Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“By day, the Cheiranthus cheiri, variety vespertinus, is cloaked in modesty. At twilight, it spreads its petals and guides the night-flying moth with its seductive perfume. Thus, this overlooked wallflower is not waiting to be noticed: it is adapting, surviving, and blooming on its own terms.”
Evie held her breath…and released it as applause filled the room.
A moment later, the clapping turned thunderous, most of the audience surging to their feet.
As the President of the Botanical Society, Mr. Brixley, came to the lectern and thanked Evie for her remarks, she looked out at the crowded hall.
James sat near the back, a place he’d chosen so that he could support her without being a distraction.
Their gazes met, and his gleaming pride dimmed everything else.
When he winked, her heart tumbled helplessly, and she had to force herself to concentrate as Mr. Brixley invited questions from the audience.
After the presentation, she was swarmed.
She was pleased to find that her lecture had drawn an unusual number of female attendees, and she took the time to answer their questions and converse about their interests.
As icing on the cake, Sir Richards, a longtime society member and former president, came to pay his respects.
He was known as a curmudgeon, but she’d always liked how he treated her as a botanist first and lady second.
“You have outdone yourself, Lady Manderly.” His hazel eyes were sharp, his features weathered by his passion for the outdoors. “Your presentation was the evening’s pièce de résistance, and I daresay it will earn you a spot in our next publication.”
Delight and triumph rushed through her. “You are too kind, sir.”
“I am too old for niceties,” he said with a harrumph. “You have earned your place in the society—and the post of secretary, if our less progressive colleagues can see beyond their prejudices. Mr. McAllister’s term is coming up, and you have my vote to take his place.”
“Take his place? As secretary?” The notion of occupying the prestigious position stunned her. “The idea…to be frank, it never occurred to me.”
“It ought to. You need to be as clear-headed about your own merits as you are about Cheiranthus cheiri, variety vespertinus.” He was diverted by the waitstaff entering with trays. “Ah, here come the refreshments. I hope they don’t run out of the macarons like last time. If you’ll excuse me.”
Without further ado, Sir Richards hurried toward the refreshment table.
His haste alerted the other guests, who raced there as well.
Scuffles ensued, leading Evie to conclude that botanists and food made for a dangerous combination.
Then James approached, and her mind emptied of all else save him.
He was the picture of elegance—so perfect, in fact, that she wanted to muss him up a little.
To run her hands through his hair and tear off that starchy, precise cravat.
With a flash of heat, she wanted him the way he’d been this afternoon: naked and undone as he shoved inside her, growling her name.
“We will do that later,” he said.
“How do you know what I was thinking?”
“Because I was thinking the same thing.” His grin was brief and devilish, and the kiss he brushed over her knuckles set her aquiver. “You were brilliant, my love. From now on, no one in the audience will see a wallflower as anything but extraordinary.”
“Do you think so?” she said happily. “I was nervous and stumbled at the beginning. But I gained confidence as I went on, and by the end, I felt more at ease.”
“You were a smashing success. If I’m not mistaken, Sir Richards agreed with my assessment.”
“He did. Oh, James”—she couldn’t hold back a sigh of elation—“he thinks my paper will be chosen for publication.”
“As it should be. The other presentations couldn’t hold a candle to yours.”
“There’s more,” she said excitedly. “He says he would vote for me to become—”
She was interrupted by the arrival of Lawrence Whetham, a wiry fellow whose hair was slick with pomade and whose unctuous manner hid sharp claws. In the past, he’d been rather dismissive of her work, and she remained wary as they exchanged pleasantries.
“Lady Manderly, how enchanting you look,” he drawled. “The hue of your gown is quite becoming.”
Gigi had insisted that Evie have something new to wear for the occasion.
Given the short notice, Mrs. Sommers had worked her dressmaker’s magic and cleverly remade Evie’s slate-blue silk poplin, bringing its silhouette in line with the latest fashion.
The frock was freshly trimmed with narrow black velvet bands at the cuffs, its muslin chemisette newly edged with lace.
Likewise, Evie’s coiffure projected femininity without frivolity: the front had a smooth middle part, and the back was arranged in interwoven braids.
A small jet comb, shaped like leaves, secured the coil at her nape.
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
“And your study of wallflowers was quite…thorough.” The praise was backhanded and patronizing. “It is unusual for a lady so fair to possess a hint of intellect as well.”
A hint of intellect is more than you possess, you condescending prig.
With great restraint, Evie did not take the bait.
“I enjoyed your demonstration of the Selaginella lepidophylla,” she said.
Whetham had shown the audience a desiccated Selaginella—known colloquially as a resurrection plant.
The brittle brown tangle had appeared quite dead…
until he placed it in a bowl of water. With the faintest quiver, the clenched ball had softened.
As if by magic, its branchlets unfurled, revealing tiny leaves that turned plump and green.
Revived, the plant had resembled a small, lush fern.
As astounding as the phenomenon had been, Evie thought that Whetham had presented it like a parlor trick.
He’d basked in the crowd’s amazement but offered none of the true science behind the plant’s resurgence.
“It went over well, didn’t it?” Whetham’s smile was smug. “Nothing captivates an audience more than a mystery.”
“Resurrection isn’t a mystery. It is a process,” Evie said. “If one observes the steps, one will understand the phenomenon.”
“Yet science can be so dry. Miracles draw far more interest.” Whetham’s expression turned sly.
“In point of fact, I was talking to our esteemed president—Mr. Brixley and I go back to our Eton days. We both agreed that increased public attention would benefit our society greatly. To that end, I offered to write up my presentation for the next journal and received his hearty endorsement. All for the good of the society, of course.”
His revelation punctured her hopes like a thorn.
“Of course.” Evie forced herself to add, “My congratulations.”
“Thank you. As I said, your presentation was charming. I daresay the earl lent you a few pointers, eh?”
Whetham turned to James, his manner ingratiating. “Your reputation for eloquence precedes you, my lord, and your lady’s efforts bear your polish. Quite generous of you to help her make a splash.”
The pressure rose in Evie’s veins. It was bad enough that he should inveigle his way into the journal—that he should displace her study with his trifling exhibition.
But to imply that her success was due solely to James…
Rejoinders proliferated like weeds in her brain, none of them fit for public consumption.
As she struggled to find a suitable response, James spoke.
“My wife needs no polish.”
His eyes were cold—so chilling that Whetham took a step back.
“She rests on her own merits, and her accomplishments are entirely her own.”
“I meant no offense, my lord.” Whetham licked his lips. “I misspoke, that is all.”
“One ought to be careful in one’s choice of words. Especially when they insult a lady and diminish her achievements. Do we understand one another?”
“Completely. I beg your pardon again for the misunderstanding.” Sweat beaded on Whetham’s forehead, his gaze darting. “Ah—there is a crony I must speak to. If you’ll excuse me.”
He fled as if the hounds of hell were on his tail.
“You put the fear of God in him,” Evie said in awe.
“The pompous worm deserved it.” James brushed a speck of lint off his sleeve. “I know you could have handled the situation yourself, but you should not have to deal with such irritants on your special occasion.”
Is it any wonder that I adore this man?
“What would you like to do next, love?” James smiled at her. “Should we have a tête-à-tête with Brixley? It should not be difficult to convince him that your study far outweighs Whetham’s parlor trick in terms of scientific merit and deserves to be published in the next journal.”
Happiness dazzled her. Suddenly, she knew what she wanted—what truly mattered. While she valued achievement and scientific inquiry, her deepest desire was to be seen. She longed to be understood and loved for who she was.
Now I have that. Which means…I have everything.
She slipped her hand into James’s.
“That can wait,” she whispered. “Right now, I want a private celebration with you.”
His eyes smoldered. “I’ll summon the carriage.”
“Well, now,” James murmured. “What have I done to deserve this?”
The carriage had barely started moving when Evie knelt gracefully between his legs.
His blood rushed in his veins as his lovely lady scientist unfastened his trousers with the same care she used when gathering her specimens.
In the lamplight, her hair was spun gold, and her eyes were mysterious amber pools.
When she freed the last button from its hole, his cock sprang free, hard and ready.
“This is for being you,” she said. “I adore the man you are.”