Page 25 of Enticing Odds
Mr. Brobbey jumped.
“Oh! I’m sorry, so sorry, Mr. Brobbey. Allow me to assist you, if you would…”
Matthew rushed over to the chair, suddenly embarrassed. He’d forgotten himself, he’d been so excited to replace a useless antidote with a modern, effective solution.
“It’s quite alright, Doctor.” The elderly man waved him off, pushing himself up from the sturdy wooden chair. “The missus will be astounded to hear. Beef tea useless, fancy that.”
Matthew smiled, and pushed his spectacles back up. In the distance he could hear the knocker banging on his front door, and Mrs. Ellam opening it. It had been busier than usual for the month; the pervasive dampness of the season had meant a longer period for colds and coughs.
He set the issue ofThe Lancetaside and began writing out the preparation for the apothecary. When finished, he bade Mr. Brobbey farewell, and reminded him of his other directives, including a request to leave the study door slightly ajar.
Then he turned back to his shelves, wondering what exactly needed to happen to sort the entire mess out. As far as Matthew could remember, his study had always been a shambles; Mrs. Ellam routinely “forgot” to sweep and dust up. Matthew supposed it had something to do with the various stuffed specimens perched about the room. In addition to the eagle-owl, he’d a freestanding glass case with several carmine bee-eaters mounted upon a branch, a vicious-looking badger on one of the bookshelves, and an equally ferocious weasel upon a small side table.Grotesque, Mrs. Ellam had called them.
“My my, there are more dead creatures in this room than can be found in the whole of Houndsditch, aren’t there?”
Matthew nearly leaped out of his skin. In his haste to turn around he upset a precariously stacked pile of notes, the contents of which fluttered to the ground with a rustle.
“Lady Caplin,” Matthew managed. “This is a surprise.”
“Not as much of a surprise as this… collection of… trophies?” she mused. “I confess I’d never think it of you.” She strolled in slowly, her head on a swivel.
Matthew swallowed before bending down to retrieve the notes. “Science, actually, my lady. They’re for, er, scientific study. I didn’t…” He blinked, feeling foolish. “I didn’t shoot them.”
“I’m sure they’d be pleased to know that they perished for such a noble cause.” She rounded the weasel trapped within its glass specimen dome, examining it.
She was very smartly turned-out in a fine walking suit and a small round hat with several feathers elegantly fanning out from one side of the crown.
“As would the quail whose plumage adorns your hat,” Matthew said without thinking.
Lady Caplin turned to him, one brow raised. “Pheasant, actually.”
Matthew clamped his mouth shut. Why had he said that? He could feel the back of his neck warming underneath his collar. Usually he could affect an air of self-assuredness, but this woman always seemed to find him tongue-tied.
“Dr. Collier,” she said in a low voice, the hint of a smile upon her lips. “Youdosurprise me.”
He realized he’d never seen her like this. Twice they had met at her ball, her dripping with jewels and silk, dazzling everyone with her brilliance and wit. And then once outside the Euston Station hotel. There she’d been plainly clothed and veiled, as if wishing to escape notice. But now, dressed fashionably in plain but smartly cut tweeds, she was somehow even more formidable.
He liked it.
Blast it, but that was an inconvenient thought. He pushed it back with a solicitous smile, then gestured toward the chair thatMr. Brobbey had recently vacated. She ignored it, and instead strolled across the room to the large glass box that sat upon carved wooden legs. That had cost him a fortune, both the case and the display within.
“It’s a lovely bit of work, this,” she remarked, bending over to position her face closer to the glass. Inside, several small, slender, brilliantly colored birds were perched in various poses upon a curling branch. “What stunning little creatures. All crimson except for that lovely splash of blue. Almost a turquoise.”
“Carmine bee-eaters,” Matthew explained. “They’re native to the African continent. I purchased them from a shop in the Pantheon on Regent Street.”
He felt the urge to draw up alongside her and admire the display for himself, but he did not wish to unsettle her; she was quite small in stature, especially compared to him.
“Hmm.” She tilted her head, considering the little birds before rising back up. “Poor chaps.”
“Most are chaps, as you say. There are two females as well, though,” he said, forgetting his prior hesitation and joining her at the case. “Their tail streamers are a bit shorter than the males. See?”
He pointed at one, tracing an invisible line along the feathers that stuck out from the fan-like tail.
When Lady Caplin didn’t respond, he glanced sideways at her. She looked very much as if she were attempting not to smile. She smelled so delicate, light and sweet. His head swam. Suddenly he realized just how close they stood, and she seemingly realized it too, for she broke into a coy grin.
“The male’s is… longer, you say?”
Fuck. If she weren’t a damn viscountess living in a massive manse with a hoard of jewels, and he a simple man of medicine with a hoard of birds, Matthew would’ve sworn that looksuggested something. Something untoward. Something one did not even consider engaging in with a proper lady. Heart racing, he managed to tear his gaze away from hers. Unfortunately, it fell upon the large lower drawer of his desk. The one that was very tightly locked.
