Genius

Chapter 5

Evie stared at the earl, vacillating between shock and scientific intrigue. The infamous metal scar that the gossip papers described as dashing appeared to have spread like an infection. Silver blossomed across his skin, bisecting his face into two halves—one human, the other hewn from steel. Flesh and metal melded together seamlessly, the underlying bone structure and musculature unaffected. It was almost as though the skin had been peeled back to reveal he'd been made of metal all along. The effect was more unsettling than gruesome.

The earl met her stare defiantly. "Ask," he said.

Curiosity killed the scientist as easily as it did the cat. True to form, Evie couldn't stop herself from asking. "The metal – what purpose does it serve?"

His right eyebrow raised. "That wasn't the question I expected."

"The answer seemed the most interesting." She paused. "What should I have asked instead?"

Westmorland touched his silver skin, the movement self-conscious. "What's wrong with your face? What happened to you? Are you ill?"

She tilted her, observing him unabashedly. "Are you? Ill, that is?"

He shook his head, his too-long hair rippling. The midnight black locks were now streaked with gleaming silver, like the strands were made of metal too. "Not in the traditional sense, no."

"Is it contagious?"

His lips twisted. "No. I do not pretend to be a good man, Mrs. Remmington, but even I'm not cruel enough to infect my enemies."

So he was not as blind to Bernard's animosity towards him as she'd once thought. "Are we enemies, my lord?"

His blue eyes met hers, chilly. "Not yet," he said.

Though she knew it wasn't his intention, his words gave her hope. "I am not my husband," she said quietly. "Nor am I his murderer."

The earl threw back his head and laughed. She glared at him, her hands on her hips. He only laughed harder. Even as she fumed at his audacity, her inner scientist noted his affliction didn't inhibit the mobility of his face. "What on earth is so funny?" she asked.

"One, that I would ever mistake you for a man. Two, that any man with a brain between his ears would think you killed anyone."

Evie couldn't decide whether to be pleased or offended. "Why? Because I'm a woman?"

"I'm a biologist, madam. I have studied several species where the female eats her mate. Humans are only animals, no better and no worse. But I know a Black Widow when I see one."

"You hardly know me well enough to judge."

He chuckled, a low sound that reverberated through her. "Are you trying to convince me otherwise?"

She sniffed. "It's the principle of the matter."

"A woman with principles. They do exist."

"A man who underestimates a woman. Oh wait, that's all of you," she shot back. Evie took a sniff from the glass he'd poured her. Brandy. She hated brandy. She lifted it to her lips and drained it. The liquor scorched down her throat and threatened to come back up.

The earl watched her, amused. "Are you alright, Mrs. Remmington?"

"I'm fine," she snapped. "My husband is dead, all of London thinks I killed him, and the only man who doesn't is you." She slammed her drinking glass down on the writing table. "Also, your brandy is vile."