Marquesses at the Masquerade(65)

“Sorry I’m rather late.” She set her portfolio on a neighboring chair. “I walked here. Although, I’m sure it appears as though I swam the entire distance.”

He tried to remain angry, but the emotion was cracking about the edges. He couldn’t help but quip, “Don’t worry, you look quite intelligent.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult of omission?” Her eyes sparkled. “I’m sorry I didn’t speak to you the other night at the theater. Wasn’t it a dreadful play? Phoebe thinks it’s akin to Shakespeare, no doubt due to the handsomeness of the leading man. You see, my uncle… to say that he violently disapproves of our friendship is too mild a description of his feelings. So please excuse my rudeness. I only thought of you and your well-being… and, well, my well-being, to be truthful.”

She smiled again and turned her attention to Visser, leaving Exmore to study her profile and to ponder how hours and hours of anguish evaporated in a matter of seconds.

The first ten minutes of the lecture were rather painful as Visser struggled with English, often looking to Annalise for help. After a point, and to the great pleasure of his audience, Visser switched to his native tongue and allowed Annalise to translate. Exmore turned his chair, putting his back to the wall beside the window, and watched Annalise’s animated face as she retold Visser’s stories of hacking through jungles or hiking across African plains searching for unknown species. He could contentedly have spent the entire lecture just listening to the sound of comforting rain and her gentle voice weaving through English, Dutch, and bits of Latin.

Visser spoke for little over an hour. Afterward, the other attendees clustered around his table, where various bones, furs, and dried plants were displayed. Exmore waited with Annalise outside the circle of men.

“What’s in the portfolio?” Exmore asked her.

“My father’s work. I wanted to show it to Mr. Visser.”

“May I see?”

She opened the portfolio on a table pushed against the wall. Exmore made approving noises as she explained each one to him, although he really didn’t know what he was looking at. He just enjoyed how her excitement transmuted into him and the tingle that rushed up his arm when she touched him. Soon, Visser joined them and began asking Annalise questions in Dutch as he flipped through her images.

“Ah,” he said, drawing one out.

She emitted a squeaking sound and tried to yank it from his hands. “Oh, no, that’s mine!”

Both Visser and Exmore quickly reacted to keep her from hiding the illustration. Exmore held it up as Visser pointed to different aspects, speaking in admiring tones, as Annalise wildly—and beautifully—blushed.

Later, after they had helped Visser pack up his specimens, Annalise and Exmore stood in the paneled hall outside the lecture room. The rain was coming down hard, but inside the building, its sound was muffled to a lull.

“So, don’t keep it a secret. What did Mr. Visser say about your brilliant illustration?” Exmore asked.

She waved her hand, flustered. “It’s not brilliant.”

“Don’t disagree with me. I’m a marquess.”

“Oh, I forgot that I must always agree with a marquess.”

“It saved many a life in medieval times.”

She glanced comically heavenward. “Ah, the feudal days of yore. How I don’t miss them.”

“Come now, what did Mr. Visser say?” he insisted.

Her lovely blush returned. He adored how it spread across cheeks and onto her upturned nose. “He liked it. He truly admired it and asked that I send him more. Can you believe that? The renowned Mr. Christiaan Visser actually approves of my work!”

“Of course, I can. You are a naturalist like your father. Even though I have no idea what I’m talking about, I can tell that you are far more talented and knowledgeable than those other fusty gentlemen here today.”

She shook her head. “No, no, I’m a woman.”

“A woman and a brilliant naturalist.”

“Could you see me hacking through the jungles, escaping blood-thirsty tribes, fording rapids, and cresting summits in the quest for an exotic fern or such?” The dreamy quality of her gaze betrayed her incredulous tone.

“Absolutely. The first thing that comes to mind when I think of you. May I come along to the jungle? I’ll carry your supplies and do the hacking and fording.”

“How chivalrous of you. Yes, do come. Let’s run away.”

She was laughing, but he realized that he wouldn’t have said no if she were deadly serious. Yes. Run away from all of this.

“Aye, miss, there you are, miss.” A fortyish woman in a heavy wool coat and ruffled bonnet rounded the last set of stairs. “London was evil before, but in the rain, you would think it’s Satan’s own parlor. I wandered about for an hour before I found decent thread that wouldn’t break off the spool. How was the lecture?”

“Wonderful,” Annalise replied. “Heavenly. Mr. Visser knew Papa and truly enjoyed his work.”

“But he was especially impressed with Miss Van Der Keer’s illustration,” Exmore interjected before a proper introduction.

“Aye, she’s a special young lady who doesn’t belong among the sinners,” the woman said. “She needs to be back in the country with the flowers and green fields, not in this teeming rubbish heap.”