Things We Do for Love and Science

Chapter One

G od, this is annoying . Delia should have refused.

John should have collected the DNA sample himself.

Why did he rope her into this? She glared at the clock on the opposite wall.

Twenty minutes had passed since she’d been admitted to this grand-but-crumbling mansion, assuring a doubtful-looking caretaker that she had an appointment to speak to Lord Renwood.

At four, not at four-twenty, not at four-thirty.

He should get a move on. She didn’t have time to sit around here all day. Just hand me the box with your ancestor’s teeth, and I’ll be gone.

She drummed her fingers on the wooden desk’s polished surface in front of her. The earl was elderly and probably not too light-footed; she should cut him some slack, but if he didn’t make it into his office by half past, she’d search for him.

She swept a glance through the room. Walnut desk: ancient, monumental. Leather armchairs: dust gathering in the button indentations. A skeletal wooden bookshelf only held a few books on... Accountin g ?

An air of faded and pruned grandeur pervaded the room. Either the earl had a penchant for minimalism, or the rumors were true that the Renwoods were broke and selling off everything of value.

The hands of the clock crept forward. Four-thirty, this was it. She marched to the door, but before she could grab its handle, it opened and revealed a man, young not old, and apparently made of marble judging by the immobility of his stance.

She blinked at him and tried to control her features. He had an uncanny resemblance to his ancestor from the eighteenth century whose DNA she was after.

“Hello,” she ventured. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I had an appointment with Lord Renwood at four. He must have forgotten.”

The man stared at her as if she were a member of an alien species. Her face warmed, and she didn’t know what to do with her hands. She settled for clasping them in front of her stomach.

He shook his head and seemed to emerge from his reverie.

“I...” He took a deep breath and continued? “I presume you’d arranged a meeting with my father.

He...” The man paused to steady himself, then stepped into the room and pushed the door back without closing it fully.

“He passed away two months ago, and I well... ah...I’m Lord Renwood now. ”

“Oh.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I am sorry Mr....eh...Lord Renwood.” Only two months ago. The poor guy. He must still be numbed by grief.

“Gabriel,” he said. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to get here, but I live in the gatehouse. This is where I work, and I had no clients today so...”

“Of course, yes, Gabriel, I’ll leave now, straight away. Sorry to have intruded at a time like this. I had no idea.”

She took her bag, ready to flee.

He stopped her. “Please sit, Ms....” He gestured toward the armchair she had occupied and waited until she was seated before sinking into the chair opposite hers.

“Delia.” She tugged at her left sleeve. “I’m a geneticist at Renwood University and work in the lab of Professor John Winter.” She stopped short. No way could she ask this grieving man for the bones of his ancestor, especially those of the one renowned for his longevity.

The door creaked, and a large, amber-eyed dog with shaggy, gray fur pushed through the widened gap. His tail wagging, claws clicking softly on the hardwood floor, he made for her and laid his head on her lap.

She gave a small laugh and scratched behind the Irish Wolfhound’s ears. “You’re lucky I like dogs.” She lifted her head and smiled at Gabriel who remained solemn.

“That’s Renoir, the family dog. Come here, buddy.” He patted his leg, and the hound ambled over to him to lay at his feet.

Had Renoir been the old earl’s pet? He had the same sad and melancholic air as his current owner. Dog and man watched her with rapt attention. Only the clock on the wall filled the silence with its precise ticking.

She played with the string at the hem of her jacket.

The sooner she stated her request, the quicker she’d get to leave.

She gathered her courage and began again.

“My boss, er, Professor Winter, has embarked on a project that examines the reason for the unusual longevity of your eighteenth-century ancestor, Lord Edwin Kirwan, third Earl of Renwood. Your late father had agreed to support—”

“Ah, I remember, my dad and his little science project.” He rubbed a hand over his brow.

She winced at ‘little’ but was prepared to let it pass.

“I fear he didn’t get around to...ah... having the bones of my great-great-great-great grandfather extracted from his, er, tomb but...” He trailed off, his gaze glued to her face.

Heat rose in her cheeks again. She suppressed the impulse to run her fingers through her hair. John would get a piece of her mind once she returned to the lab.

“I mean,” Gabriel started again. “You’ll probably understand that I don’t want to go down to the family vault yet.”

“Oh, God no, I’d never ask that of you.” She stood, and the young earl also rose.

Overwhelmed by grief, the man was nearly catatonic in his responses. An ache tugged at the center of her chest. She laid a hand on his arm, but before she could remove it, he placed his hand over hers—large and warm with slender fingers. She nearly jumped.

“I’ll leave you now.” She inched free from his grasp.

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?”

Delia spun around, hands on her hips. “Why don’t I give you his number once he contacts me? Then you can take over and be the one who has to wheedle ancestral DNA out of him two months after his dad died.”

A great idea, really. Sandra would have no problem withstanding the pull of his dark-blue eyes filled with an ocean of sadness. She’d focus on the task at hand and get stuff done.

Sandra grinned. “John tells us you’ve got the touch.”

Delia ground her teeth. “John’s full of shit.”

“Imagine if he heard you say that. I’d pay to see his bluster.” Sandra burst out laughing, and Delia couldn’t help but join her.

Sandra was the only one who brought a little levity into the lab. She managed to combine scientific rigor and hard work with an enviable devil-may-care attitude. Everyone else was merely consumed by ambition and laser-focused on their career.

A few moments later, Delia nearly dropped her pipette at the wail of her mobile. She’d kept the volume on high in case his melancholic lordship rang.

She grabbed the phone from her desk and answered it. “Hello?”

“Dr. Wright, it’s Gabriel Kirwan.”

She briefly closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. He’d kept his word. Downing her tools, she made for the corridor to find a quiet corner. It was a work call, but she didn’t want her dreaded boss or his acolytes to overhear her. “Gabriel, thank you for calling. And please, it’s Delia.”

Sandra, peeking into the corridor, stared at her with wide eyes. She silently mouthed, “the earl,” then collapsed into giggles.

“Well, I’m ringing to find out what you need,” he cleared his throat, “in terms of...ah...bones.”

“Great, yes.” Delia pumped her fist. “Eh...ideally, we’d need some teeth or, failing that, a femur.”

“And that’s...what exactly?” he asked.

“Oh, sorry, that’s the thighbone. And can we assist with the, er, extraction?” She turned her back to Sandra and pressed the phone to her ear. His voice was low—Delia had to strain to make out what he was saying.

“That won’t be necessary. I should have the sample for you on Tuesday afternoon. Would that suit?”

Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Yes, excellent, I’ll be there.” She didn’t need to check her calendar. There were no lectures that day and she’d gladly move every other appointment for him. “Thanks so much for supporting our research.”

“Ah, sure. See you then, Delia.”

“Bye, Gabriel.”

She rung off and slid her mobile into her lab coat pocket.

Sandra winked at her as Delia passed her to return to her workstation.

Tuesday afternoon, fine. In possession of the DNA sample, John would get off her case for a while.

She’d have to do the DNA extraction and the sequencing, though.

He never got his hands dirty when monkey work was for subordinates only.

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