell on the living, breathing man she’d met this morning. No need to recall his compelling beauty or to remember the magnetism of his deep blue eyes.
Sandra drew a theatrical breath. A reproduction of the current earl’s great-great-great-great grandfather’s portrait was pinned above John’s desk, and neither Delia nor Sandra were unimpressed. Talk, dark and handsome was all the description he needed.
Sandra wiggled her eyebrows. “Is he single?”
