Chapter Twenty-One
‘My nerves are wound as tight as clock springs,’ Nora said.
‘Practice will help. I have a few helpful tips,’ Ralston said.
They were together in her science room. He sat facing her as if he were one of the members of the London Scientific Society. She stood in front of him, her notes in hand. Just thinking of her upcoming presentation made her palms sweat and the notes damp.
‘Start from the beginning,’ he said.
Nora took a breath. ‘My presentation today is on seashells, specifically how the mollusks who inhabit them can repair a damaged shell over time.’ She let out a puff of air and pinched the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger.
‘I fear I’ll stutter in my nervousness. Or worse, bore them to tears. ’
He leaned forward in his chair, his long legs crossing at his booted feet. ‘Public speaking, especially presenting something that is of utmost importance to you is challenging. Before I rise to present a bill or argue its merits in the House of Lords, I become anxious, as well. I believe most do.’
‘You are successful. How do you overcome it?’ She couldn’t imagine him nervous. He seemed confident and sure in his cause. She imagined men listened when the Earl of Ralston stood to speak. Even those who opposed his bill must pay attention.
He studied her face with his enigmatic gaze before speaking. ‘First, you should know that you are one of the smartest people I know, and I have no doubt you will be successful.’
Her heart turned over in her chest. Did he know how powerful his words were? Or how meaningful? Before she could respond, he continued.
‘Make sure to look each of them in the eyes, rather than looking down at your notes,’ he said. ‘It’s a challenge, I know, but important. And remember, the Society invited you to speak, and they are genuinely interested in your work.’
She bit her bottom lip and curled the edges of her notes as she pondered his words. ‘They did invite me.’
‘I practice beforehand. Just like we are doing today. Sometimes I even rehearse my entire speech in front of a cheval glass.’
‘I never thought to do that.’ She looked at him in a different light. Perhaps his confidence came from preparation. She recalled that he spent hours in his study working hard.
‘You can also practice out loud when you are walking or riding in the park. Although, people may look at you strangely,’ he said, his lips curling in a smile.
She giggled. ‘I suppose they might. What else?’
‘Make sure you speak slowly, confidently, and not rushed,’
‘I shall try.’ She tended to speak swiftly when she was nervous or discussing her work. Her sisters had rolled their eyes when she talked about shells.
‘Others,’ he continued, ‘imagine their audience in their underclothes.’
She gave him a look of disbelief. ‘You’re jesting now!’
‘It’s true. The tactic never worked for me. However, if I were practicing before you, it would.’ He wagged his eyebrows.
‘You’re outrageous! Are you imaging me in my shift now?’ Her pulse leapt at his heated look.
His voice turned gruff. ‘I cannot lie.’
‘Would you like to then?’ She realized she wanted him, too. She was aware of the uneven rhythm of her breathing and a familiar shiver of awareness. She ached for his touch. Would it always be this way? Setting aside her notes, she met his eyes.
His gaze darkened with emotion. ‘Undress you? Yes, I’d like that very much.’ His answer was delivered with firm eagerness.
She turned and lifted her hair from her nape. ‘Then what are you waiting for, Devon?’
She was irresistible. Never one to waste an opportunity, especially when it came to his wife, he rose and pulled the pins from her hair.
Thick auburn tresses spilled in his hands and cascaded down her back to land above her waist. He loved her hair.
He lifted the silky strands to drape them over her shoulder.
He then began to unfasten the tiny row of buttons on her gown.
As an inch of creamy skin was revealed to his hungry gaze, he placed a hot kiss on the exposed flesh.
She shivered. God, he’d never tire of touching her.
He made quick work of the remaining buttons, and she turned, clutching the gaping gown to her breasts. Her green eyes were bright with what he now recognized as desire. He briefly kissed her then stepped away. ‘I want to see you in the light of day.’
She released her hold on the gown and the silk dress slithered to pool at her feet.
He nearly bowled over. ‘Nora,’ he murmured.
‘Do you like it?’
A black bustier pushed up her luscious breasts and he could make out peaks of her rosy nipples. The garment nipped at her slender waist to flare over her feminine hips. Black frilly garters at her smooth thighs held up black stockings which encased her slim legs.
She was an erotic fantasy.
‘I know you admired my white shift,’ she said. ‘But I thought to try something different. The French call it lingerie.’
His voice was rough. ‘I like it very much. Come here. I’ll show you how much.’
She came to him, and he’d never wanted a woman as badly.
He desired more than her body. He was assailed by longing and something that went deeper than just want.
He wanted all of her. They shared their passion for their work and celebrated their successes.
This was much more than lust. He wasn’t supposed to become this enraptured.
A deep part of him wondered if he’d ever get enough of her to sate him.
He lifted her by her waist to set her on the edge of the desk.
His fingers entangled in the silken auburn mass of her hair before he lowered his lips to hers.
She clung to him as he kissed her deeply and possessively.
His need was great and she was just as urgent.
Tearing the buttons of his shirt, she reached for the flap of his trousers until her fingers fisted around his cock.
He nearly spilled right then and there. Pulling her to the edge of the desk, he entered her with one smooth stroke.
He groaned as her hot sheath encased him. Her gasps of pleasure urged him on.
‘You feel so good,’ he whispered into her ear.
Her nails dug into his biceps. ‘And you feel just as good, and big.’
He moved roughly and she met him with her own wildness. She kissed his throat and licked his skin, until he felt her tighten around him. She called his name with a ragged moan as she peaked. He came with a low, hoarse growl.
Gasping for breath, he held her still. He could stay like this, burying his face in her hair, cradled by her softness. ‘I did not mean to be rough.’ He was appalled at his lack of finesse.
Her lips brushed his. ‘No, it was splendid. I do believe it will help me overcome my fear of public speaking.’
Heads together, they laughed.
Nora stood before a panel of eight members of the London Scientific Society. Seven of them were male, one female. After a week of studying, note-taking, and practicing before a cheval glass (as Ralston had suggested), the time of her presentation had finally come.
Her hands were folded before her, her notes on a lectern.
She’d memorized the notes, another of her husband’s tips, but had them before her in case of necessity.
Still, despite all her preparation, she’d been so nervous that morning.
She’d only been able to nibble on toast and drink cold tea.
She turned to scan the small audience, her gaze seeking Ralston’s.
He smiled and nodded, a silent show of encouragement. Her heart and confidence were buoyed. She recalled his impactful words before they’d left for the presentation in the carriage.
‘You have practiced and are prepared, and I have every confidence that you will do splendidly. Those stuffy Society members will be awed and impressed, just as I was when I first saw your sketches that day on a Cornwall beach.’
Once again, her heart fluttered in her breast at his encouraging words. If they weren’t in public, she’d throw herself into his arms.
Managing a smile, she turned back to the members.
The seven men all looked somewhat similar.
In their early sixties, with thinning hair greying at the temples, spectacles and serious expressions.
She recognized Mr Collins. The others had nameplates before them—Davis, Evans, Brown and Johnson.
The one female on the panel, Miss Lyons, was a tall, thin bespectacled woman with an even more serious expression.
Nora suspected she would be the hardest to impress.
‘The London Scientific Society welcomes Lady Ralston to present her findings on seashells.’
Nora reached for her notes. ‘To the honorable members of the London Scientific Society, thank you for inviting me. Seashells have fascinated people since the age of time and shell collecting continues to be popular. Conchology, however, differs from mere collecting. It is the study of mollusk shells.’
The panel members looked at her, their gazes sharp and attentive.
It was a good sign. She took a quick breath and continued.
‘Shells, like those of snails or clams, are made mostly of calcium carbonate. You can see my supplemental drawings of a cockle shell magnified four hundred times beneath a microscope.’
She’d previously submitted her drawings and she waited until the members looked at them. ‘When a shell gets damaged, the animal inside can repair itself by slowly producing more calcium carbonate from special cells in its mantle. The mantle is a soft tissue just beneath the shell.’
‘How?’ A question from Miss Lyons.
Nora leaned forward. ‘The shell lays down new material layer by layer, patching the broken area over time. The process is slow but protects the mollusk’s home—its shell.’
‘And are there specimens?’ Mr Davis asked.
She nodded. ‘Yes, I have a collection of damaged and repaired shells as exhibits.’
The rest of the presentation continued. She spoke, and the panel members fired off questions. She answered each inquiry and if she was unsure, she offered to supplement her research and submit it to the panel for future consideration.
By the time she was finished, she felt a thrill and her heart was pounding.
Once again, she scanned the audience, looking for the only person whose opinion mattered.
At Ralston’s wide grin, a warm glow flowed through her.
She suddenly realized his approval meant more to her than that of any member on the panel.