Page 40 of One Night with an Earl

Oliver was nowhere in sight.

…

“Oh, that’s rich. You are using your grandmother’s matchmaking efforts as an excuse to see your Lady Scarlet?” Warwick asked.

“It’s Miss Gardner, and yes,” Oliver said.

Oliver had paid a visit to the duke. The Mayfair mansion in London was unlike any Oliver had ever stepped foot inside. It was a lavish home with multiple fountains, well-maintained gardens, and acres of land. An enormous crystal chandelier graced the vestibule along with a large floral arrangement on a dainty table. The servants, including a respectable English butler and an efficient housekeeper, scurried to do the duke’s bidding.

But the duke’s private rooms, the study, the library, the billiard room, and the ballroom were quite different. Oliver was currently in the ballroom where the duke was working.

A high-pressure engine was on display in the middle of the hardwood dance floor. At least five tables around the room held all types of tools and parts that Oliver could not identify. One lone unupholstered wooden chair sat in the corner by the open French doors that led to the gardens. Oliver chose to stand.

Warwick picked up a wrench and resumed working on the machine where a good amount of grease had leaked onto the hardwood floor.

Oliver came close to get a better view. The duke’s inventions were not always practical, and his tinkering had led to failure on more than one occasion, but nevertheless, Oliver admired the man’s ingenuity.

“What in the world are you working on?” Oliver asked.

“Richard Trevithick obtained a patent in 1802 for this high-pressure engine for the first steam-powered locomotive. I’m improving the efficiency of the engine’s pistons.”

“I would ask how you intend to accomplish such a task, but I suspect it involves mathematics or physics.”

“As well as heat transfer.”

“Good grief. You make my head hurt without taking any punches.”

Warwick had the good sense to chuckle without glancing up from his work. “Hand me the other wrench.”

Oliver scanned the tools on the table, and his brow furrowed at the large selection. “Which one?”

“Three-quarter inch.”

Oliver chose what he’d thought was the correct one and handed it to his friend.

Warwick shook his head. “The one on the end.”

Oliver swapped out the tools. “Have you ever held a ball in this ballroom?” Oliver asked.

“Whatever for?”

Oliver waved his hand. “You know. The usual. Entertainment during the Season. Chance to have society’s young debutants and their overeager mamas competing for your attention.”

“All nonsense.”

A large part of Oliver agreed. He disliked most balls, although the last one had been quite entertaining. He’d confronted Miss Gardner—or Lady Scarlet—in the gardens. Of course, meeting her at the Royal Academy had been even more pleasurable.

He understood her fear of losing her position as a companion, but he could ensure secrecy. He’d also made himself clear that he had no intention of revealing the truth of their night together at the Silver Chalice to her employer.

What would it take for her to acknowledge they had shared something special? It was clear she felt the same and yearned to consent. Still, something held her back.

Fear? Anger?

He’d sensed both in their interactions, but why?

Warwick set down the wrench and wiped the grease from his fingers on a rag. “Are you really going to pretend to attend to some young debutante just to get closer to Miss Gardner?”

“Are you judging me?”