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Chapter One

Cae, May 1867

VIOLET WATERFIELD, THE COUNTESS OF CAMBURY, was always most comfortable in a crowd

Other wo in a lecture hall elbow-to-elboith any person off the streets, noher apart from the old friend who sat on her left or the elderly ht Other wost themselves about the smell of humanity, packed so close

But in a crowd, Violet could disappear The odor of sour pipe smoke and unwashed flesh lanced at her for approval or wanted her opinion on so she didn’t care about In a crowd, Violet could dispose of all her pretenses and indulge in her one forbidden passion: Mr Sebastian Malheur

Or—to be more accurate—his work

Sebastian was her oldest friend, and today, he was the one who addressed the throng He had a deep voice and atheWicked, even The rest of him—his dark lustrous hair, that brilliant, impish s ladies of the ton ished to make his intimate acquaintance

Violet had no use for his handsoood looks, his idle flirtations But his work, now…

“Thus far,” Sebastian was saying, “my research has focused on simple traits: the colors of flowers, the shapes of leaves I’ve detailed several differentto present today is not further explanation, but a series of baffling questions”

She’d heard those words before More than once They’d traded theet them absolutely perfect

They’d succeeded

His gaze swept over the gathering, and even though he didn’t look in her direction, Violet found herself sood part

“Baffle left to be discovered So let me tell you e don’t know”

In the dim recesses of her awareness, Violet realized that she was not the only one leaning forward in anticipation Sebastian was a

So scientists who hung on his every word and drea in his footsteps Others were followers of Darwin, like Huxley in the corner, watching the proceedings beneath thick eyebrows There were a great many ladies present, too—Sebastian had always drawn ladies to him

But there were also people like those seated directly behind Violet She couldn’t see thenore them—she are of them These were the worst sort: interrupters

“Shah to puncture even the resilient bubble of Violet’s enjoyment “Utterly shameful”

There was nothing sha to, not unless one harbored an irrational hatred for bar charts This one detailed only numbers—numbers collected with an arduous attention to detail, if Violet could say such a thing herself without being accused of hubris

She frowned, leaned forward an inch, and did her best to focus on Sebastian

“A corace,” the woman behind her responded “That’s what it is” Her voice, even in that whisper, carried It was like a high-pitched trepanning drill, boring directly into Violet’s skull “He’s flaunting his godless ways He is theand intercourse”