Physical compatibility
Deep down, I already knew that Tarik would meet every marker I’d set. The evidence of some of them had somehow come to me at various points over our interactions while I had been at Trinity. Even without a title, he was smarter and more educated than most of the gentlemen our age. But that was the bitter rub—hewasn’ta nobleman—so the whole test would be moot.
Still…it didn’t hurt to imagine.
“Mr. St. Clair,” I said, catching his gaze. “Answer this question for me, if you please. If a man is forty years of age and his son is ten, in how many years will he be three times as old as his son?”
He let out a chuckle. “Five years.”
“How did you arrive at that number?” I asked, astonished and yet unsurprised at how quickly he’d calculated the correct answer from a recent problem I’d solved in a weekly periodical.
His hand tightened as he drew me a few inches closer, making me inhale sharply as his breath coasted over my ear. “Ifxrepresents the number of years in the future, then the man is forty plusxand the son is ten plusx.Ten plusxequals three times ten plusx.Expand the equation to find the value ofx,so forty plusxequals thirty plus threex.Forty minus thirty equals three minusx,and we get ten equals twox,thereforexis five.”
Be still my quivering heart…
“Capital,” I whispered as he widened the gap between us once more. “Next question. Can we trust our senses to provide knowledge of the world?”
He smirked. “Ah, a philosophical question. John Locke, I presume? All knowledge comes from experience, and our senses are how we interact with the world, in which repeated observations can indicate patterns. Descartes, however, argued that reason was more reliable than the senses.” I nearly stumbled as his lips grazed the sensitive skin of my lobe. “I trust my senses to inform me that you enjoy being in my arms, my lady.”
He wasn’t wrong. My brain went inconveniently askew as the singular snow-and-chocolate scent of him chose that very moment to remind me of how close we were. For most of my dances,especiallythe waltz, I remained the requisite twelve inches away, holding myself as stiffly as I could. Nary a gentleman could enter my sacred dance space. Now all I wanted to do was erase the distance between us.
Focus, Roz!
My next question was on women’s rights, though I already knew his stance on those. No man would argue so passionately for women to attend university without supporting equality of the sexes. I was also familiar with his capacity for compassion and empathy as well—I’d learned that just in the gentle way he’d spoken about his mother. I cleared my throat. “How do you feel about changing antiquated laws?”
“Anything that’s for the better gets an unequivocal yes from me. Better working conditions for the common man, proper education for children, safe harbor for women who lack opportunities.” He paused, and I could feel his body stiffen. “Emancipation in the English empire. We have been fighting for it in France for decades.”
“Emphatically agree,” I said.
“A person should always strive to leave the world a better place than they found it, in my humble opinion,” he added.
That warmed my heart—it was a true mark of character when someone thought of others and the wider world more than themselves. The last thing on my list was the matter of physical compatibility. Given the heated state of my blood and the heartbeat that pulsed thickly between my ears, attraction wasn’t something I had to worry about. On top of that, Tarik wasn’t one step from the grave. He was in possession of all his teeth, he had no cases of gout that I could discern, and he did not treat me like a brainless damsel.
When the waltz came to its conclusion, he escorted me off the ballroom floor toward the refreshments room. Clearly, hewas thoughtful, too. I thanked him as he handed me a glass of lemonade, which I drank thirstily.
“So,” he asked with a slight smirk. “Did I pass muster?”
“We shall see, sir,” I said in a teasing voice that had those pretty eyes flashing in mock affront.
“I wager no one has ever solved that problem as quickly as I did.”
“Don’t be cocky. You’ll ruin it.”
I smiled at him, only for the amusement to be wiped off my face when I saw who was headed in our direction: Blake, along with Keston and Ela, as well as Rafi and Zia. There was no way to avoid any of them, and I had been expecting it, but I had hoped for some more time alone with Tarik before we were bombarded…and separated. In truth, I did not want to share him with anyone, not even my closest friends. I did not allow myself to ponder on what that meant about me.
“Hullo, sweeting,” Blake said, reaching us first while the rest were waylaid by other guests. Tarik instantly stiffened at the informal and much-too-intimate endearment. “Who do we have here?” Blake drawled.
I scowled at him. “It’s Rosalin, as you well know, Blake, not sweeting nor darling or treasure or sweet chuck.” I turned to Tarik, who was clearly sizing up the new arrival—the way he stood so tall and intimidating had my breath shortening. I blinked—I’d never seen him with such a rigid jaw and oozing tension. Surely, he wasn’tjealous?
“Mr. St. Clair, may I present Lord Blake Castleton, a longtimefriend.” After the emphasis on the last word, I glaredbalefully at Blake, who was smirking as if enjoying his little game far too much. “My lord, may I present to you Mr. St. Clair by way of Paris. He’s the nephew of a French count and heir to a shipping magnate. We met several months ago at a house party. Mama introduced us.”
I could feel Tarik’s curious stare, since that hadn’t been what we’d discussed.Anselwas supposed to have introduced us, but of course, he didn’t know that Ansel wasn’t even here in London. And the French count idea had been spontaneous. When he had arrived earlier, I had introduced him to Mama as Ansel’s mate from Cambridge, but as anticipated, she’d been too preoccupied with the arrival of other guests to interrogate him thoroughly.
