To Charm a Bluestocking Page 2

‘You know what you need?’ Claire grabbed Josephine’s arm, jolting her out of her internal monologue.

  ‘What do I need?’ she asked cautiously. Four years of friendship had taught her to be wary of Claire’s enthusiastic brand of living.

  ‘You need a fiancé. A long term fiancé. Someone who pre-dates Van Percy. A reason for him to stop hunting you without upsetting him for your surgical assessment.’ Claire reached up and grabbed Josephine by the shoulders.

  ‘Ha, “to hunt me”. You make it sound like he’s the fox and I’m a rabbit that he’s running to ground,’ said Josephine awkwardly. She gently removed Claire’s hands and looked her friend in the eye.

  ‘Just where am I going to conjure up a fiancé at short notice? You are the one who is so clever at attracting men, they flock to you. I’m too tall and socially awkward for that to be believable. And who would affiance themselves to a medical student? The whole idea is farcical. Most people don’t think we are even proper females. Apologies, Marie, to your Bertrand who obviously has seen past the social difficulties involved.’ Her words came out so fast that they stumbled over each other. A pile of words spat out. Josephine’s lungs grasped for air as the entirety of the idea sunk in. Marie’s laugh rang too loud in Josephine’s ears.

  ‘Josephine, my friend, you have many great qualities, and some men like statuesque women. It’s not like you are gigantic. There are enough men out there taller than you. It’s not as big a burden to love as you think,’ said Marie. Claire rolled her eyes and snorted.

  ‘Love. Says the only one of us with a real fiancé. You see romance everywhere. Some of us don’t want love.’

  ‘Everyone wants to be loved,’ Marie said wisely. Claire simply raised that vicious single eyebrow. Marie met her sarcastic expression with a smile. Josephine watched the interplay between them and the nausea started to melt away. She brushed down her skirt under the table. The plain fabric rubbed against her damp palms and she grinned as she realised she was mostly dry. The beer had exploded out of the mug away from her. All over the professor. The hop-laden scent of beer lingered in the air.

  ‘Bertrand has many friends and surely Claire knows someone helpful, she knows everyone and many men want to do her a favour or be her friend,’ said Marie.

  Claire laughed, a full and vibrant sound that overtook her whole body. The noise jolted Josephine out of her thoughts.

  ‘It’s because I dress better than both of you, and my family is absurdly wealthy. Most men don’t actually want me, just access to my funds. But forget them!’ Claire waved her hands. The gesture was so typical for Claire, so dismissive, that Josephine let out a short laugh.

  ‘Those fortune hunters are generally unsuitable, or just wouldn’t strike the right amount of fear into Van Percy. He is ruthless, so you’d need someone who could potentially counter him in a believable manner. If you come shopping with me, I could make you look quite charming, and then you will attract someone easily,’ said Claire. Josephine shook her head. Claire’s grin lingered.

  ‘This is getting far too complicated. There are only a few weeks till we are finished here. If I dress better, it will just make Van Percy more interested. I will just hide in the library and study. It’s worked so far,’ said Josephine. She rubbed her cheek.

  ‘Four. Four weeks of continual harassment,’ said Claire. Josephine shivered.

  ‘And don’t forget your surgical assessment. Today he found our study hole. If he took the time to find that, he’ll know where you like to sit in the library. He probably knows your address too. He won’t let you study in peace.’ Claire folded her arms and leant back against the chair.

  Josephine shrugged, her hand paused against her cheek. She could almost taste the end. Victory would taste like Christmas pudding. Rich, sweet, fulfilling. This had been a hard fought battle and she wanted satisfaction. Her mouth watered as she pictured the pudding, brandy alight. The scents of fruit in the air. She watched, as if from a distance, as Marie nodded at Claire’s statement. She let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding in. It was time to get some control over her life. Claire was too persuasive and this mad scheme could quickly get out of control. However, it wasn’t like she’d been able to come up with a better plan herself.

  Her hand dropped from her face as it came to her like a match being struck. She grinned and pointed her finger at Claire.

  ‘I’m going to regret this,’ she said, poking her friend in the arm.

  ‘What?’ Claire and Marie spoke in unison.

  ‘When this all goes wrong, Claire, it’ll be your fault.’ Her friends leant towards her, and she saw their eyes widen, shiny with glee at her pronouncement. Marie licked her lips.

  ‘I will write to my father for a fake fiancé. I can survive another week by hiding from the professor and that only leaves three weeks till our exams commence.’

  Dear Father,

  In the couple of weeks since my last missive there has been a rather distressing development on campus, and I write in hope that you will be able to provide some assistance.

  I have unwittingly attracted a suitor. Regardless of my statements to the contrary, he continues to plague me. Not only is he unable to hear the word ‘no’, he holds a position of power as a lecturer at the university and has been assigned as my adjudicator for the terribly important surgical assessment. My friends and I have concocted a scheme that should keep him at bay, while maintaining a politically valuable relationship. All I want is to complete my study in peace without his harassment.

  In short, I require a fake fiancé for the remainder of my course. I trust that you can find someone among your associates that is believable in this role, and can be trusted to assist with this problem. The person will need to have the mental tenacity to stand up to my unwanted suitor, while balancing the difficulties that his position poses to me. Given your profession, you ought to be able to concoct a back-story for this person, and have him arrive here as quickly as possible.

  If you think this frankly outrageous idea is too much, I would appreciate your assistance in providing another, more appropriate, solution.

  Your loving daughter,

  Josephine.

  Chapter 2

  Josephine wrapped her cloak around her shoulders to brace against the frigid wind that cut right through her clothes. She strode along with a textbook open, one hand holding her cloak, the other on her book. Her gloved fingers were spread to hold the pages open against that cold wind. Consumed by her book, Josephine digested the information written on the pages. She shivered and wished she’d also worn a scarf to counter this dreadful weather. She closed the book, sliding it under her arm. With her head still down, she adjusted her heavy bag on her shoulder and picked up her pace.

  ‘Oomph.’ She crashed, hard, into a solid object. Her breath burst out of her and she flailed backwards with the force of the impact. Her arms flew up and grabbed onto something, anything, for balance, only to realise that she had smacked right into a man. A man who hadn’t budged with her impact. He reached out at lightning speed with firm hands to grasp her arms and stop her falling onto the icy ground. Her bag slid down to her elbow and her textbook hit the ground with a thud. Her lungs seized, failing to function. His very hard chest pressed against her. His hands held her arms tight and shards of sensation flashed. The air sizzled about her like a fire that sucked all the oxygen out of her lungs. A pair of bright blue eyes stared down at her, sparkling with laughter. She looked up at him. Up! Her body registered his height before her brain did, and responded by relaxing against him. Even through all the winter layers they both wore, she could tell that he was fit and strong.

  A few strands of his sandy brown hair lay loose across his brow, the dishevelment the only concession to her smashing into him. She dropped her eyes from his as they bore into her, and found herself staring directly at his chin. He must be more than six foot tall. She swallowed. He held her tight up against him. Time stretched as her wits digested every detail of him. She leant b
ack and looked up at his face again. By golly, he was handsome. Tingles raced all over. Her clothes were rough against her skin. She blinked rapidly and willed her thoughts to return to her. She looked at him, really looked, past the handsomeness. His face oozed with charm, with laugh lines around his eyes and a slightly lopsided cynical grin. It was as if life existed for his own amusement. Suddenly the brisk air washed over her. That initial heat turned cold, pooling in her stomach.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said sharply and stepped backwards, trying, unsuccessfully, to extract herself from his firm grip.

  ‘Miss Tobinbury?’ he enquired. His voice had a liquid warmth, a soothing broth that heated her from the inside out. She wanted to melt into his arms, his radiant heat calling to her on this freezing day. He even smelled warm, a toasty masculinity with a hint of cinnamon, and she breathed him in, her lips slightly parted.

  ‘Ahh …’ Her own voice came out croaky, deeper than normal, almost throaty.

  The man just stood there. He proceeded to give her the most thorough examination. His gaze moved slowly over her as if she were a horse at auction and he was a keen buyer evaluating the finer points of her conformation. Her skin roasted with delicious fire, leaving cold confusion behind as his gaze moved on. Her legs started to tremble as they weakened under his perusal. This wouldn’t do. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

  ‘Sir. Let me go.’ He stepped back a fraction, but didn’t let go of her arms.

  ‘Are you Miss Tobinbury? Medical student?’ he asked, the corners of his lips smirking upwards.

  ‘Who are you? How do you know my name? What do you want with me?’ Her words came out like a prize-fighter’s fists punching the cold air. She leant back, tugging away from him. His grip didn’t change, and he stared deep into her eyes, searching her. She met his gaze and tried to glare him into submission.

  ‘My dear,’ he said. He slid his hands down to her elbows. Heat burnt through her many layers of clothing, sending a bright flush up her skin. Even her ears were hot, and her scalp prickled with this unknown energy.

  ‘I am your fiancé. Lord Nicholas St. George. At your service.’

  He ran his hands down her forearms, gave her gloved hands a gentle squeeze and stepped backwards letting her go. She couldn’t supress a shiver as their connection was severed. He bowed and bestowed her with a smile that would have healed most of the university hospital’s female patients just by the power of its handsome glow.

  ‘You can call me Nicholas,’ he said.

  Josephine couldn’t compute this moment into something rational. She stared at him, her breath getting quicker and quicker. Her pulse throbbed and she made a herculean effort to drag her gaze away from his sparkling blue eyes.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she repeated. She frowned at the ground. ‘I do not have a fiancé.’

  ‘Oh contraire, I believe you do. I have a copy of your request to your father, stating that a fiancé would solve a difficult problem you have,’ he said.

  ‘Oh.’ Josephine’s mind raced as fast as her heartbeat. She stepped back. She looked at him, again. The connection between them stuck.

  ‘Father sent you. But … but you won’t suit at all.’

  ‘Actually. I think we will suit just fine, Josephine,’ he replied, purring her name in a way that implied an innate sexual knowledge. A blaze of curiosity flooded her body and she leant towards him. A gust of wind added icy prickles to her hot cheeks.

  ‘No. No, this won’t do.’ Josephine shook her head. She fiddled with her gloves, wanting to tug them and her cloak off in response to the heat that spread on her skin. It wasn’t rational to feel this connection with someone so instantly. She swallowed. She forced her reluctant body to step around him.

  ‘I will write to Father and tell him that you are not quite what I was expecting. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to attend.’ Her voice, still throaty, had a little wobble in it. Her breath came and went too fast. On each intake, she was assaulted by his scent, a musky, warm scent that reminded her of spiced biscuits right out of the oven. She continued her walk towards class. In two strides, he was next to her, easily keeping pace beside her long strides. She stretched out and quickened her step. Her lips were parted as she paced along. The edges lifted. It was so nice to walk beside someone who could match strides with her.

  ‘I’m afraid you can’t dismiss me that easily. One doesn’t just inform Lord Walstone. He has determined that I am the right person for this particular task. When does your class finish? I will meet you afterwards and we can discuss this further,’ Nicholas said.

  Josephine opened her mouth to answer. She couldn’t find any words so she simply rushed up the stairs into the main building. It wasn’t until she had charged through the doors and hurtled down the hallway that she realised that she had left him out in the cold. She’d said nothing. She hadn’t even given him a time. She tugged on her ear and tried to slow down her breathing. Well, it wouldn’t hurt him to have to wait the full three hours until this lecture finished. She would need the time to work out just how to manage him. Their conversation repeated around her head. She stopped marching up the hallway and leant back against the wall as she recalled that he had called her by her given name. Next time they met, she would have to insist on the more formal form of address. Perhaps it would keep him at a distance.

  She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the cool bricks. Shivers of delight raced rampantly across her skin. She pushed her coat off her shoulders and ran her finger along the neckline of her dress, letting the cool air soothe her heated skin. The memory of him plastered against her. He must be strong to have held his ground without effort when she had collided with him. She let out a shaky breath and the corners of her mouth kicked up slightly.

  His size was in his favour. He was much bigger than Professor Van Percy. Perhaps an inch or two more than six foot. Her own height often made her feel awkward and mannish, and over time she had gained a habit of stooping and keeping her head low as if she could shrink herself into a more acceptable size. Yet, he had made her feel almost petite. Slowly the cold bricks of the wall started to dissipate the heat that infused her body. Her thoughts became less scattered. Blast, she’d left her book where it had dropped on the ground. Hopefully, he picked it up. She shrugged her shoulder. He probably wouldn’t. She pushed herself away from the wall, hitched her coat back up and continued her march to class.

  ***

  Nicholas stood on the front steps of the Binnengasthuis, the university’s working hospital located in the midst of the university campus. The main building was fairly new, constructed in 1868, with some wings still being expanded. It was an imposing building constructed from red bricks with sandstone features, creating a hospital that was a grandiose statement to the university’s ambitions.

  He flicked through the book she’d left behind then slammed it shut as he tried to recover from that first interaction with Josephine. At least his own shock was mirrored on her face. Her lips, so soft and rose coloured, had opened, welcoming him as she stared up at him. Her hazel eyes, with a hint of green, wide with surprise as she adjusted to their collision. Her size felt just right. She was tall. Tall enough to stare at him from an equal footing. He disliked the petite, cute type of femininity that stared at his navel and gave him a sore neck to lean down towards. His nostrils had filled with her scent; an odd combination. Rose, and lemon juice.

  The flash of memory reminded him of his duty. When he’d been called to Lord Walstone’s office for a new assignment, he had hoped for an exciting trip to the Continent to investigate the rise of the Germanic Empire. He hadn’t expected to end the discussion as an engaged man. Walstone always had the power to surprise. And his daughter, goodness, she was a surprise too. He’d expected someone rather scholarly and unimpressive. Shy and bookish. Perhaps even someone who hid behind glasses.

  He hadn’t expected her demanding glare. The intelligence in her gaze had his heartbeat racing. He’d held her arms for too long, unable to
let her go. She had taken the shock of the impact and turned it into anger. It made her spectacular. Nicholas couldn’t help but picture her sprawled across his bed with all that energy and passion focused on him. Challenging. Clever women were the best in bed. He cleared his throat. He’d been sent to protect her, not seduce her. Keep to the job. He rubbed his jaw and stared out into the distance.

  It was basically impossible to tell what shape she was underneath all those layers she had on. The brown gown she was wearing, with an equally serviceable brown cloak over the top, were quite dreadful. His imagination started painting pictures. With her height, she must have long legs. He closed his eyes, his erection straining against his pants as he pictured her in an evening gown, those long legs wrapped about his waist.

  Nicholas was jolted from his fantasy as a group of students ran up the stairs and brushed past him. He tucked the book under his arm and shoved his hands in his pockets. Focus. Focus on the job, not on the surprisingly passionate woman he had to fake a relationship with. His grin widened as the cold seeped through his clothes. She had readily put him in his place and marched up the stairs leaving him outside in this frigid weather. Oh, the next few weeks would be very entertaining indeed. The wind cut through his greatcoat as he contemplated his next move. He took his hands out of his pockets and wrapped his greatcoat about him. Tighter. It was so cold, it might even snow tonight.

  As a long time intelligence agent, he had a definite advantage with his experience in playing this type of game. To be a faux beau to his boss’s daughter was just the type of challenge he thrived on. Something unusual. Outside the usual type of assignment. The perfect job for him. He would need all his charm and wits to pull this off. Especially with her combination of fury and outrage at his presence. And then there was the extra dimension of his instantaneous desire for her. It had been years since a woman had created that reaction for him. Oh, this was going to be fun indeed. Nicholas strode confidently up through the front door into the building in search of information. He’d completely forgotten that he had agreed only to pretend to seduce her.