To Sin With A Scoundrel (15 page)

Steam rose from the boiling water, misting the rack of glass vials. The blurred labels and muddled colors forced Ciara to
hesitate for an instant before making her choice.

It was not like her to lose focus in the laboratory. Here was the one place on earth where she counted on seeing things with
a sharp-eyed clarity. But this afternoon, her head seemed to be in a fog.

Slapping down the spoon, Ciara scribbled a note in her logbook. Worrying would not keep Lord Hadley from his appointed lesson.
Perhaps she could concoct a magic potion that would turn him into a frog. That would solve two problems at once—she would
not be tempted to indulge in improper thoughts, and Peregrine would have a male playmate.

Peregrine.

Ciara sighed. Her son was a far more serious concern than a rakehell rogue. The boy had been a bit moody since his return
from the country, but her gentle probing had so far uncovered no specific reason. Had he somehow overheard some nasty gossip
during the trip? A whispered reference to the Wicked Widow?

Her grip tightened on the pen. Perhaps she ought to consider a retreat to the country, despite the fact that her legal advisers
strongly advised against such a move. Or perhaps she should seek shelter in some foreign land. Peregrine would lose the trappings
of title and privilege but gain the freedom to live his life untainted by her sordid scandal.

The sound of steps in the corridor warned that she would have to set aside such complex conundrums for the next hour. Lord
Hadley was here, and though the effort would likely be a waste of time, instructing the earl in the rudiments of scientific
inquiry might at least provide comic relief.

Assuming he didn’t set the laboratory on fire.

Ciara was aware of a slow burn spreading across her cheeks.
Damn.
The powders and potions were not the only things at risk to the earl’s incendiary touch. She would have to keep a tight lid
on her own reactions to the man. But it was growing harder and harder. Try as she might to ignore his smoldering sensuality,
his looks—
his kisses
—sparked a volatile reaction deep inside her.

It was best not to analyze why. The answer was too… dangerous.

“Lord Hadley is here for his appointment, milady.” McCabe’s reedy voice announced the visitor.

Drawing a deep breath, Ciara opened the door. “I see that you are punctual,” she observed, slanting a look at the mantel clock.
“That is a step in the right direction, sir. In all disciplines of science, one must be precise in measuring minutes and seconds,
else the results can be disastrous.”

“I make it a point never to be late for an assignation,” replied Lucas with a languid flutter of his sable lashes. “You are
right—the repercussions can indeed be disastrous.”

No man should possess such sinfully beautiful eyes.
She forced herself to slow her skittering heartbeat. “Lord Hadley, you are only wasting precious lesson time by trying to
provoke me with more of your innuendos.”

“I can think of worse ways to spend an hour than in trying to bring a blush to your lovely cheeks,” he murmured.

Ignoring him, she went on, “Let us get something straight. While you are here in my laboratory, I expect you to behave and
follow my instructions to the letter.”

“More rules?” Lucas heaved a martyred sigh. “You know, it’s not really allowed for one party to add restrictions once a wager
is agreed to. But seeing as you are new to this, I will grant you a little leeway.”

“I…” Ciara opened one of the cabinets, unwilling to be put on the defensive. “I have here the basic textbook on ornithology
that we will be using for the course of our lessons.” She held up a weighty volume for his inspection. “The author is a noted
expert, and his writing offers a clear, concise introduction to the subject.”

As she turned back, Lucas placed the package he had under his arm on the worktable and removed the wrapping paper. The gilt
title sparked in the sunlight—
Birds of Britain—A Detailed Compendium of Observations and Methodology by Fitzwilliam Bergemot.

“I took the liberty of acquiring my own copy,” he said. “The clerks at Hatchards were very helpful in helping me choose. I
am happy to see that we guessed right.”

“Lesson number one, Lord Hadley,” she said sternly. “Do not presume anything in science. And don’t make guesses.”

“Even educated ones?” he replied.

“Sir—”

Lucas held up a hand. “Yes, yes, I know. I am to be serious at all times.” He schooled his face to a sober expression. “I
shall strive to be an attentive student.”

She thinned her lips against the temptation to smile at his teasing. The man had a quick wit, she granted him that. And a
quick tongue—

No.
It was best not to think of his tongue, or the soft, sensuous slide of his mouth on hers. This was not an anatomy class.
Ornithology was, she hoped, a far less dangerous subject.

But with the earl, it was hard to tell.

“Let us start out with a quick survey of the instruments and their proper usage,” she began. “Although we won’t be using them
until later on in our studies, I think it best to give you an overview. The mechanisms are extremely delicate and must be
handled with great care.”

Lucas looked on the verge of speech but then merely nodded.

“Follow me.”

Ciara led the way to the work counter by the window. “This microscope is the latest model from Heidelberg, with a magnifying
lens ground to a precise specification of…”

She moved down its length, explaining the different areas and the orderly array of implements. Lucas listened to the detailed
discourse without comment. Though whether he was taking it all in or was merely bored to perdition was impossible to gauge.

Finishing up a warning to him about the chemical compounds stored above the small gas burner, she indicated the bookshelves.
“There are a number of reference books that you will need during the coming weeks—” She stopped short, seeing him pause to
pick up a round object from her desk.

“Lesson number two, sir—never touch an item in my laboratory without permission.”

The object in question flew into the air for an instant and then landed back in his palm with a soft slap. “Are you a secret
sporting enthusiast, Lady Sheffield? Or am I deluded in thinking that this is a cricket ball?”

Ciara flushed. “It belongs to my son,” she replied tersely. She didn’t add that she was practicing throwing it against the
pillow propped in the far corner, so she might prove a more proficient partner than young Isabella.

“Ah.” He seemed intent on examining the stitching of the leather. “You ought to buy them at Silliman’s Emporium. These ones
made by Brompton are of inferior quality.”

“Thank you for the advice,” she said a bit curtly. “But can it really matter?”

“Very much so. You see, the seams can greatly affect the flight of a ball. Observe how uneven they are here.”

Ciara leaned in a little warily, wondering if he was playing games with her. But closer inspection showed he was right. The
raised cording was indeed irregular, with noticeable lumps in the waxed thread.

“They should be uniformly smooth and even, otherwise it’s hard to be accurate with a throw.” He tossed the ball from hand
to hand. “Physics, you know.”

“I hadn’t realized that sport was such a science,” she said dryly.

“You might be surprised how seriously we frivolous fellows take our pursuits of sports. As for flight patterns, ask any bird
about—”

The earl’s reply was cut short by a tentative knock on the door. “Mama?” called Peregrine. “May I come in?”

Masking her surprise, Ciara turned quickly and clicked open the latch. Her son knew better than to interrupt her work, save
for something important.

“Shouldn’t you be at your lessons, young man?”

“Mr. Welch let me go early as reward for getting a perfect score on my mathematical test,” replied Peregrine. “I wanted to
practice my pitching against the garden wall, but I can’t find my ball anywhere. I thought perhaps you might have seen it?”

The brisk slap of leather echoed against the earl’s palm. “It was serving as a physics specimen, but I’m sure it could be
put to better use outdoors.”

Ciara saw her son’s eyes widen at seeing an unfamiliar face inside their townhouse. “Perry, this is Lord Hadley, who has come
to consult me on a scientific question.” She slanted a sidelong look at the earl, praying he would not make some mocking remark.
The boy was shy around strangers. “Lord Hadley, my son, Peregrine.”

“You like cricket, lad?” Lucas dropped to a casual crouch, so that he was at eye level with her son.

“Yes, sir,” answered Peregrine.

“So do I. Do you play often?”

“N-not really.” Her son made a face, accentuating the bull’s-eye bruise on his forehead. “The trouble is, my only playmate
is a girl, and her aim isn’t very good.”

“A problem,” agreed Lucas gravely. “Have you tried teaching her a corker pitch? The spin helps add control.”

Peregrine looked downcast. “I—I don’t know how.”

“It’s actually quite easy.” Lucas cocked a brow. “If your mother would allow a short recess from our lessons on ornithology,
I’d be happy to accompany you to the garden and give you a few pointers.”

Ciara nodded in answer to her son’s pleading look.

“Come then, let us fetch your bat, lad.” Lucas gave the boy a conspiratorial wink. “Before your mother changes her mind about
letting me scamper on my lessons.”

She took a moment to put her workbench in order, then trailed along behind them, amazed at how quickly her son’s reticence
receded in response to the earl’s easy banter. A tentative query turned into a peppering of questions on the sport, and all
of a sudden, Peregrine was chattering like a magpie. Laughter—male laughter—echoed off the wainscoting in a counterpoint of
baritone and alto notes.

The sound tugged at her heartstrings. A boy ought to have a man in his life. And yet…

Lucas laughed again, and despite the bright afternoon light dappling the glass-paned doors, the sound was like the rumble
of distant thunder, presaging a coming storm.

Shaking off such dark musings, Ciara forced a sunny smile as Peregrine looked back at her with a grin and then pelted into
the garden. Trouble might be hovering on the horizon, but the skies were clear.

For the moment.

“Just a tic, lad.” Lucas stripped off his coat and draped it over the garden bench. “I can’t afford to split a seam,” he joked
as he waggled his limbs. “Throwing requires vigorous movement, and my valet tells me that Weston’s tailoring costs me an arm
and a leg.”

The boy giggled.

“Now, first of all, show me your grip.” He handed over the ball.

Laying his small fingers in line with the seams, Peregrine took a tentative hold and looked up.

“No wonder you’ve got no one to play with but girls.” Lucas rolled his eyes in mock despair. “I can see we’ve got a lot of
work to do here.” He moved the boy’s hand, showing him how to position his thumb and forefinger. “Use a bit of pressure here.
And here. It will give you better control. Go stand by the statue and I’ll show you what I mean.”

The boy scampered across the graveled path.

“Make a target with your hands,” called Lucas. Taking aim, he lobbed a soft toss that hit square on the mark. He crouched
down and held his palms in front of his chest. “Now you try.”

The ball sailed high over his head.

Peregrine’s face pinched in embarrassment.

“Relax your arm, lad. Make the muscles like macaroni.” He demonstrated with a deliberately silly shake. “You can’t throw well
if your elbow is stiff.”

The boy’s next try was a bit better. “Good, good,” encouraged Lucas. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucas saw that Ciara had taken a seat on the terrace steps and was watching in solemn silence.
Did she disapprove of frivolous fun? It was impossible to tell from her expression.

“Mens sana in corpore sano,”
he murmured to her as he passed close to retrieve an errant throw. “A healthy mind in a healthy body—the ancient philosophers
believed that vigorous physical exercise was important to intellectual well-being.”

“I’m not sure the ancients were referring to some of your favorite activities,” she replied with a cryptic smile. “But I agree
that the principle makes a great deal of sense.”

“You need not worry that I am going to lead your son down the path to perdition. Lads his age need to expend a great deal
of energy. A game of cricket will do him no harm.”

A shadow flitted across her face, accentuating the hollows of her cheeks. She looked troubled, though he wasn’t sure why.
“I am aware of that, Lord Hadley. And I… I am grateful to you for taking the time to teach him some of the basic skills.”

“My motive is purely selfish. I’ve escaped a stuffy classroom. Dare I hope that I get good marks for sportsmanship?”

“You’ve a passing grade so far,” murmured Ciara.

“Just passing? I guess I will have to try harder—I take pride in earning high honors in hijinks.” Turning, he tossed the ball
back to Peregrine. “Remember, keep your thumb firm on the seam, lad.”