The Captain's Frozen Dream. Georgie Lee

was tempting, but she wasn’t about to let him believe he’d won. She was staying for her benefit, not his. ‘But it will be like it was when my father worked for you. You’ll pay me just as you paid him.’

      Conrad scooped up the skull and laid it back in the crate. ‘I won’t.’

      ‘Then I won’t stay.’ She crossed her arms over her chest, as much to emphasise her seriousness as to calm her fears over losing access to the creature. ‘This is to be a business deal like any other and when it’s done that’ll be the end of it.’ And us.

      ‘All right,’ he conceded, picking up the lid to the crate and setting it down over the top, covering the bones. ‘Draw up a list of things you need from Whitemans Green and I’ll send someone to fetch them and close up your house. When you’re finished with your research you may keep the fossil, and the paper, and your drawings.’

      ‘If I’m to keep everything, what do you hope to get out of this arrangement?’

      ‘You.’ He brushed her lightly under the chin, the same self-satisfied smile he’d worn the first time he’d stolen a kiss from her in the study drawing up the corners of his wide mouth. ‘I’ll have Mr Peet bring the crate to the conservatory. I expect your work to be very interesting and revealing.’

      Before she could tell him what to do with his expectations he slipped into the stable, his muffled instructions to Mr Peet carrying over the shift and whinny of the horses.

      Katie slammed the top of the crate with her palm, dislodging the lid. It fell into the dirt, revealing the creature’s menacing smile. Her weakness and Conrad’s glib determination frustrated her. She shouldn’t remain here and torture herself with what couldn’t be or give Conrad false hope for reconciliation, but she couldn’t give up this specimen either.

      Motion near the house caught her attention and she looked up to meet Miss Linton’s pinched scowl. Worry slid through Katie like it had the day she’d narrowly missed being hit by a rock falling from the side of a slate mine. She and Conrad had always been careful when Katie had been here before, only intimate with one another late at night or far from the house. She wondered how much Miss Linton had seen of her and Conrad’s embrace. It’d been innocent enough, but Miss Linton wasn’t likely to view it in such a way and it wouldn’t be long before the spinster was adding yet another nasty rumour to those already circulating. Once again Katie would be judged for something she didn’t do instead of on the merit of her work.

      Katie picked up the crate lid and set it back over the animal. Tracing the words burned into the wood, she wondered if there was something more for her in life than fossils and research. Her father had never given her the chance to discover it and necessity had forced her to keep on with his work.

      Katie made for the house, determined not to endure the spinster’s disapproving scowl or entertain her own doubts a moment longer. This was her calling, as much as it’d been her father’s, and she would use it to make her way and prove everyone like Miss Linton wrong. They might scoff at her in England, but in America there were many she corresponded with, their eagerness to acquire the specimens she unearthed matched by their enthusiasm to exchange ideas, illustrations and knowledge with her. They cared nothing for her gender or the rumours circulating in London and their admiration was such that Mr Lesueur had invited her to join him as an illustrator on his next expedition West. She hadn’t turned down his generous offer, but she hadn’t accepted it either. There’d been a time when she wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving England; now it was more tempting than ever. With the money from Conrad, she could afford passage, if she wanted it.

      She paused outside the conservatory door, uncertain if she should leave, or if there was anything left in England to keep her here. She’d soon find out. Where Lord Helton and his vicious stories had lowered her, the bones could raise her up. If this animal was as rare as she believed, any paper she published about it would be the making of her. It had to be, she possessed little else to believe in.

       Chapter Four

      The late-afternoon sun fell through the high glass walls of the conservatory, warming it and making candles unnecessary. Katie had been hard at work piecing the creature together since yesterday, staying up late into the night, then rising early that morning to continue. Conrad had left her in solitude, but she’d caught his influence in the meals delivered to her and the supply of paper and pencils laid out by the footman. She’d tried not to allow all these small gestures to affect her, but it was difficult when tasting the cold chicken and warm bread not to think of him. She’d missed these little kindnesses when he’d sailed away, and would again when her work was complete and they parted once more.

      Katie reached out and adjusted the creature’s vertebrae so she could better see the details as she drew it, determined to remain focused on her work and not think about Conrad. The dark bones stood in sharp contrast to the white-marble table top and the creamy parchment on which she struggled to render the creature as beautiful and elegant as it was in life. She’d arranged the bones more from instinct than from the memory of any species she’d seen in the books of the Naturalist Society library. She’d visited the impressive collection many times with her father, the two of them spending hours perusing the massive works of geology and biology. The Naturalist Society stood alone in its admittance of women to its hallowed halls and collections, both of which were the envy of even the Royal Society. Sadly, she would need access to the tomes again, especially once she began writing her paper. Conrad could sponsor her, and he would if she requested it, but she was reluctant to ask.

      Katie picked up a knife and sharpened her pencil. The idea of facing the members who’d attacked her and her father was as disturbing as the steady sound of Conrad’s boots crushing the leaves in the yard as he approached. She didn’t want to rely on him any more than necessary, or return to London.

      She set the knife down and returned to her sketch, filling in the dark areas around the creature’s eyes when a new sensation swept over her. It wasn’t the stiffness in her back and neck, but a charged awareness as Conrad’s shadow filled the door.

      ‘You’ve made good progress,’ he remarked as he came to stand at the opposite end of the table, his tone as open and welcoming as when he used to interrupt her and her father’s work.

      She gripped the sides of the sketchbook to steady herself against his presence and the hundreds of memories it brought back. He no longer wore his uniform, but tan breeches tucked into high boots and paired with a crisp white shirt beneath a worn riding coat. The sweat from his day riding to oversee his lands wetted his forehead beneath his light hair, making a few small strands stick to his skin. It was the way he used to look whenever she and her father had been here before and for a moment, she could almost feel his strong hand in hers as he led her over the Downs.

      Sadly, those times were gone.

      ‘It wasn’t difficult,’ she croaked before regaining control of herself and her voice. ‘The skeleton is much like a bird’s, but at the same time different. The pits along the nose remind me of those on a crocodile’s snout.’

      ‘A reptile couldn’t survive in the cold of the north. Little does.’

      ‘That’s why I don’t think it’s a reptile.’ She picked up a flat, arch-like bone, struggling to keep the spicy scent of man, leather and sandalwood gracing Conrad’s skin from befuddling her as she handed it to him. ‘Look at this furcula. It’s curved like a peregrine falcon’s, but not as tight.’

      ‘You think this is some kind of bird?’ He set the bone back down where she’d arranged it between the ribs.

      ‘It’s possible.’

      ‘Birds don’t have teeth,’ he politely challenged, tapping the table top with his fingertips as he made his way to her side, creeping up on her like the tabby cat behind the house did when stalking a mouse.

      ‘They don’t have forearms instead of wings either.’ Her mouth went dry as she slid around to the opposite side,