Chapter Thirteen
The alteration of motion is ever proportional to the motive force impressed; and is made in the direction of the right line in which that force is impressed.
—Isaac Newton
I was up to my elbows in flour and water making this deuced papier-maché tube.
I was certain I had gotten globs of the cold, sticky mixture on my face and possibly inside my shirt, because something clammy and lumpy kept sliding down beneath the band over my chest. But there was no way I was going to clean that up with Tarik on the other side of his drawing room.
We were at Ansel’s apartments at The Albany.
I had arrived with a cap pulled low, smart men’s clothing I had purloined from my cousin’s closet from the residence in Mayfair, and a repaired mustache and spectacles in place.
I had managed to hoodwink the building staff into thinking I was my cousin, well enough to allow me entry to the building.
While I had to use my persona sparingly in London for reasons of discovery, I supposed it was also ideal for Ansel to be seen with the new gentleman temporarily staying in his pied-à-terre.
People with undue suspicions caused problems.
Speaking of my cousin, I had written Ansel a long and very detailed letter, explaining the mess into which I’d gotten myself.
The last correspondence he’d sent me had arrived with a Greek address, so I’d used that.
I also wanted to know when he planned to return, because if he did while I was pretending to be him, that would be an utter disaster.
Hopefully, he’d stay away from London until after Mama’s annual ball, as that would be ideal, but I had no way of knowing.
The truth was that it was getting harder and harder to play dual roles.
I was constantly anxious I was going to give something away.
Wiping my sleeve across my brow and dislodging my spectacles, I squinted at the instructions on the rolled papers Tarik had given me.
I’d managed to locate a mirror with a five-inch diameter that had been ground into a spherical shape, as well as a sliding focuser from an instrument maker and a smaller flat mirror to reflect the light to the lens, which I’d sourced from one of Ansel’s old pairs of spectacles.
The papier-maché part of the process was slow.
To shape the tube, I started applying old newssheets and paper scraps dipped in a thickened paste I’d made from heated flour and water around a three-foot-long greased metal pipe.
I’d already painted the innermost sheets of the base layer black to minimize reflection, but once the outside hardened properly, I’d coat it with varnish and tie it with some cloth strips at intervals.
Brass fittings would go at either end, one for the primary mirror and lens and one inside to secure the secondary mirror.
“How’s the progress?” Tarik asked, walking to where I was hunkered over the table.
“Messy,” I said, wiggling clumpy fingers.
He laughed. “I can see that.”
“Glad my pain and suffering are amusing to you.”
Tarik smirked as he crouched down beside me.
He was so close that I could see the sapphire and navy striations in his bottomless blue irises.
God, even his eyelashes were obscene, thick and dark, making him look as though he used a liner of kohl like Ela was fond of wearing.
A lock of silky, dark hair flopped into his brow.
“If Newton could make his own tools, then so can you. I believe in you, Roz.”
The sound of the nickname made me jolt. At least he called me that only when we were alone, and I was dressed as Ansel.
It would take a lot of explaining if he did it in front of people who knew Ansel and had never heard that nickname.
It was one that Blake used often with me as Lady Rosalin when we were by ourselves, however.
“Speaking of belief in someone, how did it go with Keston and Rafi the other night?” I asked. “Sorry I couldn’t be there, but Rosalin mentioned that you seemed to be in a deep discussion.”
“Lord Ridley and Mr. Nasser?” he clarified, and I nodded.
“They’re very smart gentlemen and seemed positive about the venture.
They both said that the academic forum for discussion was a unique idea and wanted to see more of it in society.
They also liked the idea of it being open to both men and women, but they foresaw problems with gaining approval and a possible foothold. ”
I wiped the gunk off my hands. “The older aristocrats are set in their ways. Did they seem interested in investing? They’re both quite wealthy and Zia has mentioned that they are always on the lookout for new ventures.
” I blinked in dismay, realizing that Ansel’s mates would have confided directly in him, not Zia, but Tarik didn’t seem to notice anything out of order. I exhaled, relieved.
“Yes, I believe so,” he said. “Lord Blake as well.”
There was a strange intonation in his voice that I instantly picked up on, but Tarik didn’t say anything more as I put away the last of the paste and tried to clean up some of the mess.
Since he had access to a shared housekeeper here, I didn’t have to, but I also liked picking up after myself.
Luckily, I had set down some extra sheets of newspaper, so cleanup was quick.
I washed my hands and returned to the drawing room.
I needed a proper bath, but there was no way I could take one here.
“Roz,” he said softly.
I glanced over, hearing the subtle hitch in his breathing. “Yes?”
“Do you think that your cousin is interested in Lord Blake? She said that they were friends, but they seemed…intimate, like they might be more than that.”
My heart started a drumming cadence behind my ribs at his cautious words.
How much did I want to reveal? Did I say that Blake had been the closest to the perfect suitor until recently?
Did I mention the ill-fated kiss we had shared one season at Vauxhall?
I sucked in a breath to keep my tone calm.
“Blake isn’t the type to settle down, and honestly, he’d be interested in you just as much as he’d be interested in her.
They’re friends. Good friends, and ever since her first season, that’s all it has been. ”
“What happened the first season?” he asked, not missing a thing.
I cleared my throat. “I believe they might have shared a brief embrace.”
If I hadn’t been looking right at him, I would have missed the darkening of those eyes at my answer.
Tarik was jealous of Blake. I ignored the small thrill that gave me because even if he was resentful, it hadn’t stopped him from dancing with Lady Petal, who’d turned herself into a girl-shaped barnacle the entire evening.
“Why does it matter?” I asked. “You seemed to be enamored with Lady Petal, at least according to the scandal sheets.”
He huffed an embarassed laugh. “Gossip flies quickly here. Honestly, I was…hoping…,” he trailed off, shooting me an odd look. “Never mind.”
“No,” I said. “You were hoping what?”
He scrubbed a hand through his dark hair with a frustrated noise. “Nothing. Lady Petal was fine. Good-natured and sociable. A capable dancer and she seemed interesting to talk to.”
A better dancer than me? I couldn’t bring myself to ask the question, knowing it would be decidedly strange coming from Ansel. He wouldn’t give a hoot whether one girl was a better dancer than the other, even if one was his cousin. “Do you think she’s pretty?” I pressed.
Tarik flushed, making me scowl. “Pretty enough, I suppose. She’s charming and wants to see me again. She asked if I would call upon her this week.”
“Well, good for you. Enjoy your time with Princess Charming.” Inexplicably peeved, I reached for my coat and hat. “I better be going. My uncle has some ledgers on the estate he wants to go over with me, his steward, and his solicitor. I’ll be back to finish this when I can.”
He frowned. “Roz, wait. What’s the matter? Did I say something off-putting?” When I didn’t answer, he moved to block my path to the door. “You don’t fancy Lady Petal, do you? I don’t want to step on your toes or cause any confusion.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to lie and get Petal out of the picture, but all it would take for Tarik to verify the truth was to ask anyone, even Petal herself.
She’d been smitten with Ansel for years, but she wasn’t his preference whatsoever.
Perhaps I should introduce her to Will, which might distract her with another option.
I warmed to the idea for reasons I did not wish to dwell too deeply upon.
I had no right to be jealous when I could not consider Tarik’s suit, but my stomach still tightened at the thought of Petal’s simpering advances.
“No, of course not,” I said. “We’re not a good match.”
“Why not?”
I stopped at the door, peering over my shoulder.
I couldn’t resist a parting jab, repeating words Ansel had once said.
“Ever heard the saying ‘Empty vessels make the most noise’? She’ll talk your ear off with nothing valuable to say, but I suppose some gentlemen like that.
” I shot him a sharp look. “Besides, what if your wandering attentions affect my cousin? You did give me your vow, if I recall, that you would not harm one hair upon her head.”
He blinked owlishly at me. “I assure you, I’m not interested in Lady Petal. I just hoped that perhaps Lady Rosalin might have shown me more attention…if there was competition.”
I wanted to laugh, but instead, I thought diligently on what my cousin would say. Or any boy, for that matter, who did indeed often attempt such ploys to sway a lady’s interest. Girls did it, too.
“Be yourself, mate,” I said eventually. “You don’t need to play games.”
I swallowed that down like the bitter medicine it was, knowing I was the one playing the most dangerous game of all.