Chapter 65 - Livy
Livy
Livy absently brushed her quill over her chin as she sat on a couch in the Ironcrest library, snuggled up improperly close to Derek, but she really couldn’t be bothered about propriety any longer.
He was reviewing ledgers while she was working through translating an Italian text on the concept of an analytical engine that she and Mr. Hodge could use for their research.
She let out a happy little sigh. She could see it—days like this with Derek. This was her future.
“How was your visit with Miss Wentworth? Or Lady Wentworth, I suppose I should say.”
The sound of Derek’s ledger slapping shut filled the library.
“Very well. She seemed…much more relaxed than the last time I visited. She didn’t ask any questions, but she’s an intelligent woman.
I’m sure she assumes.” He cleared his throat.
“Rutledge and I offered to act as financial advisors for her, in any capacity really. Since she just inherited an entire barony with all its investments and a shipping enterprise. The sharks are already circling.”
Livy’s chest warmed. Of course they had.
Ever the protector, even if he’d deny it.
Her gaze caressed his face, black waves a disordered mess from raking his hands through them, spectacles making his cheekbones seem even sharper.
He was stunning. “That was very thoughtful of you.
“It was the least I could do,” he said gruffly.
“Considering the information she provided me.”
Livy snorted and raised a brow at him. “Yes, because…removing her abusive father from the equation wasn’t enough.”
He shrugged, and heavens, he was adorable when he was bashful, a light blush peeking out from below the rims of his spectacles. He dropped his voice and bounced his eyebrows playfully. “What’s a little murder to solve a problem?”
“You know.” She pointed the end of her quill at him. “I have yet to find that as a recommended solution.”
He indicated toward the text in her lap. “Clearly, you’re reading the wrong material.”
She grinned. “You’re a muttonhead.”
Derek threw his head back with a dramatic sigh. “First a noodle. Now a muttonhead.”
“If the Hessian fits.”
He grinned at her, then ducked in for a quick kiss. His expression sobered. “She—Lady Wentworth, that is—is making a donation to the foundling home to express her appreciation. We have more than enough funds now. It’s baffling…”
It was. To think they’d been scrambling for funds for so long and now had a surplus.
Livy let her head fall back on Derek’s shoulder, and Derek rested his chin atop her head.
Her eyes fell shut, and she let the happy contentment settle around her; the warmth of the man behind her, the feel of the soft rise and fall of his chest. They could finally breathe. Now they could finally be.
Derek shifted, and she could tell he was leaning over her and glancing down at her journal.
His soft chuckle whooshed over her, sending the stray tendrils that had slipped from her plait fluttering across her cheeks.
“How is it that your translation into English is somehow thrice as long as the original?”
She twisted to face him again and grinned.
“Because I’m adding my own notes and additions, of course.
It is fascinating. Did you know, I think this analytical engine can be so much more than we were originally thinking.
I think it could be programmable. It wouldn’t just complete a calculation but could develop and perform any function we program into it.
So, we would design the punch cards, and the analytic engine would read them based on various functions. ”
Derek was nodding slowly. “Fascinating. So, similar to Jaquard’s loom.”
Livy bounced in her seat. “Exactly!”
He grinned, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. Something glinted in the vibrant green eyes staring at her, and she froze. That hooded gaze was…predatory.
He leaned forward, hovering a breath away from her.
“A letter for Miss Forester,” Rogers, the Ironcrest butler, intoned.
A frustrated growl fled Derek, but he pulled away.
Livy tightened her lips against a smile and took the letter from Rogers.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she sliced it open and then handed the letter opener back to the butler.
She glanced at Derek. “It’s from Mr. Hodge.
” She started scanning—and her jaw dropped.
“What is it?” Derek leaned into her, practically blocking her view of the letter so he could read it. “Bloody fucking hell, Livy!”
She opened and closed her mouth, but she was having quite a bit of trouble forming thoughts, let alone words. Oh my goodness.
“This is brilliant. You’re brilliant. A presentation at the Royal Society!” His head whipped toward her, and he planted a bruising kiss on her lips. “My woman,” he growled. “Giving a presentation alongside Mr. Hodge at the Royal Society.”
His rich timbre slid over her like a caress.
Oh goodness. She wasn’t sure what was headier, the possessiveness and raw desire in his tone, or the fact that the reason behind it was because of her intelligence, because of her success.
She couldn’t believe this. A presentation. Side-by-side with Mr. Hodge.
“What’s going on here?” The befuddled question filled the library, and in the next moment, Livy was toppling to the floor as Derek thrust her away from him and jumped to his feet.
“My lord,” he squeaked. He squeaked. The Marquess of Dunmore.
Livy swallowed down her mirth and got to her feet, dusting off her skirts. Her gaze landed on a familiar worn brown waistcoat, the buttons done up in the wrong holes. A smile teased her lips.
“Papa,” she whispered.
His white hair was overlong now, in desperate need of a trim, but she hadn’t been home to do it—to remind him it needed to be done. A smile broke free on his rosy cheeks, and she hurried to him.
“Ollie-girl…heavens, look at you—oomph.” She squeezed him in a tight hug, and he patted her head awkwardly. He gently extricated himself from her embrace and held her out at arm’s length. “Safe. Whole. Thank God. Are you well?” He scanned her, eyes searching, his furry white brows pinched together.
“I’m more than well, Papa.” She tried to quell her smile and glanced toward a very awkward, very fidgety marquess.
“And why is that?” But her father wasn’t looking at her any longer; his gaze was on Derek.
Derek opened his mouth, but nothing surfaced.
Panic flashed in his green eyes. Heaven help her.
“I…urm…I had planned to have a m-meeting,” Derek stammered.
“In a study.” In other words, he was caught completely off-guard and was now scrambling for purchase.
The notorious Marquess of Dunmore, ladies and gentlemen.
Fortunately for him, he had her. “This is Roderick, Papa, Lord Dunmore. He wants to marry me.”
A choked noise came from behind her.
“Marry, you say?” Papa turned back to Dunmore. “Lord Dunmore? And what manner of lordship is that, sir? Are you able to support my daughter?”
Derek blinked dumbly and then looked at Livy, disbelief clear as day in his wide eyes. She could hear his arrogant thoughts: He doesn’t know who I am? Really?
“Well, I suppose here is no place for discussion. Let’s sit down together while I’m here.
I’ve only just arrived, so I want to go look in on Mellie’s welfare as well.
” His gaze went distant as he turned for the library door.
Livy knew that look—and sure enough, instead of the door, he veered toward the desk in the library.
Out came the familiar notebook he always kept on him, and he was scribbling furiously before she could speak.
Livy cleared her throat. Nothing. “Papa,” she said loudly.
He blinked up at her. “Yes, Ollie-girl?”
“You were on your way to see Aunt Mellie…”
He glanced down at his notebook. “Ah, quite right.” He dashed some last note with a flourish and then pocketed his notebook. “I’ll just do that now.”
Livy’s lips twitched. “An excellent notion, Papa.”
She watched him shuffle off, a warm fondness wrapping around her. The question was, how long would it be until he actually made it to Aunt Mellie?
Derek sidled up to her. “Should I be insulted he doesn’t know who I am? Can I provide for you? Truly? I’m as wealthy as bloody Croesus. My pride is feeling a mite hurt at the moment.”
She arched a brow at him. “Oh, we remember who we are now, do we? I’m not sure I can blame Papa for not knowing who you are. I didn’t even know the Marquess of Dunmore was in this room a moment ago.”
“I got a bit mixed up,” he grumbled.
She snorted, and he glared at her. She glanced toward the hall, and then quickly rose on her tiptoes to place a soft kiss on his lips. “I like that you get all mixed up over me,” she whispered.
He lifted a hand and cupped her face, his thumb sliding softly over her cheek. “Only ever with you.”
“My rogue,” she murmured.
“Yours.”